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Genre: LGBTQ+ Paranormal Romantic Murder Mystery
Bodie stood and offered
his hand as if it was the most natural thing to do.
"Come on. The aquarium staff is going home for the night. I'll walk you back to your car."
Zayne cocked his head sarcastically. "You don’t think I can take care of myself, detective?"
“It’s not that.”
“Oh, I get it. Porter and Harris told you to keep an eye on me.”
“Actually, they told me the opposite.”
“Then why are you doing all this? I mean, the ice cream, the aquarium, escorting me to my car.”
Zayne took a step closer to the young man still holding his hand. A burst of heat erupted in his chest. His skin felt like it was on fire. The scent of sandalwood swirling around him tempted him to give in to the undeniable need coursing through his body. Unable to resist, Zayne leaned even closer to the sexy detective.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was our first date, Detective Hale.”
Bodie’s expression remained unchanged, but he couldn’t hide the lovely shade of pink that was now coloring the tips of his ears.
Zayne's thumb drew slow, seductive circles on the back of Bodie's hand. He daringly slipped his long, elegant fingers between Bodie’s until their palms touched. When their grip tightened with a natural ease, his heart stuttered as Bodie's breathing quickened. Their intimately joined hands sent the most exquisite tremors rushing through his body.
"What are you doing?" Bodie whispered, his voice ragged.
"I don't know. But it feels right. Doesn't it?"
Zayne’s heart thrashed wildly inside his tight chest as Bodie lifted his free hand and cupped the side of his face. He could feel the calloused skin tenderly cradle the smooth skin of his cheek. Giving in to his body’s demands, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into Bodie’s warm hand.
"Zayne…we…we can't."
Zayne’s eyes shot open. He wrenched his hand free and took three quick steps back.
"I-I-I'm so sorry! I don't know what I..."
Bodie turned, heading for the exit, his head hung low. "It…It’s fine. Come on. Follow me."
Zayne couldn’t see the detective’s face. But he could read Bodie’s body language loud and clear.
What the hell came over him? Of course, Bodie would be disgusted. He’s a man, for god’s sake! A damn hot man who, even if he was gay, would never be interested in Zayne.
This is crazy! I’m not even gay! I’m not. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’m just tired, lonely, and fucking horny. I can’t even remember the last time I got laid. This is ridiculous. How am I going to look him in the eye after this? He probably hates my guts. He’ll probably tell the captain he can’t work with me anymore. Whatever. I didn’t want his help anyway.
“Are you coming?” Bodie asked.
But Zayne didn’t seem to hear him. He remained where he was, internally scolding himself for acting like a complete idiot. It wasn’t until he felt Bodie’s fingers threading through his that he snapped out of his bubble of self-loathing. He looked into the detective’s eyes, shocked to see a devilish satisfaction shadowed by a hint of hope in their golden depths.
“I’m not angry,” Bodie said softly, gently squeezing Zayne’s hand. “You’re tired and, just taking a guess here, hungry?”
Zayne nodded. Well, he may have read Bodie all wrong, but the detective knew exactly what he was feeling. It was nice—really nice—to finally be seen by someone. Granted, it was by a complete stranger, which was the damndest thing. Yet Bodie didn’t feel like a stranger. How was that possible? Had they met before?
“Alright then. We’ll stop for something on the way back to the station. But nothing greasy or spicy. You’ll have nightmares.”
Zayne gave Bodie a broken smile.
Oh, Detective Hale. You have no idea what a nightmare is. Trust me, junk food is the least of my worries.
Zayne could tell Bodie was trying to read his thoughts. The way a tiny wrinkle appeared between the detective’s brows and his pale eyes danced with questions had Zayne thinking hard about trusting this man with his secrets.
“Everything okay?” Bodie asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Well then, follow me.”
Zayne shook his head casually. “Not until you answer my question.”
“What question?”
“The one I asked earlier.”
“Ohhh. The one about why I’m doing all of this. That one?”
Giving Bodie an annoyed smile, Zayne replied, “Yes, that one. I mean, you’re a detective sent here to catch a serial killer. Shouldn’t you be out looking for clues or arresting suspects instead of buying me food and taking me to see fish?”
A smile borne from honesty lifted the corners of Bodie’s lips. “What can I say? I enjoy taking care of you. I like to see you smile. You should do it more often. It’s sexy.”
Eyes wide and heart racing, Zayne gulped down the words taking shape on his tongue. Bodie’s answer caught him off guard and left him wondering if he was dreaming.
“Come on,” Bodie whined, tugging on Zayne’s hand. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”
Of that simple fact, Zayne was now convinced.
“Where are we going?”
“Do you trust me?”
Zayne looked into Bodie’s unrelenting gaze and answered from his heart.
“Absolutely.”
Genre: LGBTQ+ Urban Fantasy, Norse Mythology
Caden Mitchell, a wolf shifter, thinks he’s on a mission to
stop a deadly weapons exchange. What he finds instead is a pair of silver eyes
and a body carved by sin. Erick Shaw is a struggling bartender whose scent has
awakened Caden’s lonely heart and ignited a fire in his dying soul. Drawn
together by an unknown and inexplicable familiarity, they will search for
answers as to why humans want Erick dead and shifters wish to possess him.
Caden Mitchell wasn’t supposed to
be here. It wasn’t supposed to be him sitting in this seedy strip club,
avoiding the advances of women he had no interest in. Initially, his head of
security had been assigned to this location. But, when they got a last-minute
tip about an illegal shipment of drugs arriving tonight down at the harbor,
Caden was forced to take the mission at the club while his associate followed
the lead at the docks.
It really was the best plan. Unfortunately, now he’s the one stuck sitting here in this hell of overstimulation instead of the quiet of his condo, reading a good book while enjoying a cup of tea.
The flashing, colorful lights around him make his eyes hurt. The loud music, if you can even call it that, feeds the headache clawing at the front of his skull. The pungent smell of the filthy carpet, the ripped vinyl seats, and the smoky air all trigger waves of nausea that churn his empty stomach. Everything about this place reeks of desperation and sex.
From the moment he sat down over an hour ago, Caden has kept his head and eyes down. He can’t afford to draw attention to himself if he wants to complete his mission. However, as he catches the scent of someone new walking through the doors, his head lifts slightly so his sharp eyes can follow the man he was sent here to observe, possibly capture, but most likely, kill.
His senses heighten as he watches his target casually approach the bar and order a beer. The man dressed in a blue suit too expensive for this cheap club turns to scan the crowd cautiously. Caden quickly lowers his head again and casually takes the final sip of bourbon from his glass. A minute ticks by before he looks up to zero in on his target again.
But instead of finding his prey, Caden is met with a pair of striking gray eyes staring back at him with an arousing playfulness.
He can’t look away. Even though his breaths remain slow and even, his heart rate accelerates like a racehorse out of a starting gate. The blood in his veins burns like fire beneath his skin, yet he keeps his expression shrouded with disinterest. Heated shivers ripple outwards through his body as his eyes catch the faint, mischievous smile taking shape on the bartender’s perfectly bowed lips. When the owner of those mystifying silver eyes begins walking toward him, Caden’s grip on the empty glass in his hand tightens.
Everything in the club fades to the background except for the man striding confidently to the small round table in the corner, where Caden waits, his sensitive ears listening to the steady beat of the bartender’s strong heart. His cobalt blue eyes catch every movement of the young man’s sinewy muscles beneath his black, skin-tight jeans and barely-there crimson red shirt. Everything about the bartender fascinates him. But it’s the innocent man’s scent that truly captivates him.
Caden has never smelled anything this heavenly before. The bartender’s fragrance is a potent blend of rosewood and sweat, compelling him to inhale deeply until he can taste it on his tongue. The combination is exhilarating, yet there’s something else subtly interwoven beneath it that draws him in like a siren’s song—something Caden believes he has smelled before but has been lost to him over time.
“What can I get you, handsome?” the bartender asks with a flirty tilt of his head.
Caden’s fingers itch to bury themselves in the man’s soft hair. The urge to pull on the strands at the root, baring the man’s neck to his teeth, has him clenching his jaw. He swallows stiffly as the bartender’s large, almond-shaped eyes openly travel up and down his body. They’re lined with endless rows of black lashes so thick that it gives the illusion that the young man is wearing eyeliner. It makes Caden want to see if the barkeep is as dangerous as he looks. His eyes drink in the young man’s bare arms, his mouth going dry when the sly minx of a man flexes his biceps. The bartender has veiled them, along with the sun-kissed flesh covering his exposed collarbones, with some sort of fine body glitter. The seductive man’s naked skin glistens with every breath he takes, every minute shift of his lean body, and all Caden wants to do is lick it off him.
When I was young, I read books to escape the small town I
grew up in. College, work, and family took me away from the stories I loved.
But in 2020, when everyone was isolated, my youngest daughter introduced me to
Japanese anime, and I fell into a hole I never want to leave. Fan fiction
showed me that anyone can create stories and share them with the world. Three
encouraging words from my best friend gave me the courage to write my first fan
fiction later that year. Not long after, I completed the series, A Soul's
Caress, my first original story but not my last. At 55, I now understand the
meaning of George Eliot's quote, "It's never too late to be what you might
have been.”
Website * Facebook * Instagram * TikTok * Amazon
* Goodreads
Need cheering up? How about a nostalgic trip back to the 1970s with a different perspective?
Follow the true story of two young yet disparate Brits as they venture east to Hong Kong to join the colonial police out there. Initially bought-in to the adventure, bright lights and the hedonistic pleasures of the Exotic East, Alan and Bob are thrown into a world somewhat divergent to the picture painted whilst under training. They begin to butt heads with corruption, colonial excess, privilege and protectionism and run into connivers, skivers and survivors.
The story follows the two young, relatively naive men along their journey from their eight-month police training to their posts as policemen. It is filled with colourful incidents and exotic tales, with liberal doses of tongue in cheek humour and literary licence thrown in, you'll scarcely believe what they encountered.
Two orphan loners. One supernatural plague. When wood-eating zombies threaten their island, mismatched investigators Felix and Ninja must combine science and instinct to save Spinachi-before they're next.
ZOMBIE ZOO is Book 1 in a five-book middle grade adventure series for readers ages 8-13, blending paranormal mystery, zombies, unlikely friendship, and STEAM-powered problem-solving.
To find a cure, Felix must team up with Ninja, a shadow-dwelling orphan who trusts her instincts and never backs down. Intense and razor-sharp, she notices what others overlook and lives up to her name as the island's most mysterious sleuth. With their eccentric mentor Doc Brunne compromised and the town's water supply contaminated by a glowing bioluminescent substance, the two mismatched investigators must combine scientific observation with sharp intuition to stop the outbreak before their island home is devoured.
Featuring diverse protagonists, quirky humor, spooky-but-fun scares, and strong female and male leads. ZOMBIE ZOO is ideal for reluctant readers and fans of Max Brallier's The Last Kids on Earth, B.B. Alston's Amari and the Night Brothers, and Goosebumps. Comprehensive educator resources-including discussion guides, vocabulary lists, STEAM extension activities, and printable maps-support classroom use, library programming, book clubs, and make this title ideal for cross-curricular lessons bridging ELA, STEAM, and SEL.
The green substance pulsed three feet from Felix Fizzystyxx’s face, defying every natural law he’d documented in four years of fieldwork.
He crouched low in the orphanage hallway, his field notepad balanced on his knee, pencil hovering over the page. The goo glowed—an unnatural, phosphorescent color that reminded him of the lightning bugs he’d cataloged last summer, only much more intense. Felix leaned closer. Was that a shimmer at the edge? Yes. The substance expanded slightly, almost like a water droplet responding to surface tension.
Unprecedented. Undocumented. Unknown.
His pulse quickened. If he could document this properly, maybe he’d finally prove he was a real Naturalist. The kind worthy of creating maps that mattered. Like the one in Spinachi’s town hall. Detailed. Beautiful. Important.
“Fizzysquirt! Where’d that freak go?”
Felix’s hand froze mid-notation. Gilly’s voice. Close. Too close.
His heart rate spiked—sixty-eight beats per minute, he estimated. Unusual for him. His eyes darted down the hallway. The orphanage’s dim gas lamps cast long shadows across the floorboards. Three doors. The pantry was closest.
“Check the stairs,” another voice called. “He always hides. Check outside.”
Move.
Felix snatched his notepad and ran, his lanky frame folding into motion. His green vest flapped as he twisted the pantry knob and slipped inside, pulling the door closed with a soft click.
The orphanage pantry wasn’t designed for naturalists.
Felix shifted his lanky frame, trying to fold himself smaller. His elbow knocked against a shelf of dried spinach. Green particles puffed into the air. Above him, one of his tight curls snagged on a splintered board—he yanked it free with an irritated huff, missing the initial dispersal. Still, the remaining trajectory was clear—three feet up, two feet across, settling in a pattern that matched his earlier incident with the flour. Predictable, like most things in nature.
His knees were pinned against a lower shelf cluttered with dusty bottles. The pantry smelled of preserved vegetables and ancient wood polish that hadn’t been opened since long before he arrived at Wayward-Amok Orphanage. Felix catalogued the scents methodically: spinach—dried and fresh (dominant), wood (secondary), and… something else—unusual, unfamiliar.
Was it metallic? No, that wasn’t it. It certainly didn’t belong among the familiar pantry smells.
Interesting. Mental note: will document later.
With his shoulders hunched at just the right angle, he mentally calculated how to get his head closer to the ground. The space had been adequate three growth spurts ago, but now he had to fold his body like one of those collapsible rulers Cookie kept in the kitchen drawer.
This is ridiculous. I’m turning 14 in four months, too old for this hiding nonsense!
But hiding was logical. Necessary. Gilly destroyed his last journal and his best pencil. Months of data were lost and difficult to replace.
Felix huffed and adjusted his green vest. His goals were clear—1) make no noise, 2) secure an unobstructed view of the hallway, and 3) most important, whatever his pretzel position, it must not limit access to his meticulously organized field notepad. It wasn’t one of his special, leather-bound field journals—those stayed safe in the tree fort, too precious and too bulky to risk on spontaneous investigations.
No. The notepad was different: small, portable, expendable if necessary. When he’d seen that green glow outside the front door and sprinted after it, the notepad had come with him automatically. It was always with him, tucked in his vest beside his precious pencils. Raw observations went into the notepad first. Only later, safely in the tree fort, would he transfer the important data into his proper journals with detailed diagrams and analysis.
Carefully, he positioned his head closer to the small vent at the bottom of the pantry door, straining to see the hallway beyond. Through the grate, he could make out movement—boots. Four pairs.
Gilly’s confident stomp led the formation. Felix recognized the gait immediately from months of documentation. Two other pairs shuffled behind in their usual pattern. The fourth hung back, hesitant.
“Where is he?” Gilly’s voice carried through the vent. “Little freak was out here somewhere.”
“Maybe he went outside,” one of the others offered.
“In the dark? Fizzysquirt’s scared of his own shadow.” Laughter. “Check the kitchen. I want my chocolate tax tonight, and he still owes me from last month.”
The boots moved past the pantry. Felix held his breath, his pencil frozen mid-grip. He counted in his head. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Ninety.
The voices faded down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Felix’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His heart rate dropped to sixty-five beats per minute. Safe. For now.
He consulted his mental calendar. Chocolate Day—of course. The one day each month when they distributed small bags of chocolate—and a few hours later, Gilly collected his ‘chocolate tax.’
Felix shook his head. He should have checked his “Gilly’s Rotation Schedule” before venturing out. Sloppy fieldwork on his part.
But he’d had no choice. That odd glowing goo! For the first time in years, Felix had acted without consulting his notes or calculating risks.
Real Naturalists didn’t cower in pantries. They explored. They discovered. They created maps that mattered.
Yet here he was, crammed into this inadequate space, when he should be out in that hallway recording the most unusual phenomenon he’d ever encountered.
Felix pressed his eye closer to the vent, ignoring the discomfort as the cold metal edge dug into his skin. The hallway appeared empty now. Just gas lights and shadows. If he moved quickly, he could—
Footsteps.
Felix froze.
But these weren’t Gilly’s confident stomps. These footsteps moved with an irregular rhythm, dragging… or was it stumbling? Felix shifted his head against the vent, analyzing the gait. Not Gilly’s gang. Not Cookie’s quick patter. Not any walking pattern he’d noted in orphanage observational files.
These were wrong.
The footsteps moved closer. Closer. Too late—they stopped directly in front of the pantry door.
A shadow fell across the vent as someone—or something—stood motionless outside his hiding place. Felix held his breath, his pencil frozen mid-notation. The stillness was unnatural. Even the most patient person shifted their weight, breathed audibly, made some sound.
This was odd. This was strange.
The doorknob rattled from the outside.
For the first time, a sensation that had nothing to do with scientific curiosity crawled up Felix’s spine. Goosebumps rose on his arms despite the pantry’s warmth. His body was reacting to something his logical mind couldn’t yet process. Whatever waited outside that door defied his classification of normal.
A low, unnatural sound filtered through the vent. Not a voice. Not breathing. Something... else. Something that made Felix’s carefully organized thoughts scatter like the startled birds he so often documented. The sound resonated at a frequency that seemed to vibrate inside his bones.
The doorknob rattled again. Harder this time. More insistent.
Felix released his grip on his notepad and pressed himself back against the shelves, suddenly aware that the thin wooden door might not be enough. Not enough for what, he couldn’t say—and that uncertainty was the most disturbing element of all.
Record, don’t react, his old mantra whispered. Document, don’t disturb.
But this—this defied documentation.
The rattling stopped.
Silence pressed against Felix’s ears. He strained to hear anything. Breathing. Movement. Footsteps retreating.
Nothing.
Then—
Splat.
A sound echoed as if something dropped to the floor outside. The shadow shifted across the vent. Gradually, the shuffling footsteps moved past, fading down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Gilly’s gang had gone.
Felix waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
His fingers twitched with impatience. Every second lost. Scientific discoveries didn’t wait—especially not for orphans hiding from bullies. Or whatever that had been.
He positioned his eye back against the vent.
There.
Through the grate, Felix could see it clearly now. A new sample of the odd green substance sat in a precarious spot, straddled over two floorboards whose ancient planks had cracks wide enough to swallow small objects. If he didn’t act quickly, the substance would either seep through or be absorbed by the parched wood.
Felix weighed his options. Quickly, he unfolded his body, snatching his notepad and pencil in one hand, gripping the doorknob in the other. His hand froze on the knob.
Record, don’t react. The rule that had kept him safe. The rule that made him a good observer.
But not a participant.
Think logically. If I lose my notepad to Gilly, I lose tonight’s observations. If I miss documenting the odd substance, I lose one data point.
But this wasn’t just any data point. This was unprecedented. Undocumented. Unknown.
Decision made. Felix twisted the knob and stepped into the hall.
The goo was still there.
Felix approached cautiously, crouching for a better view. It was small, perhaps the size of a coin, but there was no mistake—its green color glowed vividly, that same phosphorescent intensity he’d seen before.
On the ground, his field notepad open, Felix cataloged his observations: No obvious cellular structure. No appendages. Just a puddle of goo. The phosphorescent glow played across his warm brown hands as he sketched.
A salty, musty odor emanated from it, similar to tidepool water. Strange. Spinachi was bordered by an ocean—the entire island of Tub was surrounded by the ocean. Living on an island meant Felix had cataloged ocean smells his entire life. This was different.
As he leaned closer, the substance… changed. It expanded slightly, almost like a water droplet responding to surface tension. Felix rubbed his eyes. Surely, he was mistaken.
He wasn’t. This time he ignored counting how many heartbeats were pounding in his chest. The closer his hand came, the larger the substance grew. No natural material behaved this way, not that he knew of.
Felix extracted a small measuring stick from his left pocket and extended it toward the goo. The substance expanded again, reaching toward the stick like a plant seeking sunlight.
Fascinating.
When he pulled back, the substance contracted slightly. Grinning, he documented this reaction, sketching the progression with quick, precise strokes.
One more test. Felix moved closer again, this time bringing his face near the substance. As predicted, it expanded, reaching upward as if drawn to him. Then, without warning, it shriveled dramatically, as though hit by intense heat.
Felix startled when a black shoe appeared in his peripheral vision.
“Sketching floorboards? So weird.” A girl stood behind him, already moving on without waiting for an answer. “Yesterday, your note on the robin’s nest was wrong. The mother laid four eggs, not three. You missed one behind the branch.”
Felix whipped around, nearly dropping his notepad as he stood. A girl appeared in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. She was about a foot shorter than Felix, with tied-back black hair and clothes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. Her hands were planted on her hips as she looked down at him, despite her shorter stature.
“Who are you?” he demanded, instinctively clutching his notepad closer.
“Hope you weren’t trying to hide in the pantry?” said the girl, not really asking. “Gilly’s crew always checks there for extra chocolates.”
Felix looked over his shoulder, checking for Gilly’s gang.
“Relax, none of them are here.”
Felix blinked, his mind racing. Who was she, and how did she know about his observations? He studied her face, searching his mental records for any previous encounter. Her features were a mix—sharp cheekbones, pearl white skin, straight blue-black hair, eyes that turned to crescents when she squinted at him—like she belonged to two worlds at once.
Nothing in his mental records matched. She clearly knew more about Gilly's rotations and pantry checks than he did—this was valuable new data he'd missed somehow.
“I… I didn’t know. Thanks for the tip. Maybe we could work together to avoid Gilly’s gang? I’ve been mapping their patterns, but clearly my data is—”
“I work alone, Felix,” she cut him off, her expression unchanged. “Another tip: counting on others just leads to trouble.”
Felix’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know my name?” He scanned his memory—every orphan he’d documented in the last year. Nothing. “I’ve never even seen you before. Not once.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “That’s how I like it.”
She turned away, fingers tapping against her leg. When she glanced back at him, her eyes narrowed like she wasn’t sure talking to him had been a good idea.
“Right. So, you know my name,” he held out his hand. “Have we met before?”
“Ninja,” she said, not shaking his hand. She started to move down the hall. Felix couldn’t help but follow.
“Rookie mistake hiding in the pantry,” Ninja said over her shoulder as she walked. “But I’m not surprised. I’m great at hiding. Gilly’s gang doesn’t even know I exist.”
Felix found himself fascinated by this girl. Still and super focused one minute, gliding like air the next. Her movements were precise, economical. First the impossible green substance, and now this girl who knew him when he knew nothing about her. Two mysteries in one night. His notepad would need a new section entirely.
“That’s for sure,” Felix muttered before he could stop himself.
Ninja spun around and looked him up and down. Her black outfit was a marvel of practicality, covered in pockets of all sizes, perfect for hiding things. She blended into the shadows like she belonged there.
“You’re much taller up close,” she said. “Nice green vest. It matches that tree where you do your drawings. How’d you get it that color?”
“What?” Felix’s jaw dropped. “I mean—I didn’t—” His mind raced through calculations. The statistical probability of someone spotting his tree fort was approximately 0.037%, based on visibility angles, foliage density, and his carefully plotted observation schedule. He’d employed seven distinct camouflage techniques. “I assumed nobody saw me up there.”
“Relax. Nobody else sees you. One more tip? People don’t look up.” Ninja’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “I notice everything. I’m in the oak tree next to yours. Your drawings aren’t bad.”
“What? You’ve been in my tree? Seen my drawings?” Felix squeaked.
“Tree isn’t yours,” Ninja shrugged. “Just looked at your work. So, your vest?”
His head spun. Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest. This bold, mysterious, and categorically very strange girl had been watching him while he thought he was the one doing all the observing! He wasn’t so sure he liked being the one observed.
“Um, right. Cookie lets me use leftover spinach water. I dye all my clothes green.”
Ninja’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise crossing her face. “Spinach water? Smart.” She studied the vest with new interest.
The girl glanced down the hallway, head tilting slightly as if listening to something Felix couldn’t hear.
“They’re almost done passing out the chocolate for the night,” she said, already backing away. “Coming?”
Felix hesitated, his mind still cataloging everything about this unexpected encounter. Something told him following this girl would lead to answers—and likely more questions. Either way, what did he have to lose?
“Did you get your chocolate yet?”
“Nope.”
“Everyone’s already been to Prattle-pinch’s room. I think we’re the last ones.”
Felix gasped in surprise.
Prudence Amok, aka Prattle-pinch, ran the Wayward-Amok Orphanage, a creaky old building that always smelled like boiled spinach. The orphans had given her the nickname behind her back—she was a gossip and spent too little on them. Felix had only heard Gilly’s gang use it. To the townspeople of Spinachi, she acted like she cared about the orphans, but Felix knew better. While she ate fancy foods, the kids got spinach for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—there were only so many ways to cook the same vegetable.
“What?” Ninja asked.
“I’ve only heard Gilly’s gang call her that name,” Felix said. His mind was still cataloging information about this mysterious girl—her movements, her knowledge, her apparent invisibility to everyone else. Each new fact was like discovering a rare specimen. “It sounds funny... I guess, coming from you.”
"Funny?" Ninja raised an eyebrow. "You really don't get out of that tree much, do you? Everyone calls her Prattle-pinch. Even Cookie calls her that, and they're best friends." She kept walking down the hall. "What's shocking is how Prattle-pinch thinks she has the right to give us all made-up names! My real name was the only thing I had from before—I bet it meant something in my mother's language—and she just erased it. Why shouldn't we give her one back? I mean, Nettiwiggs—what kind of last name is that?”
Felix just nodded, but he noted the intense furrow of Ninja’s brow when she was talking about made-up names. Her reaction seemed disproportionate to the topic—another data point to record later. This girl had taught him more about the orphanage in five minutes than he’d learned in years. But the green substance was still foremost in his mind—a scientific anomaly that defied categorization.
“Um, Ninja,” he said, his face turning red, “before you found me, did you hear or see anything strange in the hall?”
“Like what?” Ninja stopped walking.
Felix rubbed his neck. “Like, dragging sounds? Moaning?” He wanted to ask about the green goo directly but worried she might think he was making things up. Better to start with the auditory evidence.
Ninja’s forehead wrinkled again as she thought. “No. But there was something.” She closed her eyes, her fingers twitched like they were feeling the air. “Like a feeling. Like something in the air. It’s what led me to the hall.” Her eyes snapped open, she shrugged her shoulder and continued moving. “I thought I saw something but I didn’t.”
“You didn’t see anything glowing?” Felix whispered, feeling goosebumps pop up on his arms even though there wasn’t a breeze. The probability of two people independently hallucinating the same phenomenon was approximately 0.0042%. If she’d seen it too, that would confirm its existence.
Ninja halted, her eyes squinted back at him. “I didn’t say anything about glowing.” Ninja stood there, quietly observing Felix, drawing out the moment and making it awkward.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. If you saw something, it’s not like I’m going to think you are crazy, or anything,” Felix said, thinking this was the most interesting person he’d ever met. Each new fact was like discovering a rare specimen. His scientific curiosity was now fully engaged—not just in the green substance but in Ninja herself. Two unprecedented discoveries in one night! “Just, uh, if you saw something... different, you could tell me.”
“Yeah, I get that about you.” Ninja started walking again. “I trust my feelings. They’re usually right.”
Seeing how confident she was, Felix had to ask, “You’re not scared of Gilly and his gang at all, are you?”
“Nope!” Ninja laughed.
Felix blinked. She wasn’t just unafraid of Gilly—she found him amusing.
“Gilly’s seen me a few times, but never long enough to remember my face.” She stopped at Prattle-pinch’s door and listened. “Is she—laughing?”
“I don’t know,” Felix raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard her laugh before. Someone must be in there with her.”
Just then, Prattle-pinch’s door swung open. Before Felix could blink, he was yanked off his feet.
