“ … And the oxygen masks still haven’t turned up anywhere. No one’s admitted to taking them, either,” Leta was saying, sounding as exhausted as Fiearius felt, as she walked slowly beside him down the hallway toward the bridge. Normally her presence would have been something of a nuisance, but Fiearius felt simply too tired to protest.  Now that the ship had been stuck for ten days, he was starting to go off sleep.

And he wasn’t the only one. Below deck, Cyrus was a mess — covered in ship oil, shaking from all the coffee he’d consumed, tearing apart the engine piece by piece. Meanwhile, Fiearius took over managing the back-up generator. The process demanded near-constant monitoring and rerouting or power to extend its life for as long as possible. Dull, dreary work, but if it was one less thing Cy had to handle, he’d do it.

Leta had been right: this was getting worse before it was getting better. In just about every way. Continue reading →

“So, what do you know that we don’t?”

The question cracked through the air like a whip, breaking Leta out of her brow-furrowed concentration as she sat in the corner of the mess hall, her legs stretched over a chair as she read a thin, disheveled looking paperback–Aiden’s. Breakfast had just ended, most people had cleared from the room, and Leta was trying to occupy her restless, distracted mind.

It had been five days since the engine had broken. Five days of the ship sitting in the black of space, unable to land safely, aimless and useless and without direction. Now, the crew was starting to feel it: tension and restlessness lingered in the air, just out of reach, like a bad itch that couldn’t be scratched. The empty hours stretched and stretched like old rubber bands.

Now, Leta’s only plans for the day were to to visit Cyrus (frantic and obsessive over the engine, he hadn’t been seen above deck in days), and finish this novel. And apparently field questions from Maya, a young woman whom Leta had spoken to maybe twice before. Continue reading →

Heavy silence blanketed the Dionysian’s bridge, punctuated only by the dull thud of glass bottles meeting the dashboard. Swigging back dark bitter beer, Fiearius slumped in the captain’s chair, Aiden in the co-pilot’s seat at his side. The thrill of successfully stealing that necklace had all but died, the victory party decidedly cut short, when Sanilac had offered Aiden his teaching job back.

Now, hours later, the ship was off Elora and back in the air. A landscape of stars drifted past the window and a tired sort of quiet sat between them.

“Just for the record,” said Aiden at last, his voice exhausted and bemused, “I didn’t say I accepted the offer.” Continue reading →

It was surreal, Fiearius found, that it actually was Aiden, the Dionysian’s wise professor, helping him steal jewelry from this man’s mansion. He never thought he’d see the day when Aiden dipped his hand into theft… and yet, as Fiearius stood behind the tall hedge and watched, it was indeed Aiden who greeted Sanilac in the doorway, shook the man’s hand in a forlorn sort of way, and then stepped into the mansion. And it was Aiden who made sure the door was unlocked behind him for he and Corra to enter.

And Aid insisted he’d never become a real pirate. Ha. No one was immune. Continue reading →

“ … so after you kissed, she just — ran away and disappeared into the ship?” asked Leta, careful to keep her voice neutral as she surveyed Cyrus with concern in her eyes. To her distress, Cyrus nodded his head, looking thoroughly miserable as he relayed the details of the evening he’d spent out with Corra.

It was the following afternoon, and the ship had landed a few hours ago on a snowy, blustery planet called Elora, where Fiearius had another job scheduled. While the captain was out, most of the crew went to explore the new wintery setting and engage in a vicious snowball fight.

Cyrus and Leta, however, were up in his quarters, deep in discussion. Leta could hear the thumps of snowballs hitting the walls and windows, but inside, Cyrus was slumped forward on the edge of his bed, his head hanging so low that his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Continue reading →

There was no chance she wouldn’t come to meet him here. No chance. Cyrus repeated this in his head as he tried to keep from fidgeting. No chance. Corra would never knowingly stand him up without some major catastrophe at fault. Even so, as he sat alone on the bench outside the most elegant restaurant in town, clutching a bouquet of freshly cut flowers in his shaking hands, he couldn’t feel calm or confident. After all, catastrophes were common on the Dionysian, weren’t they?

In truth, he wasn’t sure if he was more worried about her not showing up or what would happen if she did. Cyrus had been so sure this time when he’d sought her out in the armory this morning. Sure that, for once, the timing was right. With all the time they’d been spending together, Leta’s insistence that he try again (surely she knew something he didn’t?) And then, above all else, there was that kiss…

It had to be right. Continue reading →

Excitement was buzzing in the black night air like insects. Patrons flooded the alley toward the back door of the arcade, chattering, singing, swinging bottles in their hands, eager for the evening’s entertainment in the combat ring. If the atmosphere was to be believed, the first round of fights would be the best they’d ever seen …

Twenty feet away, standing alone against a building, Leta stood perfectly still and observed the party unfold. It was difficult not to feel disgusted: these people had a sick definition of entertainment.

Gritting her teeth, Leta swept her hood over her head in one swift motion, ensuring it concealed the angles of her face as she fixed her eyes on the entry doors.  Freed from him she may have been, but she didn’t need Traze or any of his people to recognize her here. Just as Aiden had told her before she’d departed the ship, it was essential that she blended with this crowd. No matter how deeply it sickened her, she had to become someone who got a thrill from watching these death matches. Continue reading →

As suddenly as if she’d been slapped in the face, Leta’s eyes snapped open. For a moment she didn’t know where she was or, even more concerning, whose warm body she was curled up against. It wasn’t Ren, and the ground beneath her was cold — this wasn’t home.

Blinking her eyes, she gingerly rolled over to her back onto the dirt and and the cracked concrete ceiling swam into view. The previous night came flooding back like a nightmare: they were still locked in the cell. They must have dozed off after Fiearius’ story, she thought, surprised she’d fallen asleep at all with the throbbing in her leg and the worry sitting in her stomach like a heavy weight.

Carefully, Leta slid her hand from where it was tucked beneath Fiearius’ side, feeling embarrassed and then relieved that he wasn’t awake to witness how she’d slept on him. It wasn’t her fault he was warm and the cell was freezing — she must have shifted over in her sleep. Her eyes lingered curiously on his sleeping form for a moment, watching the slow lift and fall of his shoulders, before she pushed herself away another safe few inches. Continue reading →

The minutes bled into hours. Leta didn’t know how long she and Fiearius were in the cell. She dozed off and on against the cold concrete wall, her fitful sleep punctuated with violent, vivid images from the combat ring — the man advancing with the rusty knife, hands digging into her hair, and then Fiearius holding him down. She swore she could hear the sick crack and splintering of the man’s neck and see his lifeless eyes —

With a twitch, Leta opened her eyes and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. It wasn’t the nightmare that awoke her, but the searing pain up her leg. Her calf was hot and throbbing, reverberating straight up to her spine.  Fiearius’ shirt — the makeshift bandage — was already soaked clean through with blood. Thick fresh bandages and peroxide, that was what she really needed now. The knife had been filthy … Continue reading →