Rated PG. Contains explicit cattiness and violent self-reflection.
“Too bad it’s raining. Hey, Lauren, make the rain stop, okay?” He reaches across the table and tousles my hair affectionately.
I bare my teeth in the semblance of a grin. “Ha ha. Sorry, I can’t.”
“I know.” He shakes his head, laughs ruefully. “It’s just . . . Maya could.”
Rated PG. Contains explicit existentialism and violence of the soul. (The intro contains minor profanity and frank discussions of current events, and is likely to be more offensive than the story.)
Penguin listened raptly to the new voice. He knew this was his guardian angel, she who would guard and protect him forever. Sure enough, the Creator set him gently into his angel’s hand. Her hands, much smaller than the Creator’s–which was fitting since who among the angels had such power as the Creator?–were a bit sticky. He squealed as she held him aloft to
receive the glorious light.
“Look, Daddy! It’s a peng’n!”
“Yes it is, Angie. It’s a very nice penguin. Did you thank the nice man for the balloon?”
Rated PG. Contains sexual situations and, unrelated, the loss of innocence.
So, the Godmother. She takes ragged, smudged things and turns them into beautiful Princesses. Why, I don’t know. A hobby? A calling? An obsession? Is she righting the wrongs done to her when she was young?
When I first started here, I had a fantasy. That the Godmother would pluck me out of the row of humpbacked, squinting Seamstresses and make me, too, a beautiful Princess. With a gown sewn by…well, by the poor wenches too old or ugly to catch the Godmother’s eye.
Rated PG. Contains graphic food-based sensuality and soulless marketing.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I suppose it’s no wonder that the twice-cooked pork the beautiful chef placed in that depressing buffet line kicked me in the mouth like a South American soccer superstar with bad aim. There was never twice-cooked pork like the twice-cooked pork I tasted that snowy day at the Cheerful Panda.
Rated PG. Contains violence, alcohol, and gratuitous time travel.
“‘He was the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever saw.’ Do you know who said that, Doctor?”
He coughed politely and sat in a nearby chair. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I’d be more interested in who they were talking about.”
She laughed softly, and seemed to turn her attention to him fully for the first time. “Wyatt Earp said those words about you, Doctor. At your funeral, I suspect, though I don’t know for sure.”
Drawn by the sound of the propellers, the lunchtime crowd looked to the sky. An airship passed over the skyscrapers, plumes of black, virus-laden smoke spewing behind it. Traffic below stopped. People paused on the sidewalks and watched the cloud sink slowly towards them.
Rated G. Contains cattle theft, kidnapping, and crimes against fashion.
“That truly is a fine heifer, and any man would be proud to own her.”
“Well…” said Jack, hope rising. “I suppose she might be for sale, if that is your meaning.”
“It is.” The stranger dug inside the pocket of his slick and shiny coat, and brought out a small lead case. The lid clicked open and he turned in over in his hand, three shimmering beads rolling in his palm. He offered them to Jack.
“What are those?” Jack frowned, suspicious once more.
“What are they? They might be beans.” The stranger laughed. “Then again, they might be more precious than rubies, mightn’t they? Truth of the matter, I’m not certain what they are, only that they are beyond any worth you can imagine.”
Rated PG. Contains slight profanity, drug use, and violence against were-ape ninjas.
“Foul temptress?” I said, stepping back, clanking in my armor. A suit of plate mail often appears when I’m startled. I wished the armor away and replaced it with soft green leggings and a deerskin shirt. “Wily seductress?”
“Damsel in distress.” She leaned against a tree, hands clasped before her.
I clutched my stick and looked around. “Immediate distress, or general distress?” I worried about ogres, or killbots. They often menace damsels, and when the wind’s wrong, you can’t smell them coming, neither rotten meat nor engine oil. It’s hard to hurt an ogre or a killbot with a staff, but I’m useless with a sword. I used a blade on my first few outings, but after chopping off my feet six times, I switched to a stick.
Rated PG. Contains no sexual content or strong language. Does contain whirling blades of death.
A razor-sharp blade shot out of the wall and whipped in front of the teen’s face. Xnab hauled him back and spun him around.
“First thing you have to learn in this business: never kick anything. Got that?”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
“Good.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“What’s the second thing?”
Rated PG. Contains violence, supernatural themes, and sailors who do not swear.
On the morning after his death, a clear fluid began to leak from the Jenny’s mainmast: slow, glistening droplets that curled out and ran downward from where the knives were stuck in the wood. “It’s water,” said the ship’s cook. “But not fresh. Salt. Like blood.”
“Not like blood,” said Big Tom, who had also tasted it. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were hollow and dark. “Not like blood — like tears.”