“Hey, Estelle, how the hell–” the tourist-looking guy asks. His sandy brown hair is short and neat and graying at the temples. “Next rest stop, can I take another look at her? Dr. Caleb Greene. I’m the local vet, sort …
“Hey, Kim,” says Roi.
“Ye-ees?” says Roi’s partner, turning his head slowly, muzzle of the gun turning with his eyes, and the barrel aims downward, but not by much. He’s watching the shadows among the trees as he turns. It’s …
“Let me take you to my gym,” Drin says. His musician is slouched back in a half-reclined leather car seat, eyes closed, blissing totally out on the sound system. “Tell me things, while I’m driving, would you please? Tell me …
Drin’s got Emma at his apartment, supposedly to look at the furniture so they can decide on what comes to the house and what should be sent off to auction. But he wants to see her on that leather sofa, …
There’s a hole in one of the window boards. Wow, the wind must have sucked out that knot in the wood, the one that looked kinda like a bearded guy’s face. The stairwell is so dark, the hole stabs him …
Pen does not have unlimited power.
Power to protect from harm, Pen thinks, is a dreadful thing. Because that power has an edge, it has its limit, it can only extend so far. You protect–
You protect yourself, Pen thinks, …
He’s sitting flat on the ground. His head is empty. His allies have fled, blown towards safety on the magnetic wind he made for them, and he hasn’t felt this alone in months.
Honey and machine-oil stench precede the division …
Emma is expecting something, as she pulls up in front of the house. Dance’s phone call alerted her.
“Honey bees, all in the garden. A swarm!”
But–she wasn’t expecting anything like this. The roaring of uncountable wings penetrates the …
Claudia doesn’t know how long she’s slept or what time it is. She yawns, stretches cramped limbs. Her right leg gives a massive twang and begins to spasm, sending her sliding off Hal’s lap onto the floor. She catches herself …
Well, he was expecting something. They’re cleverer than he anticipated.
Must be younger supervisors in charge these days. These are a different sort of Fibbie. Mountie. Whatever it is, the Canuck version of TSA. Or whatever the hell they’re calling …