“Tell us a story, Gwandpa!”
The old man smiled at the two curly-haired kids, Adley and Bianca, on the floor in front of him, a pipe clasped between his fingers. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
“Tell us another story
The zombies had the stronghold surrounded. But what else was new?
Kicking my feet up on my desk, I clicked on my handheld recorder. “This is Commander Corinthia II—that’s ‘Cori’ to my friends, ‘Commander’ to the rest of you—with an update on our situation. It’s day…” I glanced at the walls of my concrete room. The hordes of tally marks looked like the desperate clawing of the undead. “…day unknown of The Z Siege. The Oasis is holding up fairly well.” What could zombies do to a concrete fortress in the middle of a desert? Arm themselves with cactus battering rams and charge?
“Is this gonna hurt?” A wet bead crept down my neck. I wiped it off. Smeared it across my T-shirt.
“No more than a broken heart.” Magnus gave a boisterous laugh.
I forced a smile. Scary-lookin’ dude. He could do more than hurt me.
The bald behemoth winked, then sat next to me,
I haven’t slept in three days.
I don’t dare. My chin quivers. “God help me not to slip.”
The accursed journal lies on the floor where I flung it last night. It’s skillfully bound, with crackled leather and twisted knotwork burned into the cover. A cover that should remain forever closed.
Dear Josh,
I hope you enjoyed Italy. I hear the coast is beautiful this time of year, and after that trouble with the gas main below your building and all the strange sounds coming from your upstairs neighbor, you certainly deserved a vacation!
As we agreed, I stopped by your apartment every other day
Derek sprints out the door with a handful of cash. Sweat beads trickle down his forehead. Black glasses fog above the facemask that hugs his chin and shields his mouth. The mask slips down his nose, dangling just over his lips as he hustles to his rusty pickup truck. Police sirens wail in
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As soon as I saw the tweet, I knew he’d be coming after Bridgett. And I’d be damned if I was going to let that happen.
“Can’t wait to meet my favorite author, @BridgettKuzminsky, tonight at Chi-Town FanCon! #DragonAngels5 is the best one yet. I’ve read it three times. I have a special something
She’s not coming, says the Wolf. It prowls outside my cottage door, snuffling.
I cower into my blankets. How big is it today? Large enough to blow down the door and swallow me whole in an instant?
I can’t let it in.
It’s Friday, the Wolf continues. She never comes on Fridays.
I first suspected she had a demon when I was twelve. I’m thirteen now, but when I was twelve, our dog Barkley started acting funny around her. At first, he followed her around everywhere—even the bathroom—instead of napping all the time on Mom’s bed.
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It was a dark, moonless night, and there was nowhere else to go. No bar in town stayed open this late. And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he had parked his car. He eyed a broad icy park bench by the sidewalk. It looked infinitely more attractive than his
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Crossing my arms, I scowl at his gravestone. It’s a struggle to keep this aria of screams and sobs inside the icy wind of my mind instead of releasing it into the icy wind around me. He’d only seen me cry once; I’m not going to cry now.
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I hopped onto the bus with music still bouncing through the wires in the back of my head. The hydraulic hiss of the door cut off the cries of the doctors running to catch me. I waved at them as the bus pulled out and joined the flood of neon San Diego traffic under the rose gold sky.
The visual should have been concerning, but, hopped up as I was, the pearl white road and amber horizon seemed more or less normal. People ogled me with dark faces rimmed in blues and reds.
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