Golden eyes arrested my attention as I boarded the train. Her every movement was grace-ful—gray paws swinging her suitcase, ears peeking through the top of her hat, eyes sparkling in the waning sunlight.
Then she tripped. And laughed to herself.
“Miss,” I called out as the whistle tweeted and the train whisked me
“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
Florence’s knuckles creaked as she clutched the bottle of phoenix ash.
What if it’s not enough? She bit her lip. The medicine is almost as rare as the ash.
Threadbare skirts rustled around her legs as she ducked through the rough-hewn doorframe of the Emberstone Tavern. Her stomach clenched in hunger as the rich
Captain Tiberius Q. Overton sneered in disgust. The tavern smelled like the inside of a whiskey barrel—the cheap kind of whiskey the deckhands drank. He shouldered through the flock of nattering peasants, who warmed themselves at the meteor smoldering in the central hearth.
The tawny, glowing emberstone put out a remarkable amount
You receive notice of your next evaluation at Culebra Research Institute one hour before the top boss arrives. You are today-years-old when you discover Dr. M. Roswell is a cat.
She pounces atop the papers on your desk. “Dr. Jonas, your most important project is behind schedule.”
The cat can talk! You leap to
Ramona had lived in the Fairdale Lodge for most of her fourteen years. She prided herself on meeting all the guests as they checked in.
So, when she stepped into the lobby, she was delighted to see Bobby, the hotel manager, with his mothy pork pie hat askew, handing room keys to two men
Hessie crept through the underbrush, in search of an ancient pyramid filled with legendary treasures. The rustling ferns, howling monkeys, and cawing toucans told her the jungle was alive and awake.
Grima had gone first. Not because he was the best at navigating the jungle—though his knee-high boots, the wide-brimmed hat
“Felix!” My human slave sings my name, interrupting my afternoon slumber. I poke my head out from under layers of woolen blankets, reluctant to part from the cocoon I’ve rolled myself into, though my stomach is rumbling from starvation. My nose bobs up and down, searching for salvation, like a life raft filled
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I jolted awake, throwing the sheets off me as a familiar prickle crept across the back of my neck. Not again.
My bedside clock glowed.
2:00 AM.
I sucked in a shaky breath and let it out, then tapped the homing button strapped to my wrist. Hopefully, the Control Team would find me
The front door slams and jolts me from slumber. I uncurl and raise my head. What mortal dares to awaken me?
Ah. It’s my Human, Tricia. She takes off her wet rainboots in the entryway and hangs up her jacket.
“Hello, Mr. Fluffers!” She says in the annoyingly high voice reserved for me and me only.
Tony reached around the broken glass into the display, grasping another handful of jewelry before shoving it in a bag. Headlights lit the dark store for a moment. Hesitating, he waited until they passed. He didn’t need a third strike with Johnny Law. As the light faded, Tony grabbed the last few earrings and necklaces
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I’ve been getting out more ever since the tiger chose not to eat me.
I don’t care for the brittle air poking my eyes, nor do I enjoy the shrieking pigeons that habitually scatter when I—and only I—approach. But today, as I bump against strangers on the public bus, I have a mission: my first date with Harry.
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