Death crept through the car park. Roddy rushed to the window, meeting his reflection in the pane.
Sunset.
To the naked eye, all was as it should be outside the intensive care unit. Doctors, orderlies, and visitors went about their business with no particular urgency. Roddy, however, knew different.
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Ávila de la Mora peered between the trees of Inverness Wood with a pigeon perched on her shoulder. “You’re sure this is the best entrance, Atlas?”
Yes, the pigeon cooed across their bond. The trinket is not far from here.
As soon as she crossed into the wood full of magical creatures and artifacts,
“Would you move, you worthless bag of feathers!” I put my full weight behind the shove I give my gryphon, but it’s no use.
He’s rooted. He’s staring. Strike that, he’s pining. He’s literally wiggling his feathery eyebrows… at her.
My forehead slumps against Griff’s furry shoulder.
Heather Dewslip ambles towards the green,
The blessed coffee cup is almost to my lips when the call comes.
“Linda, 10-91a. Fifth and Columbus.”
Carla. She’s one of the few cops open-minded enough to take me and my work seriously. 10-91a is the code for “stray animal.” In my case, though, it means something different. Carla leaves her mic on
I jolted awake, throwing the sheets off me as a familiar prickle crept across the back of my neck. Not again.
My bedside clock glowed.
2:00 AM.
I sucked in a shaky breath and let it out, then tapped the homing button strapped to my wrist. Hopefully, the Control Team would find me
The iksomi opens his mouth, and his cry pierces the thick, morning air. All gloom and pain strips away. The noise is rigid like a lyre string, warm like honey, and I let it fill my being.
His mouth snaps shut, pointed teeth curving over black lips. He stretches, arching his back
“How does one communicate with a sea spirit?”
High-pitched shrieks continued to reverberate throughout the vessel as I dropped the question on the engineer. My crew and I stood with plugs in our ears, but our methods to keep ourselves sane were failing.
“You’re asking me, an acoustical engineer, if I know how to talk to an invisible force
The dark market never changed. Even after sixty years, the rickety stalls seemed apt to blow over at a breath, and the sun unable to penetrate the dark shroud.
Penelope halted at the edge of the alleyway. Jack’s voice echoed in her head––“I want an orb!”––and her staunch response––
We have been in the shelter for an hour, but it feels like a lifetime.
My tongue is thick, cotton-dry from disuse. Though my eyes have adjusted, the light is too dim to see my family’s expressions––just the faint outline of Mum’s slender nose, Finn’s trembling lips. My hair has unraveled from its braid,
Any minute. I knew he would show up. I stood at the forest’s edge, sweating in the humid, late afternoon air. Even at the end of the day, the summer heat sweltered.
A shadow moved among the trees. Finally! My proof.
I raised my disposable camera and took a photo. Oh, crud.
As soon as Mister Crockett found that sock on the floor of our dormitory, I knew we were in big trouble. Of all the teachers in the Reformatory School for Troubled Young Monsters, Crockett was the oldest, the meanest, and the wrinkliest.
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“Glitch, have you disabled that security system yet?”
I scowled, my radio squealing with feedback as Zephyrus shot past. “Give me a minute, geez. Have you ever hacked through a next-gen firewall while dodging actual fireballs?”
He just laughed. It always amazed me how he could laugh at times like this.
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