Fiction

The thing about sharing head space with the shadow is that she never stops. She doesn’t do anything that even resembles sleep. She doesn’t even do anything like rest. She’s in constant motion, like a shark swimming round and round so it doesn’t die. Which means I don’t ever stop, either. I haven’t actually slept since I was a little girl, in the hospital after the storm that vomited me up onto that beach in Galveston. Even then, I wasn’t asleep. I was drugged. But we’ll get to that later. When I was young and the shadow and I were new to each...

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The music was so loud I could feel it rattling my fillings, a synthesized techno beat with a bass line that shook the floor and vibrated through the walls. Some overly auto-tuned gal was moaning along while colored lights strobed over walls draped in metallic fabric, and out on the dance floor people were gyrating and dry-humping. I sat at our table, glaring into my over-priced, watered-down drink, head pulsing as my shadow writhed in ecstasy. She loved it. The club was deliberately poorly-lit, and the flashing laser light and wildly spinning spotlights made it easy for my shadow to writhe...

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Irish studied Honey and Grace with narrow eyes for a moment before turning to Jean-Luc. “So you'd be the new Knight I heard about, then. Unless they've replaced the healer, too.” “Yes, and I wouldn't know. I've only been in town four hours.” Jean-Luc paused, frowned, and glanced back at Irish. “I'm surprised you heard about me at all,” he said, giving Irish an appraising look. “Monsieur Feist stressed to me that he was keeping the change of guard quiet. I gathered after all the...” he glanced at Grace, just now stepping back from Honey, “recent trouble, he didn't want...

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