Fantasy

Opening The portrait Iris was restoring wept real tears—not symbolism, but salt water that corroded three centuries of varnish—and when s...

The Opening She'd memorized seventeen exits from the Cascade Mall, but none of them led back to the locket her mother pressed into her pa...

The ozone-burn of fried circuitry coats her tongue as alarms shriek—her handler's blood still warm on her fingertips, still smelling of c...

The lighthouse keeper's daughter had painted the same storm for seventeen years without ever seeing rain—until the night the sea rose up ...

The letter came wrapped in sealskin, and Detective Kess knew before breaking the wax that her sister—the one she'd buried in ice fifteen ...