0 Comentários
0 Compartilhamentos
44 Visualizações
0 Anterior
Diretório
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Faça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
-
The Spectral ConsultantArthur Pendelton mixed the phosphorus powder with distilled water on his brass palette, watching the fine white dust dissolve into a faintly luminous paste. The basement room in London's East End smelled of damp stone and old chemicals, the kind of dampness that seeped into your bones and stayed there. He applied the paste to a small silver disc with steady hands—hands that had once held a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 50 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Gates of Ashworth HallThe iron gates of Ashworth Hall groaned on rusted hinges as Arthur pushed through them, the cold Yorkshire wind biting at his thin coat. The estate lay before him like a wound in the moorland--a crumbling Georgian manor with blackened windows and a roof sagging in places as though the weight of centuries had finally broken its spine. He had never been here. He had never wanted to be here. But...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 26 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Dendral AlgorithmThe fire that killed Patrick Delaney took everything except the encrypted hard drive he'd hidden inside a hollowed-out copy of "Introduction to Algorithms" on his bottom desk drawer. Nick found it three days after the funeral, in the apartment on Atlantic Avenue that had been his father's home for eighteen years and that Nick had only visited on Sundays for dinner, which his mother had stopped...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 53 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Tomorrow ArchitectThe champagne flute caught the light of the ballroom chandelier and threw a small rainbow across the ceiling of the Waldorf Astoria. Thomas Callahan watched it for a moment, thinking about how fragile glass could be. One drop, one wrong angle, and the whole thing would shatter on the marble floor. That was how empires worked, he had learned. That was how his empire had worked. He was...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 28 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Starlight StorytellerThe smoke in that cellar room hung like a second ceiling, yellow and thick, and the brass trumpet player sweated through his vest while I stood on the bar telling them about the haints of Harlan County. My boots were still dusty from the Kentucky road, and I could feel the eyes of thirty or forty people on me, some laughing, some leaning forward with their gin glasses frozen halfway to their...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 53 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Keeper of the Iron RingThe archive room smelled of damp paper and something older—ozone, perhaps, or the metallic tang of a atmosphere that had been recycled ten thousand times. Arthur Penhaligon ran his gloved fingers along the edge of a data crystal and felt nothing. Nothing, and that was the problem. He had been seventeen standard cycles when the Iron Ring had taken him in. Before that, he remembered a blue sky...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 19 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Archive of BlackfriarsThe rain had not ceased for three days when Elias Blackwood first touched the ledger and felt the dead man's terror flood through his fingers. Blackfriars Archive stood at the edge of Whitechapel like a cathedral built by madmen. Its towers pierced the London fog, and its windows, thick with centuries of grime, seemed to watch the street with blind, unblinking eyes. Elias had been employed here...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 24 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Black BladeThe rain in Ironport doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I knew this because I had been standing outside The Last Drop for seven minutes, watching it sheet off the neon sign that spelled out our name in a slow, dripping red, before I pushed through the door and into the smell of stale beer and someone else's bad decisions. Tony Moretti was waiting for me in the back...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 26 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Watcher's ChronicleACT I The Delta in 1954 was a place that had forgotten how to forgive itself, and the humidity was the kind of humidity that pressed against your skin like a hand that wanted you to stay, and the roads were red and the stores were two, and the people were many and divided in ways that had nothing to do with the division that everyone named and everything to do with the division that no one...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 40 Visualizações 0 Anterior