“Quarantine means no going outside, old man,” the guard growled beneath his face mask. Well over six feet with a vice-like grip, he dragged me inside as his name tag bobbed in and out of my peripheral vision. Pickerman was clearly stamped in sparse utilitarian lettering.
“Just going for a walk, sonny,” I said…
Where is she? I crouched on the roof of a flat, stone building overlooking a cobbled alley, pulling the brim of my cavalier hat closer to my nose. She promised to be here an hour ago. I rose slowly. I should get back to the zeppelin now. The crew will be wondering what happened to me.
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Well, this relic hunt sucked.
“Hurry up, Andy!” Louisa berated. “I don’t want to end up Swiss cheese because you stopped to read every footnote! I can’t hold this position forever!” She balanced on one foot, hands raised, struggling not to fall off the small pedestal and trigger whatever booby trap awaited the unworthy.
“Daggum scientists!” Penny growled. Hefting her skirts higher, she tore through the brome toward a cluster of cottonwoods. A raspy roar echoed across the open plain, and she glared back at said scientist. “You just had to poke the Prairie Dragon!”
“Actually, dragon is a misnomer,” Benjamin huffed, struggling to keep up.
Most people believe rainbows are formed by light refracting through water droplets. They’re wrong. Rainbows are ingenious GPS trackers developed by leprechauns to locate hidden treasures.
It’s time to test my newest invention and prove my hypothesis.
Astride my Harley chopper, I peer through misty rain, scanning the sky for rainbows.
“Forget deep-sea diving,” Gertrude Tesoro muttered, trying to enjoy Café Regatta’s scenic patio beside Helsinki’s Taivallahti Bay. “The hardest part of this job is getting paid.”
“Client inbound, Aunt Getty,” Cody’s voice came through her earbud.
Lars Korhonen, dressed like a CEO at a board meeting, stood out like a sore thumb among the Saturday morning coffee crowd.
I swim to the bar of the Trendy Anemone nightclub and hail the fuchsia-haired, green-skinned mermaid bartender, squinting at her name badge. “Hey, uh… Mara. What have you got that’s, uh, free?”
Amazing. I finally managed to telepath through a whole question without a drop leaking into my mouth. I probably moved my lips, though.
The stench of death assaults my nose as the abyss yawns before me. I breathe in the stagnant draft as a slippery carpet sweeps me off my feet. Ivory spikes rise from above and below. They curve inward, directing me to the pit and reminding me that this journey might be my last.
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We need help. Because—to put it frankly—the world has gone to crap, and we need a hero to save us. That’s why I went searching for that forgotten island, somewhere between the Old World and the New—Avalon. On this island I would find a mountain, and the king sleeping beneath it.
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The thing about adventures is they’re only fun in hindsight.
Take last week, for example. My car broke down, which wouldn’t be too special, except it was in a ginormous mudhole. While it was raining. Actually, raining is too mild a description. This was a monsoon.
I stared out the windscreen…
“We hit this gas station”—I point at a crease in the map spread out over the RV’s dining table—“grab food, toilet paper, gas—”
“And slushies,” Martin chimes in.
“—and slushies. Then we hightail it to the monument, here.”
I survey my crew. Martin, my younger brother, looks like a…
She swept into town like the swirls of dust that haunted the desert plains, a lonely traveler like a bounding weed, and struck out to seek what was lost.
The town, its decrepit buildings leaning into the incessant south winds, swiftly spread the name of Mellie Rembrandt. Nobody forgot a name like Rembrandt…
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