“Kytt! Wake up!”
A sharp slap of pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt into a sitting position.
“What happened?” I massage a throbbing spot on the back of my head. “My glasses! Where are my glasses?” Panic sets in; I’m as good as dead without my glasses.
“So everybody was panicking and stuff,” Joe Enza said, his paunchy midsection protruding from under the unit. “Finally I asked them, ‘Did any of you bother to check the breaker box?’ Lo and behold, the breaker was flipped. I wrote the bill, but I made sure to hit them for another twenty bucks just
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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.
Keep the clock running, Aria. Mother’s words spun through her head like the thick white snowflakes tumbling around her.
Aria Clockkeeper adjusted her grip on the icy key and fumbled with the lock on the clock tower door. Her huff of irritation froze in the air.
“Need help with that, Ari?” Will’s
Agent Rand once said the holiday season brings people together like the crowds of merry New Yorkers seventy floors below. While my FBI partner might not have worried about forging willy-nilly attachments, I was content keeping to myself. Otherwise, I might’ve been easily manipulated in situations like this atop the Rockefeller Center.
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“I can’t believe you hacked the store’s security cameras,” Sophie said in awe. The laptop screen illuminated Caleb’s dark apartment. In the bottom right corner, a tiny display read 12:57.
“Child’s play.” Caleb puffed his chest out. “In fact, I hacked everything. I can run the whole show from this laptop. Of course, it helps that management actually trusts me.”
Wisely they leave graves open for the dead
‘cos some too early are brought to bed.
I flung the last shovel of dirt over my shoulder and climbed out of the hole. Tossing the shovel to the ground, I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from my back pocket.
“How many more this week?” I asked.
I panted, clutching my side as I pressed my back into the parking garage wall. I stared down at the bloody gash across my forearm. Dark veins branched from the cut.
My head spun. I was infected. I studied the progression of the dark veins. Veining became obvious in Stage Two? Stage Three?
So many humans seem to love their fairy tales more than their own world. They wish yourselves back to the days of knights and princesses, dragons and mermaids….
Well, this mermaid is happy to have progressed beyond that. I for one am delighted with the opportunities these modern times give. I’ve learned so much…
“My name is Jean-Luc Beaufoy. I am a vampire. I am old enough that it is impolite to ask how old I am, and these are my memoirs.”
I scowl at the words illuminated on the screen. What a boring way to start a story. Informative, yet lacks pizzazz.
I’d only wanted to disappear for a time, not be forgotten forever.
I grip the chalk with every muscle in my tired fingers. It scrapes my plea against the pavement in a desperate shade of blue. Mom or Dad will notice me this time. I lean back and rub my sore knees.
Jane poked at the arrangement of boulders that formed an archway in the middle of the room.
“This is the portal?” She lifted her glasses and peered at one of the boulders. “It doesn’t seem like it should stay upright, and yet it appears solid.”
“Don’t try to understand Xaether magic,”
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