Havok Publishing

Tag - insects/bugs

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The Wizard’s Library

That blasted bookworm is at it again.
I can hear his little munch munch munch all the way from the other side of the library. My mentor, Wizard Owyn, has told me countless times to ignore it while I am in his library. But I can’t help it—the wretched grub is eating the

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Burnt and Beautiful Things

Detective Caspian cupped the brittle gray blossom in his hands. That it had once been a rose was hardly believable. As he handled it, the petals crumbled to ash.
The ocelot beside him nudged his elbow, and he held the mess of gray dust out to the wild cat.
“Leslie, what do you think?”

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The Once-Stars

Many years ago, Caligo looked upon the Moon’s soft, silvery light with contempt. “You are nothing. You simply reflect the light of the Sun. Do you think you can protect the world from my darkness? The Sons of Night will destroy every last human until there is no one left.”
Transforming into a jaguar, Caligo

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A Thousand Wings

The monarchs fluttered about the bright orange milkweed blossoms. The color of their wings matched it perfectly, like a sunset shining from the bushes.
“This is going to be the perfect centerpiece for our presentation.” Penelope held the camera steady as she crouched forward. She scanned the ground, careful not to snap any

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Smoke and Mirrors

Gaela clacked down the street, heavy on her four legs after a long workday. Even her prickles ached. Her tabular dinged and a message floated up. She scanned the holographic text hoping her 338—er, 335—kids hadn’t eaten one another again. Because that’s what happened when there wasn’t enough money.

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The Hologram Hypothesis

Their footwork was flawless. Their abdomens vibrated at just the right rate. They executed each turn with precision. Every eye was on the golden dancers, mine most of all.
I was halfway to proving my hypothesis about bee communication. PhD, here I come.
Dr. Young shrugged. “At least this bee hologram

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A Shoot In The Dark

Miles—scarab beetle and humble photojournalist—strained to listen. He glanced at the surrounding trees, spectral colossi in the moonlight. A fallen log sat rotting, just ahead.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Calvin—atlas beetle and journalist—stood stock still. His three horns curved upward in a graceful silhouette against the dark horizon.

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Always Beauty

Bright signs decorated with gleeful peaches and grinning ears of corn advertised a local fall festival down the road. Tempting. Justin was more than ready for a break. The constant whoosh of hot air blasting through the car’s open windows for three days made for two cranky children. Cranky father, too.

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A Looting At Rhino’s

Few places in Scarabburgh were built for Atlas beetles. Rhino’s Pawn was no exception.
Calvin ducked through the door, taking care not to snag his horns—two on his thorax and one on his head—on the narrow, wooden frame.
A short rhinoceros beetle stood behind the counter, a ring through the horn on his head.

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