Manitoba, November 1955
The class goes silent. Just one word out of place, but that’s all it takes. She looks round to see they’ve all noticed. Of course they have. And most importantly, Johnson has. I don’t call him our teacher, because he doesn’t teach us anything apart from who we aren’t, and
“S-s-sir, please!” Malcolm hunkers low in his chair, hiding behind his notebook. “We’ve talked about this! You have to remain calm—”
Fire spews through the hollow eyes of my pumpkin head as I tower over him. “I am completely calm, Malcolm!”
My butler, currently acting as my therapist, cowers deeper into his chair.
I stormed up the narrow stair toward the storm-battered castle, the biting sea wind spurring me on.
“Princess, please wait!” my guard, Alloy, called.
Hearing my preferred title only stoked the fire.
The next stair crumbled beneath my boot, and I pitched sideways into open air. The world spun. I caught sight
They come to me for the dreams—bubbles of florescent light that pop behind their eyelids and reveal an elsewhere. They don’t even care where they go. They just don’t want to be here.
I understand. With Earth a hair’s breadth away from total annihilation due to alien laser beams, I get the need…
Eerie caterwauling split the air, making Aisha’s skin prickle and her bones melt. The ghost cat.
She eyed the swaying brush, lit silver by the moonlight. Dark bloodstains lingered on the dry stalks. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her useless knife.
“Zawadi?” The shrieking nearly swallowed her quavering voice. “Is that you?”
While a shuffling inside a crypt would terrify most people, Christopher DeSalle listened to the corpse’s awakening movements with anticipation. Sparked by injustice, his longing for the resuscitated cadaver had led him to this moment.
The last rays of sunset bathed the headstones and stone façades in golden hues. It reflected off…
Since graduating high school, I’d acquired the ability to identify poisons—without dying, important detail—saved the head of the council, learned about mystical evil Knights threatening our kingdom, been killed—poison again, I’m not immune—and rescued my true love on multiple occasions. You’d think that’d be enough to ask of any eighteen-year-old.
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Must. Have. Coffee.
I slog to the counter of Out of This World Café, a hundred pounds of textbooks working to dislocate my shoulders. A briefcase-wielding businessman carries his travel mug to a table near a green-skinned group of tourists from planet Gleesa.
“Bring me all the caffeine, Liz.” I give the gorgeous barista
Ajani perched on the cart’s edge, his feet dangling, as Baba’s animals ate in their cages. The evening shadows stretched as the sun descended and the troupe packed up their tents.
They should be preparing their acts and hoping for a crowd, not leaving after only a few days. And at night?
The portal closed with a whumph and the smell of old books. I’d teleported myself deep beneath the massive castle complex of the Infinite Library, chasing rumors of ancient, forgotten books.
Dangerous books.
I hadn’t been expecting carpet.
I Imparted will into a small light sphere made of bronze. It floated at eye-level
“Who does she think she is? The daughter of a villain, trying to be a hero?”
A punch hit me square on the cheek, smacking my head against the road. Fingers tightened around my throat, and I struggled to breathe—an all-too-familiar feeling.
Decay’s superpowers activated. I gasped as my fingertips began to shrivel
Most people think the life of a Muse is easy. Sounds like a breeze, doesn’t it? You sit around all day eating Pringles and drinking Coke as you throw scrumptious ideas at your constantly inspired, always eager-to-please writer. Sure thing, mate. It’s the life. The good ol’ American dream. Piece of cake
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