There’s a child missing. A boy.
From time itself.
That’s what Luke said.
“Children don’t just vanish,” I told him, sitting at my kitchen table sipping coffee.
“Actually, they do, and may the Earl Grey be with you,” he replied, while looking with confusion at my coffee cup. “Waffles have do you?”
This is—what do the humans call it? —Heaven, Therrus thought. I can be myself and still be around the humans and all the great stuff!
The convention hall teemed with humans, many of them dressed up as various characters from the Earthan sci-fi media Therrus
Earth Station 23
The temperature systems hummed.
I tapped my knuckles against my palm, trying to think, but getting nothing but tightness in my chest and throat.
Stinging in my eyes.
Therrus had told me once that tears, fascinatingly, were the universal expression of grief… Human, Civaran, Klibian…
That didn’t help right now.
Luke’s six-fingered hand trembled as he poured foamed milk with precision into the inky black liquid—each muscle begging to be the first to perform the long-awaited act. He had only read about making an espresso macchiato in his Human Studies courses, but now he was here on Earth, hiding his Civaran hand beneath caffeine-resistant gloves,
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Dorian staggered as he dropped unceremoniously from the portal. With one hand, he clutched at the strap of the leather portrait tube slung on his back, ensuring that its precious cargo survived the trip. With his other, he gripped the scroll containing the spell that brought him to this place.
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The tip of the civen blade hovered above my loathsome face for only a moment before shattering it. In the same moment, the pressure within me burst. Again and again, I stabbed my proxy monitor in a frenzy that opened a flower of blackness within the frame. My senses dimmed, and I pitched forward into that dark blossom.
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“I will sing the pain away,
Hold your trembles, night or day.
You’re more than broken wings and cries,
You’re stardust born to touch the skies.”
Harmony sang, her blue eyes glistening, “You can do it, Birdie!”
Birdie had fallen from his nest a week ago and was finally strong enough to fly
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
“Save the world… again?” Miriel stroked the white hair between her faithful St. Bernard’s ears. The hulking brute glanced up at her, rolling his eyes, mouth agape.
Oh, you think you’re too old for this, do you, Matteo? she mindspoke to him.
The cantankerous canine nodded his agreement and lay his chin over his
Miriel prided herself on noticing things others didn’t. Like the way the Grieves girl was concentrating more on a young man jogging through the park than on her chess match with the elderly gentleman in front of her. And the way the jogger, when he passed Greives by, gave a slight turn
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Just pick one!
“If I pick the wrong one, everyone dies.” Miriel focused on the bomb in front of her. Sweat beaded her temples. She tracked a green wire as it twisted and dove through the tangle of red, yellow, and white wires.
That one. She took a deep breath, then yanked the wire
“It’s worse than we thought.” Ethel leaned over the ancient oak table and plucked a sweet, still warm tigernut ball from the tray. Her family’s favorite Egyptian chef had prepared it only a few hours ago… Well, technically four thousand years ago… in ancient Egypt. These were the perks of a crime family
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