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Female
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02/09/1965
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The Keeper of the Iron FlameThe plague came to the village of Blackmoor in the autumn of 1847, and with it came Edward Ashworth, who was not what he claimed to be. He arrived with nothing but a leather satchel containing a hammer, a set of iron-working tools, and a letter of introduction from a blacksmith in Leeds that Edward had paid a drunken scrivener to forge. He told the villagers he was a journeyman seeking work. He...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizareVă rugăm să vă autentificați pentru a vă dori, partaja și comenta!
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The man in the gray suitThe 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...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Night Watch at St. AgnesThe basement of St. Agnes Church smelled like wet paper and old prayers, which is to say it smelled like everything Los Angeles had tried to forget. Jack Morana sat on an upturned crate with a bottle of rye in his coat pocket and a .38 in his waistband, watching the single bulb swing above him like a pendulum counting down to something he couldn't name. Three days. Father Deluca had been gone...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 0 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Watcher's Lament (Expanded)I have watched the green lungs of the world shrink for a thousand years, but the forest surrounding the city of New York is a different kind of tragedy. It is a place of ghosts and greed. I move through the ferns as a breeze, a flicker of light, a nameless wanderer. Two men came into my domain last October. They smelled of expensive cologne and old money—property developers, the kind of men who...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Gilded Cage of MercyThe humidity of the Georgia summer hung over the plantation like a wet wool blanket, smelling of magnolia and rot. Rose lived in the same house she had been born in, but she lived there as a guest of honor, a delicate flower preserved in a jar of honey. She had no hands. The "accident" had happened years ago, a tragedy that had left her physically diminished but socially exalted. For Rose, the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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Title: The Heir of AshAct I: The Adoption The Sterling family didn't adopt children; they acquired assets. Julian was a "find" from a ruined estate in the Midwest, brought to New York to be the perfect foil for the family's legitimate heirs. He was given the best tutors, the finest clothes, and a love that felt like a transaction. He was a project, a piece of living art that the Sterlings used to showcase their...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The black sedan passed Vincent Corvo three times before he decided it was a message.First time, it went the other way on State Street, its headlights cutting through the Chicago rain like a pair of searching eyes. Second time, it slowed as it passed him at the intersection of Ashland and 31st, the driver's face blank behind tinted windows. Third time, it parked two blocks from the flophouse where Vincent was staying and sat there, idling, with the engine running and the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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THE STARS OF EVELYN MARCHETTIThe funeral was over on a Thursday in November. Chicago was cold in a way that felt deliberate—as if the city itself wanted to remind us that winter was coming and nothing in your life mattered to it. I stood at the graveside in a black suit that had been my father's first and now was mine by necessity, and I watched them lower him into the ground. My father was dead. He had been dead for...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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I swallowed a star to find a word better than Lyric's.It was not a decision, not exactly. Decisions imply choice, and choice implies alternatives, and I had no alternatives. I had found a data-stream drifting between the stars of the Cygnus arm, and in that data-stream were the complete works of Lyric — an ancient poet from a civilization I have since forgotten the name of, though I remember the taste of their language, which was like wine that...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Signal Decays: A Chronicle of Seven TransmissionsThe first transmission was a letter. It arrived at the Heidelberg University Hospital on October 3, 1952, written on Cross Industries letterhead in careful academic German. Vincent Cross, having heard of advances in neural preservation at the Max Planck Institute, was making an inquiry. His son Tommy, twenty-four years old, had died six days earlier in a racing accident at Laguna Seca. The body...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Weight of Water: Fractal RecursionLuzanne Boone noticed the pattern first in the bathroom mirror. She was twenty-two years old, standing barefoot on cold marble in her father's Fifth Avenue penthouse, and she saw a crack running from the upper left corner of the mirror glass down toward the center, branching into smaller cracks, each of which branched again into finer fissures, and she recognized the shape. It was the same...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Reversed MindACT ONE The bar was in Red Hook, and it was the kind of place that existed to be forgotten. Jack Morano sat at the counter with a glass of bourbon he was not drinking and a man across from him who claimed to have worked for the government and to have seen things that would get him killed if anyone found out he had talked. The man's name was Dr. Robert Voss. He was bald and middle-aged and he...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 3 Views 0 previzualizare
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