Therrus wanted to hate the cold.
Thick snow spilled over the tops of his snow boots, soaking his socks and numbing his shins and feet. The frigid air assaulted him, stinging his hidden scales and causing his holographically projected skin to turn bright red. He took a deep breath, the wintry Connecticut chill sharp in his lungs
“You, too?”
Therrus ignored the she-human who spoke although he couldn’t help noting her voice was young-sounding, wry, and almost laughing, but with an edge of something else.
Something what? Didn’t concern him. The number one rule for Civarans visiting Earth: do not under any circumstances engage with the humans.
“Agent Therrus, are you insinuating your cover has been compromised?”
I opened my mouth but swiftly shut it again. Is that what I’m trying to say?
The hologram of my Earthan Initiative contact lifted an impatient brow. Intergalactic calls were tricky as well as costly. When initiated, it was better to keep them “short and sweet” as humans said.
Lyra’s greatest desire was to write a story worthy of Miriel Takkenridge.
Three years ago, when Lyra first moved to Bridgewater Falls as an aspiring writer, Miriel took her in. Since then, she had shared the magic in her life with Lyra.
Like the bookshelf that sometimes opened to distant lands. Or the meringue
Brava folds her arms and glares at Frana. “Is this necessary?”
Frana scowls. “You aren’t wearing armor to your wedding. I forbid it.”
“I’m a soldier.” Brava glances at the Multiversal Bridal Boutique. Elegant wood paneling, a carved sign that marries electricity and magic. The proprietor’s from a fantasy world, backwards places
“Phezz recognized you as soon as you stepped through the door. Called me next thing. Interdimensional travel is nice and fast.”
“I—”
A calloused hand cups her chin.
Vey blinks, too ashamed to meet her best friend’s eyes.
“Don’t you think you’ve been running long enough, Zhemi?”
“I betrayed you, Davis.” Betrayed them
“Phezznibbet Maplebark, we’re Xintixa. We’re not meant to be heroes.” Tilly folded her front paws across her chest, pushed her pointed nose into the air, and twitched her bushy hazelnut tail.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t contribute,” Phezz argued. “I bet I’m braver than anyone amongst the larger races, despite being a quarter their size.”
“Hello!” I flounced over to another group of people before anyone from the first could respond. “Hello!” Seeing their confused expressions, I chuckled and skipped down the sidewalk.
When I heard a woman speaking Spanish into her cell phone, I couldn’t help but exclaim “¡Hola! ¡Soy Leah!” She glared at me, but I was too giddy to care. I had a bet to win.
November 9. The best and worst day of my life.
I paced my minuscule apartment, plagued by a frenetic excitement that made my fingers twitch and gut clench. Outside, a frigid, torrential downpour assaulted Portland, obscuring the cityscape.
Dad’s ringback music played in my ear. On the last note, he picked up.
“’Ello?” He sounded almost… groggy.
When someone dies, the general assumption is that they will stay dead. But every Day of the Dead, the laws of time and nature look the other way, and deceased relatives can drop by for family reunions.
Deceased relatives like myself.
I waited at the end of the driveway where my family lived. Reynolds stood by me with his arms crossed.
October 29. National Cat Day. Once a holiday for sharing feline photos on social media but now a day of remembrance. The day I singlehandedly averted an interplanetary crisis and the world changed forever.
It started out as a normal, autumn morning. Felix and I had just finished breakfast on the patio.
The holes in the bottom of my shoes don’t irk me no more. My feet had gotten tough even before all this walking. ’Cause when the honeybees got sick—Mama said they was dropping like flies—food got scarce. People got hungry and then sick like them honeybees. And when people didn’t know…
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