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  • The Justified Monster
    The fog of 1888 London was a thick, yellow soup that tasted of coal and desperation. Julian walked through it with a cane and a conviction that felt like a blade. He was a man of absolute morality in a city of absolute filth. Julian’s mission was simple: the redistribution of stolen virtue. He spent his nights in the crypts of the city’s "pillars of society," digging up the secrets and the...
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  • The Bright and the Beautiful
    The Bright and the Beautiful Chapter One The bell on the trading floor rang at nine-thirty sharp, but Clara Whitmore had been at her desk since seven. Her terminal glowed with overnight futures from Tokyo and Frankfurt, and the coffee in her mug had gone cold three hours ago. "Miss Whitmore." She looked up. Her boss, Mr. Harrington, stood in the doorway with an expression that hovered between...
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  • No Home Coming
    The ashes were still warm when Michael Nowak arrived. They had been burning for two hours. He stood at the edge of the lot, his hands in the pockets of a coat that was too thin for a November night in Chicago, and watched the fire consume what had been Stanislaw Kowalski's life. It was not Stanislaw's house anymore. It had been sold to pay Henryk's debts. But Stanislaw and Anna had been living...
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  • Variant 13: The Cycle of Substitutes
    In the glass canyons of New York, David lived a life of curated perfection. He was a man who believed that everything—love, loyalty, happiness—could be optimized. When he lost his first wife, a woman of ethereal beauty and kindness, he didn't grieve; he sought a replacement. He found her in a boutique agency that specialized in "Emotional Proxies." She was a woman named Sarah, whose personality...
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  • The Star That Never Answered
    The gin was terrible. Thomas Whitmore drank it anyway, because the alternative was listening to the string quartet play something that sounded like happiness performed by people who had never heard of the influenza pandemic. The mansion on Long Island glittered like a jewel. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, waiters circulating with champagne flutes that caught the light like tiny suns. The...
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  • The Good Neighbor
    Dr. Faisal Mirza moved to the town of Oakwood, Indiana, in the summer of 2003. Oakwood was a college town of thirty thousand people, dominated by the campus of Oakwood University, which was known for its Division III basketball program and its reluctance to change anything about itself since 1957. Faisal had been hired as an associate professor of Middle Eastern history. The position had been...
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  • The Mirror That Learned to Lie
    No one told Evelyn Hart that the Hollow Programme was a population. By the time she understood this, there were already forty-seven of them, and she was number forty-eight, and numbers one through forty-seven had all stopped pretending. The programme had begun as a medical experiment. That was what the pamphlets said, distributed by men in dark coats to the tenements of Whitechapel and Bethnal...
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  • The Golden Classroom
    I. The jazz played from a radio in the corner of the room, thin and crackling, as if the music itself were tired of playing. Clara Bennett sat in the hard-backed chair beside Professor Whitfield's hospital bed and watched the rise and fall of his breathing. It was a shallow breathing, the kind that suggested the body had already begun the long negotiation with death. Outside the window, New...
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  • Shards of New York
    Seventy-two hours. That's all it took for seven strangers to live their entire lives. -- Hour 72: Sarah Chen stood in front of her lab bench and stared at the data on her screen. It was simple, almost embarrassingly so—a pattern in the energy output of her fusion cell that shouldn't have been possible. The cell was producing 300% more energy than the theoretical maximum. She had run the...
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  • The Last Song at Blue Note
    The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I've been saying that for three years, since I left the force and started working for people who don't pay me to arrest them but to find things. Usually things that don't want to be found. Usually people who don't want to be found either. The Blue Note was on a street I can't remember the name of, between Skid...
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  • The Space Between Flour and Flour
    I. Marguerite Crosne had always believed that every recipe existed somewhere between the written instructions and the hands that executed them. The written recipe was the origin point. The hands were the destination. And in between, invisible, immeasurable, was the space where the dish actually became itself. She had learned this from her father, who had never written down his brioche recipe....
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  • The Lost Waltz
    ACT I: THE INVITATIONThe invitation arrived on a Tuesday, printed on cardstock so thick it could stand up on its own. Vivian Chase turned it over in her hands and read the embossed letters:*Mr. and Mrs. Julian Ashford II request the pleasure of your company at a dinner celebrating the Ashford family's return to New York society.*Return. As if they had ever left. As if old money was something...
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