Havok Publishing

Tag - Cassandra Hamm

Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

The Language of Sound

The iksomi opens his mouth, and his cry pierces the thick, morning air. All gloom and pain strips away. The noise is rigid like a lyre string, warm like honey, and I let it fill my being.
His mouth snaps shut, pointed teeth curving over black lips. He stretches, arching his back

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Techno Tuesday featured image (season 2)

Bubble Trouble

The doorbell jingles. I stuff my nanocell into my khaki pocket and paste on my customer-service smile. The doors slide shut behind a woman and two men. “Welcome to the Nanotech Center!” I say.
My smile wavers at their dark clothing. They match the descriptions of the Sound, the infamous gang—

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Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

Call of the Orb

The dark market never changed. Even after sixty years, the rickety stalls seemed apt to blow over at a breath, and the sun unable to penetrate the dark shroud.
Penelope halted at the edge of the alleyway. Jack’s voice echoed in her head––“I want an orb!”––and her staunch response––

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Thriller Thursday featured image (season 2)

Rebel Chef

Remy gagged as soon as the first spoonful touched her tongue. “You call this food?”
What should have been delicious soup was mildly acidic, flavorless, and the wilted airi leaves squelched in bitter bursts. She should’ve known how bad it would be by the scent, but she’d given Axel the benefit of the doubt. Wrongly.

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Wacky Wednesday featured image (season 2)

Sweet Sting

“Is that a taikina?” Seana faces me, shoulders squared.
I drop the pastry, sending sliced nuts and golden berries across the silver tablecloth. “Um.”
Behind my sister, faeries and pixies continue dancing. Dust scatters off the pixies’ wings. Not fair. The pixie dust in their dishes makes faerie food taste like dirt.

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Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

Stone Skin

“You’re hurting me, Wynn.”
Wynnstan let go of Gemma’s hand. “Sorry.” He glared at his stone fingers, wishing for the hundredth––perhaps thousandth––time that his hands could be soft and delicate, able to hold Gemma like she deserved to be held.
She rubbed her hands together. The creek’s low rumble filled the silence

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Thriller Thursday featured image (season 2)

The Clouds Weep

We have been in the shelter for an hour, but it feels like a lifetime.
My tongue is thick, cotton-dry from disuse. Though my eyes have adjusted, the light is too dim to see my family’s expressions––just the faint outline of Mum’s slender nose, Finn’s trembling lips. My hair has unraveled from its braid,

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Secret Agent Lampshade

No one notices a lamp. Like, you wouldn’t look at the lamp in your living room and think, “Wow, I really need to watch what I say.”
Of course not. You’d say whatever the heck you wanted.
That’s why I’m currently on Senator Harold Altenstein’s coffee table, listening to him explain

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The Last Gateway

I haven’t found the right universe yet.
“What do you think?” Cleo’s feet squish into the swampy ground with each step.
I peer through the tiny tear in the fabric of our universe. On the other side is a different world––blanketed in reddish stone with deep canyons and majestic mountains.
“Well?” Cleo demands.

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Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)


The walls crumble more every day. It’s not just something you can fix with workers and stone, either. If it were that easy, we would’ve saved the city long ago.
But these magic-imbued walls are held together by our relationships—by love—and that love is fading.

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I stiffen as the mold tightens around my body, compressing it into a different shape. My breath comes hot and fast. It’s not like I was wearing my own skin anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from panicking. My mold is in Vernon’s safe, locked away for when I have further use of it—meaning when I stop working for him. Which, at this rate, may be never.

The mold cracks open. I’m free and wearing a different skin.

“Come with me.” The officer doesn’t even blink.

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Fantasy Friday featured image (season 2)

Stealer of Secrets

Thoughts flooded Adalai’s roving mind, most of which were not her own.
He said he’d be here…
…not a telepath. At least the one in the forest stays away…
No one will hear…
Adalai, sitting cross-legged on the forest floor, focused on the last voice

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