Hunched over her desk, Snowfall shielded the fairy with her hands. The fairy perused the math problem on the sheet of paper then tapped a tiny hand against Snowfall’s palm.
Tap-tap-tap.
Snowfall wrote the number three.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Snowfall added the number six.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
The floorboards of the psychiatric facility creaked beneath my feet as I followed Dr. Kelvin down the hall. All the other residents either stared at me or looked through me like I wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure which was creepier.
“Does she still
The kingdom shimmered in anticipation of the king’s birthday, and Blackguard grimaced at the iced cupcakes, foil balloons, and dragon bobble-heads in shop windows. Beneath his stealthy feet, the cobblestones glistened from a recent scrubbing; around the castle’s main courtyard, the lampposts with
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Ping, pang, ping, pung, pang…
He cringed as his eardrums buzzed from the musical assault. “Man, I don’t think anyone could have made a worse music box. This thing must be broken.” Bobby leaned forward and put the wind-up music box between
Alek’s frown deepened with the echo of his footsteps on the stone. “Your Majesty, the Ivernians come closer to breaching the gates every day.”
Saverd shrugged. “No one can dig two miles deep, Aleksander. The walls will stand. And if they succeed in climbing over, we have
“I’m going to the tail, Papa!” I rush out the door, pole in hand. “I’m sure I’ll catch a star this time!”
“Wait a tick, young lady,” Papa calls after me, hustling to the porch. “Don’t go too far! Oh, Csilla, you forgot your shoes again. Te
“Oh, ho! What have we here? Off to war, squirrel?” King Oswain chuckled. The monarch, clad in a purple velvet tunic, elaborately embroidered breeches, and boots of the finest leather, slowed his stallion to a walk on the sunlight-dappled forest path. As he circled
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“Padre,” says the outlaw next to me at the bar. “I need yer help.”
Gold glints at the corners of his mouth. He reeks of trail dust, manure, sweat, and tobacco. The bartender bot drifts toward the till and a silent alarm. The conversations
Getting shot in the chest wasn’t everything I hoped it would be. The slug burrowed in my breastplate, and oil—not blood—spurted everywhere. Following protocol, I fell backward and writhed on the ground.
But I wasn’t really feeling it. Literally. My plasticine body did not have pain receptors, and even the oil was just for show.
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Queen Majorie’s coronation ball had been meticulously planned, down to the minute. Except for the kidnapping.
Marjorie was sprawled in the middle of the ballroom floor, her sapphire blue coronation gown puddled around her. The rest of her guests sat around the perimeter, held in place by the threat of circling black-cloaked figures.
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Scarlet slammed her textbook down in front of the Head T.A. of Color-Based Synesthetics. “Teach me color transfer.”
The tired-looking elf didn’t look up from his book. “Hello to you, too, Scarlet. And no. You can’t learn color transfer for two more years.”
“It’s important, Aeris!”
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Sara centers the crosshairs on the blonde’s skull. The unsuspecting woman wearing a blue sundress drinks from a teacup, her face shadowed by the café table’s umbrella.
A hundred yards away, hunkered atop the roof of an abandoned warehouse, Sara finesses the scope’s elevation and windage with a smooth efficiency earned by months of practice. Below, the city produces an occasional pedestrian and passing vehicle while the empty boulevard remains trapped in the simmering quiet before the morning rush. Within the next five minutes, a train will roar past on a bridge overlooking the café, masking the rifle’s echoing boom. Sara will disassemble her weapon and flee the scene before the train’s ambiance decays across the unsuspecting neighborhood.
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