“Are you still working on that thing?” Mauldin shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and eyed the hunk of metal parts his brother was attempting to jimmy rig together.
“Yep.” Pablo paused and tilted his head. Pursuing his lips, he bent his head the other way. After a moment, his face
I have never seen a vegetable like this in all my days. Is it a vegetable? A fruit? So purple! Oblong with a fibrous green stem. And there’s a crate of them on the tavern’s loading dock.
Tobias probably traded for them. He always does this—trades junk to some tinker out of
Min’s hands shook as she applied the final layer of icing. She’d longed to present the dragon cake at the festival of Hero Bai—but not like this.
Not when the Horde saw it as another Ki’anin treasure to defile.
Not when the deliverance of her people rested on her deception.
Not when the cake
If Remy didn’t know any better, she’d say they were heading farther into Lord Filch’s fortress instead of toward its exit.
The dull blare of an alarm punctuated Remy’s footsteps as she followed Kyanne through the servants’ passageway. Only Axel’s hand in hers kept her noodle legs from collapsing. “Kyanne,” Remy gasped, “where exactly are we going?”
All Remy wanted to do was hurl the cobbler at Lord Filch’s smug face. Instead, she gave him her brightest smile and a big slice.
“Delcio cobbler, sire.” She stepped back to join the other servant, an older woman named Kyanne, at the tapestried wall of the dining room. “Made with fresh fruit
“We walked into a war zone for a leaf?” Axel crossed his arms.
Remy scanned the trees for folha, one of the many ingredients they’d left camp to find. The bark was sadly free of green vines.
Her stomach growled. Though the emerald canopy hid the sun overhead, Remy guessed it was around midafternoon,
He smelled of cinnamon raisin bread, fresh out of the oven on a crisp autumn afternoon at Grandma’s place. And I hated it. I mean, forget about being a covert secret agent. How was I supposed to concentrate on undermining a criminal mastermind when my own agent partner—and brother—smelled like
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Hot. Smoky. Sweet with an acidic tang. So fresh-from-the-oven it made your mouth water.
Ginger.
I groaned. So much for Aruba. There’s no way the boss would let me go out of town with a gingerbread man on the loose in Cityville. And after I’d just packed my new swim trunks, too.
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Doyle glanced around and nudged the fishmonger.
“Do you have the… goods?”
The fishmonger nodded. “Aye.” He slipped Doyle a parcel wrapped crudely in brown paper. “And, there’s a fine whiting,” he bellowed, pointing to a large, white fish lying on the table.
Did the man have to be so obvious?
Remy gagged as soon as the first spoonful touched her tongue. “You call this food?”
What should have been delicious soup was mildly acidic, flavorless, and the wilted airi leaves squelched in bitter bursts. She should’ve known how bad it would be by the scent, but she’d given Axel the benefit of the doubt. Wrongly.
“Final meal choice, Dunbar. What do you want?”
Vic Dunbar lifted his head. He’d thought long and hard, trying to decide between steak and spaghetti. “Got anyone who can cook a good steak?” Nothing beat Lady Love’s cooking, but beggars couldn’t be too picky.
Kate, his prison guard, narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’m going to be eaten!”
A frenzied shoulder shake jolted me from sleep. I sat up suddenly, wincing as the baby in my belly gave a swift, protesting kick. My niece, Cha-mi, stared at me with wide eyes.
“Eaten?” I sputtered. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes welled.
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