...Chiyo examined the slumped figure across from her. #Fantasy #YA

The Weeping Empress

by Sadie S. Forsythe

“Say Muhjah,” she said. “Why do you hate him so much? I felt a little sorry for him. He just seemed kind of unfortunate.”
Muhjah popped back up and demanded, “How can you ask me that? Look at the destruction his greed has caused.”
“I know, but why do you hate him so personally?”
“As a citizen, shouldn’t I?”
Chiyo looked at him. She saw the way his gaze darted about like some drunken sailor, and she started to laugh. She laughed so hard her sides ached, she couldn’t catch her breath, and Muhjah became uncomfortable.
“Muhjah, I gave you credit for something noble and good, but that’s not it is it? The emperor’s just convenient.”
Another peal of laughter broke free, and she doubled over with the force of it. Senka dried his face, sat down next to her, and beat her on the back.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said, waving him off. “Oh god, my stomach hurts.”
“I’m not all that fond of being laughed at,” Muhjah said. His tone was terse and threatening, but his body language was that of a scolded child.
“Don’t get upset. I like it so much better this way.”

This could be the best two weeks of their life... #Romance #Comedy

Summer Lovin'

by Donna Cummings


"So, Bootsie, why do you think hunky neighbor guy is washing that car all day long?"

Mia turned the puppy around to face her, and he tilted his head, as if he was seriously considering her question. Or admiring his reflection in her oversized sunglasses. The Bichon was tiny, a cotton ball's worth of white fur, but he had the most expressive dark eyes. Not to mention a big personality.

Bootsie barked, twice.

"You might be right. Maybe he's a chauffeur."

Mia resettled the pup in her arms, stretching her bare legs out on the lawn chair. There was a lot to be said for the leisurely life of a dog-sitter.

Such as the neighbor with dark flowing hair and enviably tanned skin. He wore cargo shorts and flip flops, and a faded blue T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest. When he bent over to scrub the sporty BMW's hubcaps, Mia bit her lip.

She didn't know whether to admire his well-developed calves or the nice curve of his backside.

After the past few years stuck in a windowless office, running her brothers' business, she had decided it was time to do something else with her life. Dog-sitting for the next two weeks was the perfect opportunity to figure it out.

Mia sipped her iced tea, holding it away from the puppy's curious paw so she could set it on the plastic table next to her. "I wouldn't have expected chauffeurs to be so muscular, but he is getting a pretty good workout with that wax on, wax off routine." She lifted the puppy. "See how his arms flex each time he washes the hood of the car? I know! Maybe he's a music video stud."

The car washer/chauffeur paused, the sponge gripped in his hand.

One Lie Can Destroy All Truths #YA #Mystery

Deck of Lies, Book 1: Justice

by Jade Varden


“Oh, Rain,” she squeezed me, and for several minutes we stood there and cried together. Finally she pulled away, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Honey, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. And Aaron. And my…and…everybody.”
“Rain,” her brown eyes, so much like my mother’s, were filled with pain as she reached out to brush a stray curl behind my ear. “You can’t be here.”
“But you haven’t been answering my calls! I had to come here.”
“Oh, Rain,” she turned away, bowing her head to hide behind a black curtain of hair. “I can’t take your calls. I can’t talk to you, and neither can Aaron. Not right now.”
“What? But Aunt Ronnie-”
“It’s not me, Rain, it’s the lawyer.” She held up her hands defensively.
“Rain? Rain!”
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment I couldn’t catch it to speak. “Aaron!”
He appeared at the top of the stairs. Aunt Ronnie stepped before me, blocking my view of him just as he came into sight. “No. Aaron, back upstairs. Do you want to make things worse than they already are? Rain, you’ve got to go.” She put her hands on my shoulders and bodily turned me toward the door. “Aaron, upstairs!”
I’d heard her use that firm tone only once before, when I was six. I’d found the birth control pills in her purse and thought they were candy. Aaron was no longer rushing down the stairs, and I had no choice but to let her physically push me out the front door.
“Aunt Ronnie,” I turned and seized her hand, my eyes boring into hers. “Just tell me why they did it. Just tell me they aren’t terrible people.”

Even deep space is no longer safe... #ScienceFiction #Speculative

We Of The Universe

by Rachel Cooper


“Your work has shown us that you are ready for a closer connection with the universe,” the woman said. “Of course, it will lead to more restricted personal surroundings, but it will allow you to better commune with the universe.”
“Your thoughts will be monitored and downloaded to the system, to be studied for their true meaning. The universe will speak through you,” the man stated.
“It will be worth what you have to pay for the privilege,” the woman finished.

Legeve did not know how to feel. She bowed her head, as if overwhelmed by emotion at the opportunity, because that was what was expected from her. Their lives were centred around this. For women of her class, it was as high as you could go. To become a vessel for the universe was an ultimate honour, and yet it meant that she would never see the man again.

With her every breath and thought monitored, he would not be able to reach her, and she could not go with him. The pain that thought gave her made her realise she wanted to go with Staffan. She did not want to become a part of the universe, but wanted to go out in it and live it.
“I enjoy my work here,” she said. “Surely there are others more worthy than me.”

Her overseer's smile vanished, and the man and woman’s smiles became smaller.
“Why, dear, you honestly don't know what a big honour this is,” her overseer said.
“It is not to be discussed,” the man said, a finality to his words that seemed to freeze her insides.
“Your body has been moved to its new confines already,” the woman said. “This meeting is just to congratulate you and to prepare you. Now it is time for you to go back and prepare for the joining.”
“It has been wonderful working with you,” her overseer said insincerely.

From "Seven Days from Sunday" by M.H. Sargent

Two CIA agents about to question an Iraqi woman about an American contractor recently killed by terrorists:


CIA Station Somewhere in Kuwait – Wednesday, April 12th, 7:41p.m.

“I’m sure he was a DUCK,” Gonz said as they made their way through the different corridors. Dr. McKay couldn’t help but peek into the various offices as they passed by. She saw people working on computers, talking on phones. This could be any work place in America, McKay thought. She had been surprised when the Gulfstream V had landed on a runway that seemed to her to be placed in the middle of nowhere – the middle of an uninhabited desert. When the plane door opened, a Humvee sat nearby waiting for them.

The Humvee had driven a few miles along a sandy track before coming to a gleaming white single-story structure with darkly tinted windows. While she had been surprised that they hadn’t landed in Kuwait City, she wasn’t surprised that the CIA had a secret base in Kuwait. After all, the Kuwaitis were still thankful to the U.S. for their intervention in the first Gulf War.

“Walks like a DUCK, smells like a DUCK, it probably is a DUCK,” Gonz said with a grimace. “But we need to know.”

McKay nodded. “DUCK” was the acronym for “Dead Upon Kidnapping.”

From "Rock Charisma" by Joan P. Cooley

Dale Rhodes paced the concrete floor beneath his feet like an animal in a cage...lean, lithe, and brooding. As dangerous as a trapped panther. Or a man headed for the gallows. Just then, he felt like one. And not at all like the biggest rock star in the world, with an arena full of fans outside…screaming for him.

He stood backstage alone, in the VIP dressing room...trying to prepare. The show was at Pickens arena, 5 miles outside of Los Angeles. The venue had sold out in six minutes. And a crowd of twenty thousand people waited for him to grace the stage. They called his name. Pleading, demanding that he make his appearance. They chanted the name of his band. "Wick-ers! Wick-ers! Wickers!" He could hear their cries, muffled by the 8-inch-thick walls surrounding him.

Their voices didn’t move him. They only added to his misery. He was trapped. Pushed into a corner. He rubbed at his eyes. And he was tired...bone tired. In no shape to sing. The cinder block paneled walls seemed to close in all around him. He shook off a feeling of dread. Lately, nothing felt right. Ever since that letter had come. It had changed everything.