“Isolde, listen to me!” My older brother’s grip on my arm tightens as he pulls me toward the staircase. “The lifeboats are our only chance. This ship is sinking, and we both know it’s not because of a blasted iceberg!”
I halt, making him turn. “Alaric, the passengers… They’re going to die because of us.”
Morning’s pale light radiates through the cracks in the storehouse where I sleep, and I lean into the comforting warmth. The air is silent and still. Heavy with expectation. My stomach pinches in hunger and I tuck my legs to my chin, whimpering. Wait for the pain to pass.
Pain. One.
I’m late.
My sandals slap against the cobblestones as I hasten to my post. Scents of olives, fish, and fresh bread assault my nostrils. My stomach rumbles.
I stop at Clelia’s stand, a simple board set atop old barrels. She has the best takeaway food of anyone in the city.
April 27, 1986
The comforting notes of Babushka’s music box make my heart shatter.
What would she have thought, standing in her granddaughter’s shoes, watching the sky morph as radiation pours into the air? Even in the pain, I imagine she would’ve known what to do. How to help. How to make a difference.
“Reginald!”
At ten years old, I was well-versed in my mother’s acoustic range and recognized this dangerous pitch. I peered out from under my covers—the clock announced “8:00 a.m.” in bright red. On a Saturday morning. Why was I already in trouble?
Panic pulsated through me.
“Show me how to save Jem!” Sorcha snarls.
“Call off your men first.” I match her glare, ignoring the ropes chafing my wrists. “I want to speak to your leader.”
It’s my fault Sorcha’s brother is hurtling through the time vortex in a wayward time machine, bound for God knows where… and
When I emerged from my coffin to stalk the darkness, I didn’t expect to find inspiration.
I strolled through a graveyard under a blanket of night. The gravestones glowed a ghostly gray luminescence under the gaze of the full moon, and shadows jittered with ghoulish glee as the boughs of trees swayed
Theodore Roosevelt clicked the hammers back on his double-barreled shotgun. The mustache atop his upper lip crinkled in a defiant sneer. “Steady, Bill. The hunt’s underway, and we’re the hunted.”
A low moan echoed amongst the ominous hilltops, climbing into an ear-wrenching wail that rattled my bones. I lifted my rifle and
Steve leaned against the wall of the elevator and checked his watch. Just a few minutes after 2 a.m. A weird time to be alone with Genghis Khan and Cleopatra, but as a late-night standup comic, he’d seen stranger things. Maybe the situation would provide good material for his next bit. Sure sounded like
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Easing my pale arched wings through the insistent wind, I watch the Last-Spoken far beneath me. Soft-skinned bodies frolic on the warm sands. They drift and splash in the teal waves that crest around them. On a day this clear, little separates the blue of the sky from the reflection coloring the watery expanse
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I knew I would regret taking Cuthbert Devereaux’s navigation advice.
When my old nemesis butted into my mission in Nazi Germany, he brought nothing but trouble. It’s entirely his fault we landed in colonial Australia. Now we’re trussed like roasted chickens and propped against a pile of dusty saddlebags in an outlaw camp.
There was a girl… in my bed.
Great, another “weary traveler” Dex decided to help. Huffing, I tossed my purse onto the bucket chair beside my door. “Guess I’m not getting a nap anytime soon,” I grumbled as I tiptoed to my closet. After wrenching a neon purple jumpsuit off its hanger…
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