The Topaz Marquise

Her words made no sense, but neither did the lost hours. I shivered in the warmth of the day. Beyond the window, in the square, I saw a familiar figure in a tattered cloak. Even from a floor up, the smell that greeted me was unpleasant: unwashed hair, perhaps rotting leather. Suddenly, I wanted to escape from my studio and the chill that hung over it.

I could not answer her. I had no memory of doing anything besides preparing the topaz.
What Needs to Burn

When I woke, I found the bullet between my wound and the makeshift bandage. The flesh was already closing where my body had spit it out. I pulled off the bandage and cursed a colorful tirade at Shadow, although I knew it wasn't his fault. People with the magic can't help it sometimes. Things just happen around them, though they might not want it to.

It was all crooked there—buildings sagged as though they'd been built against their will.
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Introduced by the author.
From the Archives:
Red Dirt
The collective growl of the spinning weighted ropes mimicked the song that had invaded our sleep.