“C’mon slow-poke, hurry up. We’re almost there,” Shard called, scrambling ahead. Her claws trampled over the fallen pines.
“Would you slow down?” Krag wheezed. His crooked wing trailed behind him like a torn sail. Why did she always have to rush ahead? As her older brother, shouldn’t he be leading her?
By Deborah Bainbridge I can’t believe I landed my red breeches in detention again. “Dia dhuit!” Mrs. O’Grady, a plump fiery-haired lady, walks past a row of my classmates and removes my green top hat by its gold buckle. “Third time this year, isn’t it, Skylar? You’re seventeen and as mischievous as the next leprechaun.
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Yohva chitters nervously beside me, white fur bristling down the length of her thorax. I whistle a few notes from a half-remembered lullaby and place a reassuring hand above her first pair of eyes. She settles into the shade of the smooth-stone building but keeps her focus on the tree line.
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Aryelle peered into the unearthly gloom of the Black Forest. She didn’t want to be here, but she also didn’t know of any other way that she, a mere girl of fifteen, could save her father from the dark dungeons of Lord Galdomé’s castle.
“Bring me a bag of gold from the dragon’s hoard
“Show me how to save Jem!” Sorcha snarls.
“Call off your men first.” I match her glare, ignoring the ropes chafing my wrists. “I want to speak to your leader.”
It’s my fault Sorcha’s brother is hurtling through the time vortex in a wayward time machine, bound for God knows where… and
“Tell me about Mean Todd, Grandpa—and how he died.” Dan grinned up at me.
It was a lazy, warm evening, and the air filled with the chatter of blind flies. The sun set in a red glow behind tired clouds.
I looked across my family’s drywick field to Mean Todd’s ramshackle farm.
Once more, the sun set on Reuben’s farm. Beneath the fuchsia sky, no kittens mewed, no cattle lowed. Eerie quiet filled the chicken coop, the barn, and even the doghouse. Not even birdsong broke the farm’s unnatural silence. To the east, however, the world began to stir as sunlight left its skies. Living creatures
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Frantic banging on her door shattered Shantel’s much-needed rest.
“Pastor! I know you’re here! Please come out!”
The banging continued.
“Coming!” she called. Dragging herself from the bunk, she opened the cabin door. Shantel shielded her eyes from the hot Bahamian sun, trying to remember her interrupted dream.
Charlie, Nassau’s lead immigration official,
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.
“You know, you’ve got this all wrong.” Aloysia glared at her unwanted visitor, who’d just burst into her tiny cabin in the heart of Germany’s Black Forest and announced his intention to “rescue” her.
The knight in shining armor stood in front of the twelve-year-old girl, his jaw slack, eyes bulging.
Honestly.
Martin awoke to a few unexpected discoveries, the first of which was finding himself suspended upside down from a tree branch. Considering his last memory was losing his footing and tumbling down a sharp embankment, this predicament came as a relief. After all, he wasn’t dead or grievously injured. So that was a plus.
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As the Imperial heir, Sergei received virtually all within our mother’s possession upon her death: title, wealth, lands—even the loyalty of her Court and Council. She ordered them to raise their hands and vow over her deathbed to support Sergei. Such an oath holds more power than any law.
Yet to my mother’s…
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