I don’t like Dycin.
It’s not the guide’s superior attitude that makes me dislike him either. He was raised by the Knowledge Keepers. Of course, he’s smarter than me. No. I dislike Dycin because despite his knowledge, he has no idea what he’s doing but presses on anyway. In fact, I suspect we’re lost.
The moon bathed the graveyard in silver light, reflecting off the polished marble of younger headstones. The older markers seemed to hide from the light, becoming one with the shadows around them. At least that’s what Cassie told herself as she tripped over the second one of the evening. Cursing under her breath
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Eat your pies and drink your ale and listen well to this story of wonder, of wooing, of weeping, of weddings, of woe—and of some sneezing.
Turnipton was a simple village. The residents preferred it that way. They grew their potatoes and milked their cows. They had their occasional celebration, but no adventures
When Rosco opened his eyes for the first time and saw the old man smiling back at him, all operational parameters pointed to one thing: it was going to be a happy life.
His performance diodes peaked under the kindly gaze and the feedback-response loop set his chain-link tail thumping uncontrollably against
My boyfriend’s eyes light up as he catches sight of the 1981 Thunderbird I just inherited from my grandfather. I figured Michael would be impressed with Blue Bob, given his freakish obsession with repairing old cars. However, I’m afraid even Michael can’t handle Bob’s special quirks.
Michael’s chiseled face stretches into a Zac Efron
I check my star-compass and adjust the Nebula’s course, following the needle toward a small, oddly shaped moon. The double suns to our stern stretch my shadows across the deck as I lean around the mainsail to see. At first, stardust seems to glow around the rock, but as we approach,
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Ah, Día de los Muertos. A day we set aside to honor our family members. To spend time with the living. To remember our dead.
Except they’re kind of hard to forget when their skeletons are staring at you from across the table.
“Well, Finny! Have you decided to follow in your pop’s footsteps
“Got a mission for you, kid.”
Judy Suarez tapped the end of her cigarette into an ash tray. I leaned against the office doorway, pad and pen ready.
The Script Doctor’s eyes sparkled. “You ever read Blake Snyder’s magnum opus?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” She inhaled a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke
When you plan to murder a monarch, the last creature you should ever tell is a tree.
Yes, every peasant child knows you can’t trust oaks, but I had to get the woods involved. You see, fae kings are notoriously bad at dying, and it would be unacceptable for a man of my station
Radiation bathes my rig, titanium panels and tungsten ribs shimmering like molten metal. Apart from the aura of impending death, it reminds me of my childhood, when I’d squeeze my eyelids shut while staring into the sun. Despite my best efforts, sunlight always leaked through the thin membrane of skin in a warm, blood-red glow.
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Waves sloshed below the old man as he sat at the pier’s edge, waiting. A face emerged from the sea, her hair as white as the foam on the wave crests.
“It is good to see you, Mr. Crispin. You have the boot?”
Puzzled as he always was during these exchanges, Crispin held it out.
The years haven’t been kind, but—Grete adjusted the eyepatch, making sure it didn’t ride on her cheekbone—kinder than I deserve. She glanced out the grimy window to the alley below.
“Oh, Schatzi, is that scar bothering you again?” Cook dipped her finger into a tin of salve.
Grete shrunk back, wrinkling her nose.
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