Gods, I hate the overworld. It’s bad enough that everyone mistakes me for the goddess of death. I’m only the keeper of souls—and I didn’t even ask for that job.
Also, everything up here makes me sneeze.
I hold in another one as I look around this stupid hippie commune. My sister,
The cave entrance was obsidian black, even in mid-afternoon with the sun shining behind me. A wisp of a cool breeze hit my face. Beckoning. Warning. I ventured forth, drawing my sword from its sheath. A single torch lit the terra path before me as I weaved my way into Athena’s temple,
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Twenty-four hours to weave garments fit for a queen. Arachne’s hands shook as a guard shoved her into the small weaving room and slammed the door shut behind her. She looked up at the massive heap of purple chaff just ahead, covering the shadowed floor in front of her.
This is what I get.
Halfway up the drive of his sprawling estate, Master Oros encountered the first silver statues. Sunlight slid over them in a soft yellow hue, matching the shimmering, golden tips of his own fingers.
The front gate guards stood motionless, bent over, hands clasped to their knees
Sometimes I stand gazing into my mirror for hours, hoping (fearing?) I’ll fall victim to my own trick and end this pain.
It never works.
I’m now surrounded by mirrors. The sunlit courthouse glitters, every judge and juror holding one. They cannot look at me, so they use the mirrors to glimpse my reflection.
Minotaurs are dangerous enough when they ain’t toting semi-automatics. These young bulls are looking to cause trouble, and I just want lunch.
“My gumbo’s getting cold, Quigley.”
“I don’t care about your stupid gumbo, LaFaye.”
My partner has no soul. He’s crouching behind a wooden shed with me, both of us surrounded
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Mind, there’s nothing inherently surprising about finding a drunken old man in the royal garden. I just never expected to see one eating Grandpa’s roses. Horribly undignified behavior for the most respectable house in Phrygia. I leaned over my balcony rail, fumbling through my mental lexicon for the appropriate words to address this situation.
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The bounty hunter turned to stone, hatred etched permanently on his features. Veyja stumbled away as the reptilian mass that passed for hair among her kind hissed in satisfaction. Her hand went to her throat and came back stained with a tiny drop of blood drawn by the tip of the hunter’s dagger.
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“You have to admit, Ramses, this round of The Demigods of Demolition was awesome. Watching Hercules pin Nessus the Centaur in three rounds was amazing,” Bernie said.
We were waiting for a taxi and hiding from the varied rush of people and creatures leaving Asterian Arena, home to the Alliance of Legends Wrestling Federation. I’d never seen my partner so animated.
Hundreds of intermeshed triangles emanated from Veyja’s hands, then locked with those of her fellow shieldmages to form a glowing wall. The first wave of scalewolves crashed into the barrier. Blood and spittle sprayed into the air. Veyja winced at the impact, but the wall held firm.
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I bury my fingers in the crumbling dirt. The world around me is a dry, desolate place with the broken earth burning into my bare legs where my pleated skirt does not reach. The sun beats down upon my breastplate. Even my own tears have dried out.
The only liquid in sight is Jayson’s blood.
Finding Seph was the easy part. She wore pomegranate-colored sneakers that glowed like taillights in the receding summer light. Stopping her was trickier. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she ran down the boardwalk along the ocean, seagulls following close and squawking at her.
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