I’m not robbing the witch. Or so I told myself while creeping toward her cottage by moonlight. What used to be her cottage, really—she’d died the day before. Earlier that evening, I’d heard the chanting of her coven from my home. After the
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At first glance, it looked like just another broken branch—one of many in the forest canopy due to the previous day’s windstorm. However, Phezz noticed it twitching within a tangle of vines in the fork of an ash tree. The Xintixa’s eyes widened. That’s no branch. Too round, too smooth, and there’s straw
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Leaning against a tree trunk, I nibbled on a roll—all I could afford at the market square—and mulled over how to move on from this village. Cursed to keep journeying lest some disaster befall me—be it a broken bone or housefire
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Samuel T. Clemens stared down the white sugar slope. He had a task before him that would cause many a man’s knees to melt. Not him though; he wasn’t some soft butterscotch cookie. No, his was a legacy of proud, hard, gingerbread men.
Samuel’s piercing green frosting eyes measured the distance. “Come on!”
The biggest problem with being a scarecrow brought to life was the publicity. Memories of my prior existence in the zucchini patch remained fuzzy, but I was fairly certain there were no interviews, cameras, mobile phones, or TV crews before the kid worked his magic.
“Come on, Edgar. It’s one night.”
The pen is mightier than the sword, they say. What they forgot to add is that the pen is often meaner, too.
“You wench! Do not put me beside that foul beast.” Pride and Prejudice squirmed in my hand, its pages fluttering as though it wanted to fly away. In honor of Canadian Library
Heart pounding, I scanned the abandoned castle courtyard where ancient stones lay scattered like forgotten memories. The harvest tournament would begin any minute. Should my foster brother enter without a sword… I swallowed hard, reconsidering whether to bring Sir Kay something that might imperil my own neck. He’d likely have my head either way.
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If I were the chatty type, I could share with you a great many stories. I was beautiful in my youth, rare and prized. There wasn’t a soul that did not desire to hold me. At first, it was thrilling. I held a power over others that few possessed. I could make a law-abiding man guilty, capable of committing the worst offense.
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Everyone knows you’re supposed to exchange sweets with loved ones on Valentine’s Day.
What no one had ever specified—probably for lack of a reason—was that those sweets probably shouldn’t be sentient.
My bad.
“Broomsticks and baubles!” I stood in the middle of the kitchen of my magical boarding school,
I have never lived through a wilder time than the summer when the guys of Mount Rushmore—George, Abe, Tommy, and Teddy—decided to form a boy band. I worked in the visitor center, and as far as any of us knew, the boys had never heard pop music. Yet one night Abe started belting out
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Helios gripped his resume. After an hour of waiting, the paper was somewhere between crumpled and wilting.
He attempted to smooth it out on his lap. It didn’t help. Maybe the Boss wouldn’t notice…
He glanced over the details listed under Education and Activities. Graduated from Celestial Gasses Academy—middle of the class.
Nadia had slept three nights in the house she’d inherited from her grandmother, and every night she had the same dream. Nightmare, really. She heard crying coming from the attic, and when she went to investigate, she found a three-foot-tall Japanese woman trapped in a wooden crate. Then the dream shifted,
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