Akiak’s life was a tapestry of legends.
She knew it was Silla, Keeper of Sky, who glazed the night with northern lights when he was lovesick for the Sun. The tears Tapeesa shed for her lost daughter caused the tiny arctic flowers to bloom on the hillsides in the warm season.
Nobody knew precisely where the relics came from nor how those with the money and power to assemble such collections managed to locate them in the first place.
Yet Hal was certain of one thing—at some point he had robbed and swindled them all.
“Let me guess. You see yourself as…
“Plan on harvesting some wheat?” Jake asked, lifting a brow. “Or hacking your way through the jungle?” Trent snorted. I rolled my eyes. “This”—I proffered the scythe—“is a souvenir from my latest investigation.” “Another spirit taking issue with his new living conditions?” Jake paused. “Or, I guess, lack thereof?”
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They say in your last moments you see the faces of those you love. Yet as dark red stained through Coren’s tunic to the tips of his fingers, he wondered if he’d ever truly loved anyone. How much blood had he lost? Even with the pressure he applied, life escaped him like water through a cracked dam.
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After they stole my boots, they tied a necklace of dynamite around my throat.
Georgie, an unkempt prospector who stank like a skunk in a manure pile, knelt into the stream and lifted my pan, surveying its sandy contents as dawn glimmered orange in the fuming mist of Yellowstone hot springs.
I swim to the bar of the Trendy Anemone nightclub and hail the fuchsia-haired, green-skinned mermaid bartender, squinting at her name badge. “Hey, uh… Mara. What have you got that’s, uh, free?”
Amazing. I finally managed to telepath through a whole question without a drop leaking into my mouth. I probably moved my lips, though.
Please help me! A faint tinny voice pleaded.
“Athenis, did you hear someone?” I yelled above the buzzing alarms.
Athenis glanced up, her screen’s warning messages reflecting red on her scaly, humanoid face. “No. We’re the only ones securing this sector.” She continued nonchalantly swiping away alerts on her handheld interfacer.
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“The wax man’s face is melting off!” Another one for the list of weird things that I say with surprising regularity.
“Melting how?” James Prothero asks.
I scowl at him over my shoulder. “How many ways can I mean melting?”
“Are we talking Wicked Witch of the West or Ark of the Covenant?”
The gulls were the worst part. Daedalus had expected that, though not the reason why.
Often enough had he and his son, Icarus, seen those feathered thieves shrieking and snatching fish, fruit, or whatever else they could gobble along the Cretan shoreline. They’d had plenty of opportunity for such observations. Crete’s ruler
Are you the Beowulf who took on Breca in a swimming match on the open sea?”
The festive hall quieted. Unferth, that envious rat, who had remained silent throughout the hero’s introduction, now sought to sow discord. Beowulf’s boasts had convinced King Hrothgar, and everyone else in the mead hall, that he’d be
Save my son.
The plea echoed in Marek’s head, as dark and haunting as the forest through which he stumbled. His breathing labored—as did that of the unconscious child cradled in his arms.
“Come on, David, stay with me,” he begged.
Something rustled in the bushes ahead. Marek halted and squinted into
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
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