Atualizações Recentes
  • The last light of New Carthage
    She came to him on a night like any other—fog pressing against the gas lamps of the city, tide grinding itself against the limestone cliffs below the harbor. But this night, Arthur Blackwood was not himself. He had been awake for three days and two nights, pacing the stone floor of his study at Blackwood Manor, surrounded by pages of calculations that no sane man would believe. Then she...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Library of the Last Light
    The Empire of Aethelgard had spanned ten thousand star systems and a hundred thousand years. It had mastered the folding of space, the harvesting of black holes, and the editing of the genetic code. But the Empire was dying. Not because of war, or plague, or rebellion, but because of the fundamental law of the cosmos: Entropy. The stars were dimming. The great galactic filaments were fraying....
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Man Who Watched the Captain
    They met in the Roosevelt Hotel lobby in 1929, two boys who had caught a ride to Manhattan on a freight train because Columbia was too expensive and neither of them knew how to say no to each other. Richard Stark, from Brooklyn, had a plan—a big, impossible, beautiful plan for building something that would outlast both of them. Robert Harper, from a house on Atlantic Avenue where his parents...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Garbage
    The garbage pile behind the abandoned steel plant in Cleveland was not a place you went unless you had to. It was a landscape of rust and refuse, of shattered glass and waterlogged cardboard and things that had once been useful and were now simply discarded. The air smelled of decay and something chemical, and in summer the flies were so thick you could hear them. Frank Kovac lived in a shed he...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Twilight of Species
    (Style: Grand Narrative) The city of Aethelgard was the last bastion of the human race, a sprawling megalopolis of chrome and glass that stretched from the frozen north to the burning south. Above it, the Great Ring of the Elders shimmered in the sky—a fleet of ten thousand ships that had arrived from the first world to "save" their descendants. Julian was the Archivist of the End. His job was...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • Blood in the Mississippi
    I.The magnolias were blooming again, which meant summer was coming, which meant the heat would arrive and sit on the plantation like a heavy blanket and none of us would be able to breathe. I stood on the porch of the main house and watched the flowers — white and perfect and smelling like sugar and decay at the same time — and thought about how nothing in this place had changed in a hundred...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • THE PARANOIA ENGINE
    Dr. Henry Webb was giving a lecture on cognitive asymmetry at the University of Chicago when a woman in a dark suit handed him an envelope during the question-and-answer period. The lecture hall was mostly empty — it was a Thursday afternoon in April, and most of his students had better things to do. The envelope was plain white, unsealed, and contained a single sheet of paper. The paper held a...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The mansion on blackwood hill
    The house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The corner of seventh
    The thing about Brooklyn is that nobody notices when it ends. Not because it ends loudly. Because it ends the way a neighborhood ends when the rent goes up too high and the bodega becomes a boutique and the bodega guy moves to Queens and the street where you grew up has a new name that nobody uses. Quietly. Systematically. Without anyone throwing a punch. Eliot Rosenberg lived on the corner of...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Beast in the Dark
    The fog rolled off the moors like a shroud, thick and cold, wrapping the abandoned mill in a damp embrace that seeped through stone and bone alike. Arthur Winthrop found her there on a Tuesday in November, curled in the corner of the ruined flour room where the great stone wheels had once turned. She was wrapped in nothing but a threadbare shift, her skin the colour of old parchment, her hair...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • Sample V-02: The Echo of Jazz
    (A Jazz Age Idealism) The chandeliers of the Azure Retreat cast a shimmering, artificial light over the champagne flutes and the silk gowns of 1924, creating a kaleidoscope of gold and silver that blinded anyone who looked too closely. Julian sat in the lounge, the saxophone's wail echoing the hollow space in his chest, a syncopated rhythm of longing and loss. He was a man of medals and scars,...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Patient from Below
    ACT I Dr. Henry Blackwood's clinic was on Harley Street, in a building that had been a townhouse before someone with money and no taste turned it into a medical practice. The waiting room smelled of carbolic acid and lavender—two smells that had been mixed together by someone who thought they complemented each other but in fact created an odor that was worse than either alone. Blackwood sat in...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
Mais Stories