• The Laboratory Pet
    The Laboratory Pet The infirmary burned at three in the morning, and Thomas Ashworth came out of it like a thing dragged from the deep. Smoke hung over Manchester like a shroud, thick and yellow, tasting of coal and tar and things that had been living until they stopped. He emerged from the shattered doorway with his arms wrapped in torn sheets, his skin raw where the gas main explosion had...
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  • DEMON IN THE BOTTLE
    Ephraim Cobb had been fishing the waters off Innsmouth for forty years when he found the bottle. It was October, the season of mists and yellowing leaves, when the Atlantic turned gray and promised storms. The bottle was amber glass, sealed with black wax, and it pulsed with a warmth that had no right to exist in those cold waters. He shouldn't have opened it. He knew that now. The doctor says...
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  • The Harmony of Tomorrow
    The Harmony of Tomorrow The piano in the back room of the Silver Note jazz club on 133rd Street had three keys that never worked properly, and Thomas Whitfield made them work every night, somehow getting music out of the broken notes that sounded almost like what they should, which was enough for the people who came to listen. They came not just for the music but for what the music meant: that...
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  • The Black Obsidian
    I The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I stood under the awning of the Veterans' Administration building and watched it fall on the street, turning the neon reflections into something that looked almost beautiful if you didn't think about what it was reflecting. Inside, a clerk with a face like folded newspaper told me my benefits had been processed...
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  • PROHIBITION BAIT
    The Hudson River smelled of dead fish and diesel fuel, a stench that Jack Malone had grown so accustomed to that he no longer noticed it. He stood at the rail of the fishing trawler, watching the gray water slide past, and wondered how a man could drown in a river and still keep breathing. Three years ago, Jack had been somebody. Jack "The Net" Malone, they called him, the best bootlegger in...
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  • The Starlight Suitor
    The year was 1924, and I had come to Manhattan with the hollow chest of a man who had seen too much and understood too little. My apartment in Greenwich Village overlooked a street that never slept, and never would—neon signs bled their electric colors across the brick walls below, while somewhere in the distance, a saxophone wailed like a lover denied. I worked as an editor at a publishing...
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  • FOG CITY CON
    London in 1890 was a city of layers, each one hiding the sins of the one beneath. At the top, in Mayfair and Belgravia, the aristocrats dined on peacock tongues and discussed the Empire's business. Below them, in Clerkenwell and Shoreditch, the working classes labored sixteen hours a day for wages that wouldn't buy a gentleman's gloves. And at the bottom, in the rookeries and the docks, there...
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  • The Starlight Architect
    I. The underground bar on South State Street smelled of gin and desperation, which in Chicago, 1924, was the same thing. Tommy O'Sullivan stood behind the bar polishing glasses that were already clean, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling like prayers from men who had stopped believing in anything above the street level. He was twenty-two and had exactly three dollars in his pocket and a...
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  • The Room Above the Garage
    The bottle sat on the table. Cheap whiskey. Half empty. Ray sat in the chair and stared at the wall. The wallpaper was peeling near the ceiling. He had noticed it three days ago. Or maybe four. The room was above the garage. That was what the sign said. *Rooms $35/night.* The sign was missing the O in Rooms. The light bulb buzzed. It always buzzed. Ray poured another drink. His hand shook a...
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  • The Woman at Window 4B
    The apartment smelled like stale coffee and old decisions. It was 11:47 PM on a Tuesday in November. I was sitting at my kitchen table, which I'd been using as a desk for three years now, staring at a half-written article about Alderman Vasquez's zoning contracts. The story was supposed to be about land deals. It had become something else entirely—something with names, dates, and envelopes that...
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