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  • ACT I
    Dr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...
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  • The rain in New York doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt...
    She sat at her desk in the newsroom of the New York Herald, staring at the blank page in front of her. Her column ran every Thursday—"The Palette"—and it was supposed to be about art. In practice, it was about the people who bought art, the people who sold art, and the people who lied about both. "Still blank?" asked Mickey Doyle, the art editor, leaning over her shoulder. He smelled of gin and...
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  • The Shadow King
    The rain in 1945 Los Angeles didn't wash anything away; it only made the neon lights bleed into the asphalt. Arthur Black walked through the drizzle, his trench coat heavy with the scent of cheap tobacco and old regrets. He was a man who knew the architecture of the human mind, a modern psychologist who had found himself cast back into a city where the only thing deeper than the shadows was the...
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  • The Meridian Light
    Act I The first time Arthur absorbed pain, he thought he was having a heart attack. He was twenty-four, sitting at a upright piano that had been his grandfather's in a basement club on 135th Street called The Deep Blue. The club was small—maybe thirty seats, a stage that sloped toward the piano, and walls painted a color that was neither blue nor black but something in between. The air smelled...
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  • The Mirror at Blackthorne
    I. The accident happened on a wet road outside Edinburgh on a November evening in 1893, and the word "accident" is the first of many lies in this story. An accident implies that something was meant to happen and went wrong. What happened to Morwenna was not wrong. It went exactly right, in the sense that a fall from a height always goes right until it goes left, and when Morwenna's horse...
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  • The Elixir of Youth
    Silas de Montfort stood before the mirror in his bedroom and stared at the face that looked back at him. It was a face he had known for seventeen years: high cheekbones, a narrow chin, eyes the colour of dark honey, hair that curled naturally at the nape of the neck in a way that his mother used to fuss over and that he now neglected entirely. The face was his. But something about it was...
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  • The Amber Codex
    The Amber Codex Act I: The Spark The dust in Blackwood Manor tasted of three generations of neglect. Arthur Blackwood knelt on the floor of the attic, his fingers tracing the spine of a leather-bound volume he had pulled from a collapsed shelf. It was 1888, and the manor's last shilling had been spent on coal three weeks ago. His father's debts had consumed everything else. But this book—this...
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  • The Clinic of Lost Souls
    Elias Vance walked through the neon-lit rain of 1920s New York, his trench coat heavy with the scent of ozone and cheap cigars. He was a man of two worlds: a decorated army surgeon from the Great War and a ghost in the machinery of the Jazz Age. The war had taken his lungs and his faith, but it had left him with a clarity of vision that bordered on the divine. He could see the fractures in a...
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  • ACT I
    Dr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The man in the gray suit
    The rain was falling on Los Angeles the way it always fell—hard, indifferent, with the kind of persistence that suggested the city was being punished for something it couldn't remember doing. Thomas Gray watched it from the window of his office on Sunset Boulevard, drinking coffee from a paper cup that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. His office was exactly what you would expect from a private...
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  • The Golden Exchange
    The ticker tape never stopped talking. That was the first thing Vincent Moretti learned on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange: the machine had opinions, and they came in the form of punched paper ribbons that fell like confetti from the ceiling of a cathedral built for a new god. He was nineteen, Irish-Italian from Hester Street, with ink on his fingers and a photographic memory that made...
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  • The Snake in the Bayou
    The bayou smelled of cypress and rot and something older than both—something that had been fermenting in the dark water since the earth was soft and the land had not yet learned what to be. Clara Beaumont knew the smell. She had known it since she was born, in a house that leaned slightly to the left like an old woman who had forgotten how to stand straight, on the edge of a bayou that had...
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