Lyra’s greatest desire was to write a story worthy of Miriel Takkenridge.
Three years ago, when Lyra first moved to Bridgewater Falls as an aspiring writer, Miriel took her in. Since then, she had shared the magic in her life with Lyra.
Like the bookshelf that sometimes opened to distant lands. Or the meringue
“Deedee Takkenridge, where have you been?” Miriel stood, hands on her hips, as her granddaughter rode up on a dog that was more polar bear than man’s best friend. She couldn’t help but notice Deedee looked like a princess from an animated movie she made Miriel watch the other night.
Deedee shrugged, as if
Disoriented, I sit up and nudge Matteo’s calico off my pillow. With a grunt and a stiff push, I ease out of bed and pull open the curtain. A hint of morning flushes pale shadows from the woods. With my canvas apron wrapped tight, I pull on the sweater by the door and slide
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A school is as good a place as any to hide from an interdimensional bounty hunter.
I sprinted down one side of a crumbling hallway while Zeke took the other, looking for somewhere secluded to try to fix the transporter.
Zeke’s dimension had been a lot like this one—similar to mine
“Never let crime lords get bored,” Ethel instructed her cat, Fresco.
The fluffy feline blinked his blue eyes. “Why?” a robotic voice projected from the small box attached to his collar.
“They always want more.” Her brain pieced together the words as if she were setting type, her raspy voice printing them out once
Given his lifetime as a master chef of interplanetary travel, Gurfin knew there was always magic in his ingredients. But this time, he did not know, nor did he really care, where they would land after the wormhole eventually opened.
Some recipes required mastery—others he created simply to taste. The stew before him
Phezz patrolled the forest’s edge, searching for ingredients. Er… trespassers. A welcome respite from the training grounds, where he spent endless hours instructing kits and running melee drills. After Acon—the runt of the litter—had nearly skewered him today, he decided to end the session early.
Phezz crouched low against the forest floor
“Name?” I ask.
“Zai Witz.”
“With a Z?”
“With two Zs!”
I rub the cheap pencil eraser against my clipboard, then write in the Z I’d missed. The S is still faintly visible, but I’m guessing this paper will go in the wastebasket anyway.
“And, where did you say you were from again?”
“Er’Rets,” I repeat for the third time.
The woman next to me, clearly imitating an over-the-top princess in her bejeweled blue and white dress, runs her fingers over the plaited strand draped over one shoulder. “It’s pronounced ‘Air-ruhn-dale’.”
“I’m not a simpleton. I know the kingdom from which I hail.” My father’s the head
I plummeted to the shadow-covered ground, quickly tucking into a roll. Then I leapt to my feet and dusted off my brick-red cloak. Gross, this better not be another prison cell.
Before I could explore any further, a huge hand grasped my hood and lifted
Spark’s reflection multiplied infinitely in the high-tech museum’s mirror maze. Each image wore the same chartreuse blazer and metallic pants he’d chosen specifically to stand out at the exhibition. Now he wished he’d worn something less conspicuous. Being the center of attention
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I had no problem leaving Spark Spaulding stuck in Albanue’s prison sewers. He was responsible for this mess, so I figured Spark could rely on advice he’d given before: “The worst prison is the one in your head.”
I didn’t count on his
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