“Born to eat, born to cook,” Slav Czesny, astrologer, sighed as he looked up from his ephemeris. “Any road you take will lead you back to food. Sun, Venus and Mercury in Virgo at the midheaven.” Slav looked up at me from behind his bifocals, shrugging. “For better or worse, from now on, your life is a soup bone.”
On my twentieth birthday, I bought myself an ax. This was the best gift I got in a decade. Before I saw it, shining on the wall of the hardware store like a lover made from steel and wood, I’d given up completely on the birthday celebration.
A fat winter moon poured light over the old stone and brick of the inn on The Square. In its beams, the new porches and pickets glowed, and the bright-penny copper of the roof glinted. The old and new merged there—the past and the now—in a strong and happy marriage. Its windows stayed dark on this December night, prizing its secrets in shadows.
Sadie Kane here. If you’re listening to this, congratulations! You survived Doomsday.
For the past eight years, always starting on August 12th, Ruth Young lost her voice.
Web London held a semiautomatic SR75 rifle custom built for him by a legendary gunsmith. The SR didn’t stop at merely wounding flesh and bone; it disintegrated them.
I’m Marie Lightfoot, or at least that’s the name my publisher puts on the covers of the books I write about true crime. In classic “true crime” fashion, my latest one is titled “Anything to Be Together.” It’s the tale of a murderous minister, the Reverend Robert F. Wing, who with his lover, Artemis McGregor, killed his wife, Susanna.
Harry Potter was a highly unusual by in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of the year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework and was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.
Anne Murphy barreled through the bustling lobby of the William Green Federal Courthouse, her long, auburn hair flying. She was about to do something crazy in court and couldn’t wait to get upstairs. If she won, she’d be a hero. If she lost, she’d go to jail. Anne didn’t think twice about the if-she-lost part. She was a redhead, which is a blonde with poor impulse control.
