Agabus the gnome rushed into the hallway and leaned against the wall. “That was close,” she panted, glancing over her shoulder. Another one of the queen’s booby traps Agabus just narrowly avoided. I must be getting close to her lair. To Tump.
Her eyes adjusted to the light provided by the torches.
If you had watched me in the kitchen, you would have thought me ordinary, just another wife preparing dinner.
I made everything the way Bob liked it. I roasted the turkey for three hours at 325 degrees, then took it out of the oven and let it rest for fifteen minutes before carving.
Gregory Martin rode into town mumbling, “Killed. Killed us all.”
He stumbled from his horse, staggered toward the frontier clinic, and collapsed. Within the hour, he was dead.
Roland Chadwick, Deputy U.S. Marshal, dispersed an inquisitive crowd and joined Dr. Vernon Mortimer inside his humble hospital.
The physician locked the door and shook
Min’s hands shook as she applied the final layer of icing. She’d longed to present the dragon cake at the festival of Hero Bai—but not like this.
Not when the Horde saw it as another Ki’anin treasure to defile.
Not when the deliverance of her people rested on her deception.
Not when the cake
My true love, Prince Corduroy, was a bear. I mean that in the nicest, kindest, and most loving sense. Thanks to the Committee’s vindictive curse, he transforms into a grizzly bear during daylight.
But I had kissed him!
“Shouldn’t that undo the curse?” I asked my best friend and fairy godmother, Amelia.
The groom’s lips twisted in a final death cry.
Someone in the wedding party called for a doctor, but US Marshal Roland Chadwick suspected the worst. As the wedding’s officiator, he’d heard both bride and groom swear till death do us part, but not even he could have predicted such a swift separation.
Every predator, no matter how strong, can meet its end.
I stared into the ornate, gilded mirror. People whispered I was obsessed with my reflection, that perhaps the mirror held magic properties that caused my vanity to need constant satisfying. What a ridiculous notion.
But the truth was stranger than
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Doyle glanced around and nudged the fishmonger.
“Do you have the… goods?”
The fishmonger nodded. “Aye.” He slipped Doyle a parcel wrapped crudely in brown paper. “And, there’s a fine whiting,” he bellowed, pointing to a large, white fish lying on the table.
Did the man have to be so obvious?
“Final meal choice, Dunbar. What do you want?”
Vic Dunbar lifted his head. He’d thought long and hard, trying to decide between steak and spaghetti. “Got anyone who can cook a good steak?” Nothing beat Lady Love’s cooking, but beggars couldn’t be too picky.
Kate, his prison guard, narrowed her eyes at him.
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