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  • The Black Valentine
    The Black Valentine ACT I The package arrived on a rainy Tuesday in November, the kind of Boston November that makes brick sidewalks disappear into grey and the Charles River look like a sheet of hammered steel. It was left at Victor Thorne's doorstep by a courier who handed it over without a word and walked away with the brisk efficiency of a man who had learned not to ask questions in this...
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  • The Bloodline Loop
    The moss hung from the cypress trees like rotting lace, draping the estate of the Valerians in a permanent, humid twilight. Eugene walked the perimeter of the swamp, the mud sucking at his boots with a wet, rhythmic sound. He could smell the decay—the scent of stagnant water and ancestral sin. Eugene was the last of his line, or so he thought. The truth was far more exhausting. He remembered...
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  • The fog had been hanging over Whitechapel for three days when the matron saw Tommy Grubb kneeling in the mud beside the little girl.
    Thomas Grubb was a tall man with hands like shovels and a mind like a child's. He worked at the coal yard on Commercial Street and could haul more in a day than any four other men, but he could not count past twelve or tie his own bootlaces. He had a daughter named Maggie, ten years old with eyes the color of winter sky, and together they occupied a single room above a shuttered haberdashery...
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  • The Glass Cage: Japanese Neo-Tokyo Surrealism Variant
    The Glass Cage: Japanese Neo-Tokyo Surrealism Variant Batch 9 - Work ID 22190: The Glass Cage Tensor: TI=62.3, M=[10.0,0.5,4.5,7.0,5.5,3.0,8.0,6.0,2.5,7.5], N=[0.35,0.65], K=[0.55,0.45], theta=157.5 The thing on the screen was not the mouse. I knew this from the moment I saw it. The mouse was in the cage beside the monitor, motionless, eyes open but unseeing, body alive but empty. The thing on...
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  • The Rising Water
    I. The water came to the Thorneland plantation on a Thursday in June, which was wrong because the river did not flood in June. The river flooded in April, when the snow melted in the Appalachians and turned the Mississippi into a brown beast that ate its banks. June was for heat and cicadas and the slow decay of things that were once grand. But the river had decided otherwise. I am Bell Thorne....
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  • The Observer
    New York City, 2008 I got the call on a Tuesday, which is the kind of detail that would make a novelist proud but makes me want to laugh. There is nothing cinematic about the end of the world. It comes on a Tuesday, in a phone call, from a number you don't recognize. My name is Mark Delaney, and I am an associate professor of astrophysics at City College of New York. I am thirty-four years old,...
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  • The Gilded Cage of Fog
    (Act I: The Ascent) The fog of London in 1890 did not merely drift; it possessed the city, a grey shroud that blurred the line between the cobblestones and the sky. Arthur stood at the threshold of the Black Raven Society, his boots worn thin, his coat a patchwork of desperation. He was a ghost in his own city, a man of no name and fewer means. But inside his mind, he carried a map of the...
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  • The Last Operator
    I. The signal started on a Tuesday in July, the kind of Tuesday so hot the air itself felt like a weight. I was in the basement of the Sunnyside Motel, fiddling with the wiring for the third time that month. The motel sat off Route 62 in a town called Millerton, population 1,847 and dropping. Three miles from the town center was the old coal mine—closed in 2008, when the coal ran out and the...
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  • The Phoenix Specimen
    The salon was in a townhouse on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, and it was exactly the kind of place Julian Ashworth had been born to inhabit. Crystal chandeliers cast light over marble floors. Women in silk dresses moved through rooms filled with paintings, sculptures, and the kind of furniture that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Men in tailcoat jackets discussed art,...
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  • The Pattern in the Blueprint
    The first time I met Edward Hartwell, I thought he was the kind of man who would return your shopping cart at the supermarket. Dr. Helena Cross, military psychologist, London School of Economics. That's my title, at least. My actual job, as described in the contract signed by a security consulting firm called Meridian Global, was to conduct a psychological evaluation of a "high-profile defense...
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  • The Starlight Corridor
    ACT I: THE AWAKENING The jazz poured from the speakeasy on Forty-second Street like water from a broken dam, and Thomas Callahan stood on the corner, listening to it the way a starving man listens to the smell of bread. He was twenty-four, Irish on his father's side, poor on both, and possessed of a mind that saw patterns where other men saw only chaos. Three years earlier, Thomas had arrived...
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  • The Gilded Trust
    New York, 1924. The city was a fever dream of gold and jazz, a place where the skyscrapers reached for a heaven that the people had long since forgotten. Samuel Vanderbilt sat at the apex of this dream, the master of the city's infrastructure, a man who owned the very veins through which the city's lifeblood flowed. But Samuel was a man of shadows. He lived in a penthouse of marble and glass,...
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