There is a tall tower to the north. It is made of stone that looks a common gray from afar. But I have been close enough to see the stone shift hues, to glitter with the gilded veins of an otherworldly ore, to fade into a pale so utmost as to be nigh invisible.
A warlock once lived there, it is said. Now the tower is abandoned.
“There’s no need for this,” Morgan said, glancing over to his right shoulder, where a heavy hand lay on him, holding him in place. “I came willingly.”
He was in the living room of the woman who had introduced herself as A.J. The woman whom he suspected was responsible for the “resurrections.” Morgan hadn’t quite figured out what term he would use for it in his story.Continue reading
The thief fell from the tower’s upper window. She had lost her precarious grip on the pitted brick. She remembered that she should roll herself up into a loose ball to protect her head and neck. But by the time she remembered, she had already struck the first branch of the tree in the orchard below. Then she struck another and another. Scratched and thrashed and bounced about, she finally reached the ground, thankful that the soil was soft. She lay there for far too long a moment. The breath had been knocked out of her. And she feared moving for fear she might discover that she could not.Continue reading
The visions. I’d had them all my life. They’re tricky to read, like tarot cards. Vague sometimes, like dreams. When I was a kid, I would tell my mom, and she had this way of pretending it was normal while still keeping it secret. By the time I became aware that my ability was unique, I knew how to hide it. I started to teach myself how to control it, and soon enough, how to use it. Continue reading