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The Distant WhispersThe first shift of the winter required forty-one checks of the boiler gauge, a task Elias counted on his fingers until the knuckles bled white from the cold. He was twelve, small for his age, and the night watchman’s uniform hung off his shoulders like a sack of wet grain. His job was simple on paper: keep the heat rising so the children in St. Jude’s Orphanage did not freeze, a duty he...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe locket is not in my possession, and I require it immediately. I write to you, Martha, from the cold, damp cell of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Criminally Insane, where the air tastes of mildew and boiled starch. It has been three years since Father died, and three years since you took the silver locket from his bedside and locked it away in your house in Harrow. I know it is there. I can feel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe airlock smelled of ozone and old sweat, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of Fotis Alexiou’s throat. He tightened his grip on the service pistol, his knuckles white against the polymer grip, while the hum of the habitat’s cooling fans vibrated through the soles of his boots. "You know what you did, Konstantinos," he said, his voice flat, stripped of anything resembling warmth. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneChapter One Could a body be stolen from the dead? Ronan Prendergast woke to the sound of the bell, silenced now, and the smell of rotting sage. He was thirty-two, a falconer to a minor lord in the rice valley, and his hands were shaking. In the infirmary, the High Steward’s men barred the chapel doors. Maeve, his sister, lay stiff on the table. The fever had taken her, but the Steward wanted...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded Portrait"You'll have to sign here, and here, and if the ink smudges, we start the paperwork all over again." Chapter One The damp got into the plaster of the pension office on the corner of seventy-one of the Rope Walk, turning the walls into a soft, breathing skin that smelled of wet chalk and old sweat. I sat at the heavy oak table, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Meridian"Put the kettle on, June, and stop staring at the wall like you’re waiting for a ghost." The smell of wet wool and old dust hit June Layton as he stepped off the horse, his boots sinking into the mud of the Fens. He was forty years old, a border warden with a back that ached when the barometer dropped, and he had ridden north for three days to seize the estate of a father he had not spoken to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe letter arrived with the post, sealed in wax the color of dried blood. "Your tithe is due, Brath Wex." Hale did not look up from his ledger. The scratching of his pen was the only sound in the office, a dry, rhythmic rasp against the paper. Wex stood by the window, watching the drying wind split the fruit on the terraces below. The wind was a physical fact, a blade that stripped the skin...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant BladeThe ink was still wet on the death warrant when the blood began to bead, bright and wet, against the knuckles of my left hand. I stared at the crimson drops falling onto the blue linen of my desk, each one a small, dark star against the pale fabric. I was Elias Thorne, Senior Inspector of the Imperial Court’s Medical Bureau, and I had twenty years of service left to serve before the winter...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumHands moving fast, Eoin Dunne pressed the quill into the wet ink, the nib scratching against the parchment of the Wistful Asylum ledger, his breath fogging in the sudden chill that had settled over the archive room despite the warm November air pressing against the high windows. The entry for the year 1894 was already wrong; the name of the patient, a boy named Pádraig, had shifted from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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