I have finally made it to the San Francisco Chronicle. There’s a lot of newspaper offices in this city – which I’ve apparently lived in my entire life – and I had to crack the case of which one was the right one.
I’m staring at the phone, trying to decide if it’s ringing or not, when a dame walks in. A leggy dame. Wearing pantyhose, meaning my letters to the mayor haven’t been reaching him.
I’m sitting behind my desk with my legs up, trilby hat cocked on my head, the light is coming in from the blinds repeating black and white on my face. It makes me look dark and mysterious but is also destroying my sense of balance and I’m, like, ninety percent sure when I try to bring my legs down I’m just going to tip over.
She woke up afraid, because it was a Tuesday and for her Tuesdays were historically terrible. It wasn’t every Tuesday. It wasn’t even most Tuesdays. But anything bad that had ever happened in her life had happened on a Tuesday, and now it had been fifty-two Tuesdays since a single thing had occurred. Rather thanContinue reading “Another Tuesday”
The elevator chimed and the doors slid smoothly open, things Missy barely registered. If it wasn’t contained within the bright glowing world of her phone (blue light filters, Missy believed, were for the weak) it had to be put on the backburner. The act of physically leaving work didn’t mean she was actually leaving workContinue reading “Garage”
Clementine knew she shouldn’t have left the party just as soon as she did it, but through some combination of stubbornness and pride she kept on walking. This stupid party her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – had dragged her to was all the way out in the boonies. She should have known it was a stupidContinue reading “The Not-Deer”
Just a little ways from the shore the waves were blue monstrosities, towering higher than she knew waves could go. They foamed and curled and crashed and then the water came rushing at the white sand, flowing over it, reaching her toes and tickling them just so before retreating back to Mother Ocean. In between the waves – so big they must be dreams! – she could see the horizon, a straight line stretching all the way from one direction to the other. Blue meets blue.
This is the tale of Cecilia Ramos, who never figured out she was mildly psychic. Strictly speaking, ‘psychic’ is a garbage term that umbrellas so many different types of mental abilities as to make it quite useless. A mind reader and a medium could both be called psychic, and if you asked, for example, theContinue reading “Just a Little Magic”
Humans cannot possess magic. It was simply one of the known facts of the universe among people who knew these things. Humans could borrow magic, if one of the factions was willing to share. And if someone was only part human they could have magic from whatever else ran through their being. But full humansContinue reading “Lost Soul”
They’d never find her here, because here there was nothing to find. She was taking her break on the back porch of the diner, leaning against one of the white-painted wooden posts holding up the little roof. It was just past midday. The sun was somewhere above, and the roof cast a shadow across theContinue reading “Grasslands”