Comforting scents of spice, herbs, and fruits filled the wood-paneled room, cozy enough to distract from the cold rain—and the woeful news. Mistress Millet dipped a carved cup into the pot simmering over her fire, then shuffled over and set it in front of Ivy, who wiped away a tear she pretended
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My gaze followed the little girl as she approached the rear of the building.
Intriguing, I thought as I kept to the shadows. She wasn’t the type who normally stalked stage doors.
The girl sat on the steps twirling a dandelion puff, her eyes focused on the flower and her disheveled, curly brown hair
I don’t like Dycin.
It’s not the guide’s superior attitude that makes me dislike him either. He was raised by the Knowledge Keepers. Of course, he’s smarter than me. No. I dislike Dycin because despite his knowledge, he has no idea what he’s doing but presses on anyway. In fact, I suspect we’re lost.
They’d placed me as a grasshopper.
I hadn’t expected anything grand like a butterfly or firefly, but a grasshopper? They couldn’t even fly straight.
Sounds of festivity faded behind me as I stomped through the encampment, blood boiling and wings buzzing. The sound of festivity faded behind me; the last thing I wanted to do was
Nibbs lifted his Medula Inc. mug to his thinning mustache and sighed as the tangy notes enveloped him.
Ivy stuck her head around the cubicle wall. “I wouldn’t drink that. Puck’s been messing with the sugar again.”
Nibbs pursed his lips. He’d had it with that imp.
“I just took Madam Medula her
Trixie sighed and threw the imperfect blossom she’d just crafted. It landed in a pile of other discarded blooms.
“Why can’t I get it right?” she moaned, putting her head in her hands. The ancient wood of the table was a prime example of her great-great grandfather’s work. The aged pixie had been
Fae-burst had been banned in Anglia for over a decade, but Spencer knew for a fact he’d seen magic onstage tonight.
He peered around the shadowy backstage room. Illusionist dens like this were common in Anglia’s seediest districts, but only sleight of hand was allowed onstage. Fae-burst with its addictive qualities was strictly forbidden.
“Could you maybe… not do that?” I pleaded with the fairy as she zipped around the elephant pen.
I’m just an intern at Safari-Land Sanctuary and Tours, and arguing with pixies isn’t on my list of daily tasks—especially not when an important client is scheduled for a tour. I was finishing the
No flower could ever be prettier than Ederra. She stands underneath a kukka tree, rimmed by violet blossoms.
Stop staring, Zoran.
Hands sweating, I eye the buffet spread on the reception table. A plate of berry-topped taikinas makes my mouth water, but I’d rather not deal with cheek swelling and mouth burning today.
Nova curled her legs up and tucked her toes underneath her nightgown. Damp tears rolled down her face as she sat on her bed in the dark. The curtains were drawn, and the mirror was covered up, as always, but even that couldn’t blot out the reminder of her differentness, especially after today’s
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“Come now. You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Your colleagues speak most highly of your collection, professor. I’m certain that a few quotes and some pictures would do wonders for my book.”
The old man eyed his visitor. She was pretty and young, with a hint of some exotic heritage
“What will you wear to Flower Fest, Trudy?”
Amelia, my best friend and fairy godmother, flew into the room so fast I sidestepped to keep her from crashing into me. She did that a lot. I had colorful bruises to prove it.
“What will I wear? Clothes. A dress since we still haven’t
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