“Enjoy your familiar!” Harmony smiled and waved goodbye to her latest customer. The gap-toothed girl grinned and waved back, towing a harried-looking cockatrice behind her.
They sure start mage school young these days.
Harmony put her hands on her hips and turned to her own familiar, an orange tabby perched on the store counter.
The voices in the workroom rise until they carry out into the rest of the house, shattering my unpleasant dream.
“I never wanted it out on the market!” Father says, with more anger than he’s had energy for in a long time. “It’s not stable. Not finished!”
“There was nothing you could do
I knew I shouldn’t have tried to catch the movi, but all the other kids in the colony had pets. A teleporting space dog seemed perfect! None of the other kids talked about that at teatime. And I now knew why.
Why didn’t I listen to Dad? I gazed in every direction
“A bowl of stew can’t save the world, sis.”
Miriel Takkenridge slammed a pot on the stove. “How about you leave the world saving to me, Todd?” Frowning, she diced two onions before her eyes had a chance to water. “Unless you’ve been crowned Chosen One in this universe?” Her chopping stilled as she
I’m a sucker for a sob story and a fuzzy face. These stinking adorable Pandeera pups blinking their big eyes at me are going to get my tail in the fire, I just know it.
Over the chatter of the pub, they tell me their hovership’s chargelink got sheared off while navigating through a
Zaivar tapped the message icon on the holographic display.
“Hey, Zai,” Sarea’s high voice said in the recording. “I’ve another chase for you. For real this time.”
Zai rolled his eyes and flicked the message away. How many times had he followed a lead only to find out her info was wrong or at
At best, my Mark 12 Temporal Teleporter had maybe one last jump in it. Any means of controlling my destination’s location or time was lost long ago. But my space shuttle’s equally wonky steering was currently spiraling me into a gas giant
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Stories filled the living room as Kytt’s parents and friends discussed their experiences during World War II. Parachuting into enemy territory, storming beachheads, firing artillery shells—memories punctuated by coughs from Ruby the parrot, who hated cigarette smoke. Kytt scribbled as fast as she could every bit of conversation in her notebook.
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“What are you doing?” whispers Joe.
“Sleeping. Until you kicked me.”
“You’re a messed up sleeper, then.”
“Huh?”
“You keep playing footsie and stuff.”
“Gross. I’d never play footsie with a dude. Go back to sleep.”
“What kind of socks are you wearing?”
“Socks? Are you stoned? It’s like forty degrees in here.
Addie Thatcher was in the wrong place—according to old people, anyway.
They claimed that on Christmas Eve, every child should be asleep in their bed, but Addie found herself downstairs long before dawn. Giggling, she pointed her flashlight at the foot of the tree where an enormous gold-and-red package sat, screaming her name.
I was indoors but surrounded by snowflakes, my heart pounding. Did a blizzard wreck the roof? No, I was in a theater and about to perform in The Burton School of Dance’s 1995 production of The Nutcracker.
My best friend Jasmine was the Snow Queen. “Snowflakes together!” she stage-whispered, pumping her fist.
I hefted my dad’s old army binoculars back into position and scanned the yard for our target. No one wanted to acknowledge the truth, but the facts were undeniable.
“How long we gotta keep this up, Mikey? It’s cold up here, and we only got the one binoculars.” Calvin rubbed his mitten-covered hands together and scowled from behind the coils of his knitted scarf.
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