Birds of Fortune

by Kelsey Hutton

Water droplets still glistened on each of the griffin’s feathers, catching light on dark brown wings and tossing it about like they were old friends. Each stroke of the wing beat back gusts of air forceful enough to talk their way into any closed-door affair; enough crows had been caught in their turbulence to know to stay away, although a few young’uns liked to surf the griffin’s currents, on a particularly daring day. Wind whistled a jaunty tune as it streamed by, while the sun nestled deep into the griffin’s satiny lion haunches. She kept her powerful back legs pulled in tight, for better aerodynamics, but let her long tufted tail swish about.

Lady Griffith didn’t hold back. It felt deliciously good to pump her wings — as wide across as a ten-year-old ash tree, its sapling days long gone — and luxuriate in the smell of a fresh kill — meaty and tangy, like all good tropical fowl — still hooked in her beak. A clear runway of sky, a few picturesque snow-topped mountains in the distance, her eaglet safe in his nest atop the spear-like Douglas fir just over the next ridge — what else could a griffin want?

It had been a long incubation period with the eggs. Over a month. Even with nest exchanges, allowing Sir Griffith to occasionally take his turn perching on two agate eggs the size of good-sized gourds, her powerful front talons still craved something to crush in their grip. (Continue Reading…)

Peppermint Tea

by Rachel Gutin

Simi huddled in their borrowed coat and tried not to shiver as they reached for the stuffed roll their housemate had set out for them. No matter how many down coats and thick woolen sweaters Kari lent them, they couldn’t shake the chill from their bones. They ached to be back home, where winter never got this cold.

But home meant Gran, and Gran was gone now. Had it really been six weeks since she died? (Continue Reading…)

The Sun Globe

Heather Shaw & Tim Pratt

Grace Morley was singing “Silver Bells” under her breath — it was part of the winter pageant she was organizing, and she’d heard it a hundred million times in the past few weeks — when she saw the handmade sign reading POP-UP HOLIDAY MARKET, ONE DAY ONLY! on a brick wall, with a zig-zagged arrow pointing down an alley she’d never noticed before.

She was on the outskirts of downtown, where there were still more empty storefronts than full ones. People said the area used to be nicer, before lockdown had forced so many businesses to close. The city was constantly trying things like this, one-day festivals and events, in an effort to bring traffic back to the neighborhood. Two weeks before Thanksgiving seemed a little early for a holiday market, but she had nowhere else to be that Saturday afternoon, and it gave a serendipitous twist to her afternoon walk. (Continue Reading…)