The fierce storm had run its course by morning. Scores of leaves now lay scattered on the ground in a thick pile of reds, oranges, and yellows. Only one remained attached to the old maple tree.
Leaf clung to the tree’s highest branch, stem battered but intact.
The fallen leaves started to dry
My boyfriend’s eyes light up as he catches sight of the 1981 Thunderbird I just inherited from my grandfather. I figured Michael would be impressed with Blue Bob, given his freakish obsession with repairing old cars. However, I’m afraid even Michael can’t handle Bob’s special quirks.
Michael’s chiseled face stretches into a Zac Efron
I revved my motor and slipped out of park, checking the glowing digits of the clock on my nightstand. 2:59 a.m. I’d woken just in time. It’s tough to be a crime-solving teenage car. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a little sleep.
But I had a mystery to solve.
Kyle yelled as a tendril of vine lifted him off his feet, whirled him through the air, and deposited him in a breathless heap on the ground.
Gritting his teeth, he sprang back up and raised his axe. The vines drew back, their long cords moving like fingers, preparing for another assault.
“Of course, it’s genuine.” I rub my sweaty palms together in a vain attempt to relieve my tension. “This is a worthy trade.”
This is the one. Surely this old farmer will deliver me from my burden.
“Burden, am I?”
Orc fumes! Not a moment’s peace.
“This isn’t a jolly jaunt for me either, Master.”
“Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.” Roe strapped on his belt and gave his sword, Mike, a pat.
“Ow.” Mike huffed. “I told you. No touchy-touchy.”
“Somebody’s grumpy today.” Roe pulled on his boots and stretched. Nothing was going to sully his fine mood, not even his sort-of-faithful sword he’d stolen…
A grating roar shook the earth as if the apocalypse had just dropped a mixtape featuring cat yowls and broken dreams.
The dust bunnies bounced away in terror, desperately searching for hard-to-reach corners to hide from the Terror Which Is the Vacuum Cleaner. Spencer shivered in fear. A massive pair of slippered feet trudged slowly across the carpet, pushing the tool of destruction closer and closer toward the bed.
Roy pulled the cover back and took a long look at Charlene. His heart pounded as he slid his hand along her backside. He figured she had rested long enough. “Wanna go for a spin, baby?”
Charlene was in pristine condition, with all original parts, right down to her factory color—hugger orange with twin white rally stripes. She was his dream car—a 1969 Camaro Z/28.
The world jerks violently, snapping me out of my trance. At first, I’m too stunned to think.
The place I’ve woken in is dark. Enclosed. Unfamiliar.
Panic shoots through me, and I reach toward the walls shutting me in so tight I can barely move. The familiar fabric of my red sequined dress, tough and frilly, presses against my legs. But it’s a small relief.
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