After my brother Barney and I complete the second wrapping of tinsel, we spread out Mami’s lock-lid ornament tubs.
Barney nudges me. “So, Arnold, any thoughts on the job offer? I know, you’re an”—faux crystal bell in each hand, he air-quotes—“entrepreneur. You can still be your own boss. A boss that
The swamp has swallowed Mom whole.
I halt, feet lodged in muck. Cleo’s boots clomp clomp clomp as she keeps trudging along, splashing gray-brown water against my pants.
“Wait,” I say.
Cleo grips her pack straps with grime-streaked hands. “You can’t stop now, Clara. Mom needs us!”
If Mom needed us, she would’ve
“I don’t want to.” Annie tucked her hands under her arms, backing away from Grandma’s desk, her shoulders hitching up to her ears. “You can’t make me.”
Grandma looked at her with eyes full of sadness. “I know, dear. None of us want to. This is our purpose.”
Annie shook her head
“Who does she think she is? The daughter of a villain, trying to be a hero?”
A punch hit me square on the cheek, smacking my head against the road. Fingers tightened around my throat, and I struggled to breathe—an all-too-familiar feeling.
Decay’s superpowers activated. I gasped as my fingertips began to shrivel
Being one of the Seven Deadly Sins wasn’t supposed to be easy, but Pride thought it would be a heck of a lot simpler than this.
It started when his sister, Envy, bet that she could find one person he couldn’t taint. Seemed like a straightforward win, considering most humans were corruptible beasts.
Until Cresella.
I rushed to kick our jackets out of the way as Gran stepped through the front door. “Come in, Gran! Sorry about the mess.” I flushed. I had given this same apology every Friday night for ages.
I thought this might be the week we’d conquer the layers of detritus cluttering our apartment.
Doug’s phone slipped from his hand and skidded down the hillside below the hiking trail. He sucked in his breath with annoyance. “Screen’s probably cracked.” It had all his contact info on it, too.
Now how am I going to get it back? Can’t make it down there myself, not with my hip
Ah, Día de los Muertos. A day we set aside to honor our family members. To spend time with the living. To remember our dead.
Except they’re kind of hard to forget when their skeletons are staring at you from across the table.
“Well, Finny! Have you decided to follow in your pop’s footsteps
Waves sloshed below the old man as he sat at the pier’s edge, waiting. A face emerged from the sea, her hair as white as the foam on the wave crests.
“It is good to see you, Mr. Crispin. You have the boot?”
Puzzled as he always was during these exchanges, Crispin held it out.
Grandpa steered the hover-boat into a valley where salt and magic crackled around us, parting tall grass like waves in a sea. The clouds grew soupier, and I could feel the fish swarming overhead.
Decades ago, when enchantments slipped from the skies, the world had transformed. Suddenly, magic was real. And we could capture it.
Liam’s arms felt weighted as if carrying bags of sand rather than an empty rucksack. He swallowed back the doubt climbing up his throat.
This was for the best. His brother would be better off in an orphan’s home than homeless on the streets. Liam was only fourteen; he couldn’t provide for them both.
Family reunions, am I right?
I stalk through the crowd, the knives strapped to my thighs jangling with every step. Wizards spot me and clutch their oak staffs. Hardened warriors stroke their swords thoughtfully.
Sharp eyes rake me from my spiky raven hair to my black leather boots. I hold my head high.
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