“Ah, I did say I would match you drink for drink, didn’t I?” Nathaniel Markson sways as he pulls another whiskey off a passing server’s tray. His flushed cheeks are evidence that he’s had far more drinks beyond the three with you.
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The first thing that struck Rell was the silence. It wasn’t the absence of sound. No. The crowd still breathed, shifted, whispered. But the shape of it. A hollowed silence, like lungs emptied and waiting to be refilled. It gathered around the
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Have to get out of here. No time to waste. I weave through the long corridors at the edge of the army base, counting turns, counting breaths.
The vials jangle in my pockets, though I’d wrapped them in paper before leaving the lab. If they break
The crowd cheered, and confetti fluttered through the air as people gathered on either side of the street. Trevon pushed with his elbows through the bodies blocking his path, gently cupping the treasure he held in his hand. Men and women grimaced as he passed,
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Robbing Karl Schmidt should have been easy. He was staggering drunkenly as I stalked him through the moonlit streets. Instead, he snorted when I demanded his money, pulling out two empty pockets. “Somebody beat you to it, you rogue.” He squinted his blue eyes.
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Marley was dead. Each nail in his coffin bore witness to that.
It was a dreary affair, his funeral. There were no mourners—practically no living souls save the minister, two grave diggers, and Scrooge. Yes, Scrooge. Covetous old sinner! Preoccupied solely with why
Beyond the laughter of the party and the company of her odious fiancé, Kytt crept through silent halls until she came to a door. There were many doors, but this one bore a Stormer & Sons detector lock. Her source was correct: Sir Dorian Gray was hiding something.
She pressed one ear to the polished wood. Nothing.
“You have so much beautiful art here, Dorian,” she said between kisses, running her fingers through his golden hair. “It must have taken you a long time to acquire it all.”
If you only knew. He pressed his lips against hers again. “A long time and a lot of money. But none of it is as beautiful as you, Victoria.”
A bejeweled ukulele strapped over her shoulder, Harmony Starr invites me inside her condo—at least in the sense that it has walls. It still feels like outside, with potted ferns and exotic plants dominating the living room. Chittering rodents and songbirds scurry and flutter among them. Certainly a creative use for her trust fund.
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High noon at Cato Pass, dust billowing from horse hooves and stalled stagecoach wheels. No wind to blow it down the valley, out of the lungs of the passengers or the outlaws.
Ty herded the travelers against the sheer red walls of the canyon. The driver, his guard, and an elderly woman and her
“Ethel! It’s me! I’m at the Capri-Whitestone.”
No one stayed at the Capri-Whitestone for pleasure. The motel was the city’s most notorious site for drugs, prostitution, and public intoxication. With Hilary Cotton it could be any of the three. Or maybe all of them at once.
“What now?” Ethel asked.
“I can’t say
Ethel Grieves did not do dresses, yet here she was, in a dress. A ballgown, no less. It was midnight blue which paired beautifully with her elbow-length black gloves. She refused to wear pointed high heels like the other ladies, instead sticking with her regular black boots. The left one, a special gift
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