“Let’s not say anything about fireworks to Mossy.” Grandma arches a brow as she carries a platter overflowing with red, white, and blue striped donuts to the front door. “I would hate for anyone to lose a finger today—or a talon.”
An emerald blur shoots through the open window, warbling a made-up song…
Every spring, the past called Cheroth back to a land that did not want her, compelling her against reason or need. She swept low over the tree line and into full view of the village, beating her wings in the slow rhythm of one trying to suppress hope. A woman caught her shadow and looked up.
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I just needed two more minutes!
“Come on!” I whispered to my masterpiece. Four minutes left on the clock for the challenge. Once my timer beeped, I’d have just enough time to plate it for presentation to Chef Gordy Lynn.
I quadruple-checked everything was ready on the nearby counter. I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
I admit I screamed the words: “If there ever was a time to speak up when the minister says that bit about why this couple shouldn’t be joined together in holy matrimony, it was to tell him you’d turn into a rat on our honeymoon!”
“I thought that was just for the people
Groundhogs are the worst—but not for the reasons you might think. Sure, they’re annoying pests. And they have a talent for wrecking my yard and tearing up my carefully tended garden. But my hatred for the large rodent stems from something far greater: their deviousness.
It all started when Mayor Jones decided
I’m sure as a child you heard one of the many versions of “Little Red Riding Hood” that circulate the globe. While most of them do introduce three true characters in that event—a girl cloaked in red, a nefarious wolf, and a sick grandmother—none of the tales you’ve heard include me.
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“And what can I do for you, Tilli?” Dr. Miranda asked.
The gnome youth sat across the desk from her, a wisp of a girl with pink hair and delicate features. While she still had her gnomish dewdrop-shaped eyes and purple skin, she was currently the height of a human teenager
The black owl spoke into Vjun’s ear. “Are you sure you can do this?”
The vampire hunter rolled his eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes, I’m sure.”
He crept up a hill through dark trees, making his way by moonlight, Aryana perched on his shoulder. He held a crossbow, already loaded with a bolt dipped in fae blood.
Two minutes until the session begins, and the folding chairs circling the gym are already filled. It’s going to be a long night.
Horatio’s seated to my left, which is good. Of all my patients, he tends to be the most level headed. Last session, Frank had that chair, and he packs
I may look like the average Weimaraner, but I play a mean violin. I pick the strings, Scratch strums her zither, and Blizzard keeps time with his hooves. The sun sets on the horizon. Our animal band wraps up another day of jamming together in our overgrown, dilapidated cottage.
I sniff and…
The market is an organ pulsing with life. Beating with the hearts of hundreds, thousands of people. Beating with the laughter of happiness and friendship. Palpitating with the cries of sorrow. The exertion of merchants as they compete to sell mounds of golden turmeric, blood red paprika and earthy cinnamon. Trinkets.
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Great colleagues are worth fighting for.
My partner and I have been looking for a case to solve for weeks, and I’ve finally stumbled upon something. “Constable Yo-yo, have you seen the mummified crocodile for sale?”
“Maaah,” bleats the constable.
When initially partnered with a rove goat two months ago I asked,
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