Fear Deren’s skin shook with every beat of his heart pounding out of his chest. His lungs felt bathed in ice and his muscles burned alive in acid. He kept running. The shadow at the back of his neck curled around his heart, squeezing, ripping, tearing at him as he fled. Anger Kren’s vision…Read more Emotions
I’d been to the desert before, but last time I traveled in “style”. A whole convoy arranged by my father, with gallons of ice water in every car. Enough for me and my bodyguards three times over. Not to mention the diplomats, politicians, and brown-nosers who followed Bradley-the-great-and-powerful all over Omnaesia. A good deal more…Read more Case File #1
“Where were you last night?” That question had an edge to it. The kind of edge that a samurai sword must have as one is about to commit ritual suicide. Terry could feel the edge dancing about his throat with every passing second he failed to answer his wife. She had nothing to worry about,…Read more Edge
I flicked the tip of my cigarette into the chipped china ashtray. Even in June I hated having the window open. I'm not supposed to smoke in my apartment building though, so, I guess I have to keep pretending to be a productive member of society. Another drag on the end of the fiberglass filter…Read more Ashtray
In a hall in Warsaw, a tall, wide and empty hall made of stone and glass; a hall which – at one end – sat an oaken desk with soft leather inlay, and brass knobs on the drawers; a hall which – at the other end – were two double doors, each as wide…Read more Long Live The King
Laura pounded away at the spongy astro-turf as she made her way around the inside of Lincoln High's track. It'd been an hour. Maybe longer. She hadn't brought her watch, but she'd counted about 50 times around the endless road. Maybe 48. Maybe 52. She lost count somewhere around 34, and had just guessed the…Read more Exhaustion
Aaron had never seen an angel before. He had seen pictures, and always thought the stained glass angels he used to see at church were kinda pretty. But he hadn't been to church in years, and he wasn't sure those would make a good reference even if he could remember them in any detail. Somehow…Read more Angels
The first line of the book is always hardest to write. That’s what my dad said anyway. Me? Every. Damn. One. Every word is agony, and every sentence a series of self-flagellations that I never really recover from.