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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 Neighbor on Elm Street
    I've lived next door to the Mercers for thirty-two years. That means I've seen the whole thing—from the day Mort and Donna brought Jimmy home from the hospital to last week, when I found him sitting on his stoop at 2 AM, staring at the bodega sign like it contained the secrets of the universe. Let me back up. Mort Mercer was a third-generation New Yorker. His father drove a truck for the city,...
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  • The Man Who Had It All
    I Frank Deluca had delivered mail in that building for forty years. Forty years of mailboxes numbered 1A through 4B, of knowing which ones jammed in humidity, which ones had addresses that stopped answering, which ones belonged to people who wrote checks but never wrote letters. He knew the tenants the way a priest knows his congregation: by their confessions, their silences, the things they...
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  • The Shadow of the Resonant Disc
    Los Angeles in 1947 was a city of two faces. The daytime face was all palm trees and sunshine, bungalows with white picket fences and women in aprons waving at passing cars. The nighttime face was neon and shadow, alleyways behind nightclubs where men in trench coats met men in expensive suits and exchanged envelopes instead of handshakes. Thomas Cole lived in the nighttime face. He was...
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  • TITLE: The Clockwork Heart of 1924
    Long Island in July 1924 was a world of white linen, salt air, and the absolute conviction that the future could be engineered. Gerald Vanderbilt Shaw stood on the porch of his estate, watching the Atlantic Ocean perform its timeless, inefficient dance. To Gerald, the tide was a planetary error—a system that expended massive energy only to return to its starting point. Gerald was a man of the...
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  • The fog over the Mississippi did not behave like fog.
    He was standing on the porch of Beaumont Manor, the structure that had housed his family for four generations and was currently housing nothing more ambitious than debt, damp, and the slow seepage of river water into foundation stones that had been laid before the Civil War. The manor was not a large house—large is a relative term in the Mississippi Delta, where large might mean twenty rooms or...
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  • The LA Drain
    Act I The client was a woman I hadn't expected to be a client. Evelyn Cross sat in my office on Sunset Boulevard on a Tuesday afternoon, wearing a suit that cost more than my car and a smile that cost even more. "I need you to follow a man," she said. "He's a former government scientist. His name is Doctor Silas Webb. He's been meeting with people he shouldn't be meeting." "Everyone in LA is...
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  • The Detroit Vector
    The whiskey was real Canadian rye, smuggled across the Detroit River in a modified Packard with a false floor, and Jack Molinaro poured it into a crystal decanter that had belonged to his mother before she died of influenza in 1918. He was thirty-seven years old, which was old for a bootlegger in Chicago in the summer of 1925. Most of his contemporaries were either dead or in prison, and the...
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  • THE-ASHWORTH-INHERITANCE
    TITLE:THE-ASHWORTH-INHERITANCE HTML:THE ASHWORTH INHERITANCE ACT I The carriage that brought Clara Whitmore to Ashworth
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  • The Brooklyn Protocol
    The Brooklyn Protocol I. The subpoena came in a manila envelope with no return address, which in New York City usually means it's either a lawsuit or a really aggressive marketing campaign. Maya Chen opened it on her fire escape, eating takeout lo mein from the place on 4th Street that everyone pretends not to know about because the line is too long. The document inside was a contract. Signed...
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  • The Double Life of Thomas Vance
    Thomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...
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  • The Patient from Below
    The asylum had been closed for twenty years before the Sleep came, but the children of Boston knew it by reputation the way children know about forbidden places: through whispers and warnings and the peculiar silence that falls over a room when someone mentions the Holloway Asylum in a voice that suggests they have been told not to speak of it at all. Theo Ashworth had never been inside. He was...
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