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  • 14 March 1891
    I am twenty-four and starving in a garret on the rue de la Harpe, and I think this is what genius feels like—hunger mixed with the certainty that your hunger is different from ordinary hunger, that it is the kind of hunger that prophets and madmen experience before the world decides whether to worship them or lock them up. Usually both. The apartment has one window that faces a brick wall three...
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  • The Weight of the Soil
    Mercy Caldwell arrived at Mosswood Plantation on a Tuesday in early May, carrying a single valise and a letter of recommendation from a Boston schoolmistress who had warned her: "The Beauregards are not like other families. They carry their history like a disease." Mercy was twenty-four, a teacher from Salem with a mind trained in literature and a heart still believing in the redemptive power...
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  • The Observer at Five Points
    ACT I: THE BOY FROM BROOKLYN I first met James Whitfield in the summer of 1963, when we were both twelve years old and living in the Five Points neighborhood of Manhattan. He was tall for his age, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. I was smaller, scrappier, the kind of kid who got into fights he couldn't win and then wrote about them in a notebook he kept under...
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  • The Divided Heart
    (Indian Partition Variation) The train from Lahore to Amritsar was a rolling coffin. It was packed with people who had lost everything but their fear. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and the metallic tang of terror. Arjun sat huddled in a corner, clutching a small brass lamp—the last remnant of his family's home. Arjun had been a scholar of poetry, a man who believed that art...
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  • The Magnolia and the Flood
    Tell it again. Tell it the way it was, or the way it might have been, which in this country is the same thing, because the past here does not recede—it lies down in the mud and waits. Magnolia Duval was born in 1903, in the big house at Duval Landing, which sat on a bluff above the river and had been in the family since before the Louisiana Purchase, which was to say since before the land had...
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  • The Last Echo of the Empire
    ## Act I: The Outset The city of Aethelgard was a spire of ivory and gold, the last bastion of the Solar Empire. For a thousand years, it had been the center of the known world, a place of unmatched art, science, and luxury. But the gold was peeling, and the ivory was cracking. The empire was not falling to an enemy from without, but to a rot from within. The nobility spent their days in a haze...
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  • The Starlight Project
    I. The numbers did not lie, and that was precisely the problem. Thomas Whitfield sat in his office at the Institute for Advanced Study, the spring light of 1924 falling across a desk strewn with calculation sheets, each one covered in the dense handwriting of a man who had not slept properly in weeks. The equations described something impossible: a gradual, unexplained increase in solar...
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  • The House on Blackwater Bayou
    The house sat on the edge of Blackwater Bayou like a woman who had inherited a fortune she did not want and could not refuse. It was large -- not mansion-large, but plantation-large, the kind of size that implied generations of people living under the same roof, eating at the same table, sharing the same secrets. The cypress trees surrounded it the way guards surround a king who has stopped...
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  • The Velvet Shadow
    (Paranormal Romance Variation) Clara lived in a house that breathed. It was an old Victorian estate on the edge of a cliff in Cornwall, where the wind howled like a wounded animal and the sea crashed against the rocks with a rhythmic, violent hunger. Clara was a restoration artist, spending her days breathing life back into faded canvases, but her nights were spent in the company of a ghost....
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  • The Mirror's Edge
    You wake up in a room that feels like a memory of someone else's life. The walls are a pale, clinical white, and the air tastes of ozone and sterile linen. You don't remember your name, but you remember the feeling of a hand in yours—a warmth that is now a phantom ache in your palm. You are a "Subject," a designation given to you by the men in the grey suits who visit you every morning. They...
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  • The Last Dispatch from the Raj
    ## Act I: The Outset The heat of the Punjab in 1857 was a physical entity, a shimmering wall of gold and dust that blurred the line between the earth and the sky. Arthur, a second son of a minor English earl, stood on the veranda of the district bungalow, his white linen suit already stained with the sweat of a dying empire. He was twenty-one, a graduate of Oxford with a head full of Shelley...
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  • THE BEAUTY OF DEATH
    The rain had been falling on London for eleven days when the order arrived. Captain Shane Holt sat in the train compartment watching fog swallow the suburbs, his fingers resting on the ring in his pocket. Elena's ring. Five years since she disappeared near Whitechapel. Five years since he had held her hand in a hospital in Dover and watched her breathe stop with the quiet dignity of a woman who...
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