Al Kessel | Professional Voice Actor for Audiobooks & Trailer

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How does one share their biggest secret, which I made my life mission to hide? It was not something quirky or cute. It's a secret that will trigger most people in such a way they would be ready to murder me. I envisioned their foaming mouths the moment the words left mine, ready to pounce at me. How do you tell the world you are attracted to the offspring they produce? That you are attracted to their little ones that still cling to their legs, that still depend on their protection. The best part? I don't even prey on children. I never would. I love them deeply, and the last thing I want is for them to get hurt. I would only involve myself with a kid if the child would like to, and if the parents are okay with it. But since that will never happen, all of it is out of the question. It's that simple. I sigh deeply. I despise my past self for filling out that application form online. I don't even understand what sort of savior complex took hold of me. I was living a good, and most importantly, anonymous life, and I felt the need to sabotage that for some reason. I sag on the floor and lean against the bathtub. Why did I allow my self-hatred to take center stage and ruin my life? Everyone around me was utterly clueless. It dawned on me that I favored that. It was safe. I never confided in my friends because I didn't want to. I didn't want them to look at me differently. Not even my best friend. It would kill me if they'd abandon me simply because my attraction doesn't line up with theirs. No longer would they be trusting me around their children, despite the fact I never touched any of them inappropriately. My friends considered me unlucky in love, an eternal bachelor, but a loving uncle to their kids nonetheless. They would ask me occasionally if I wasn't ready to settle down, having a few kids, etc. The life our society portrays is standard, as expected. I would tell them I was trying, so I occasionally went on a date with a person, woman, man, potato, or whoever was down to go. I didn't care as long as I could keep the facade up. I would go on a few dates, have sex, or at least try to. Most of the time, my cock stayed limp, and then I would ignore them, block them out of my life. It brought me new time, a time where I could be myself, and I didn't have to bother with the mask of a loser who couldn't find a relationship. I never gave my dates my full name, just Cam, sometimes a fake name depending on my mood. On each date, a small part of me hoped that perhaps this person could enlighten my heart like a child's face does, but they never do. An adult could never offer me the satisfaction and gratification a child could, but I clung to that hope. My friends were utterly clueless, not knowing this either. As far as they knew, I was actively seeking love, swiping as if my life depended on it, and giving it my all to find my special person. Going on this endless parade of dates also gave me a reason to stop by my friends' houses more often to tell them about my love life drama. I was always welcome to stop by, spicing up their mundane lives. Perhaps the drama was real. More often, I made things up or told bullshit I read online somewhere, as long as it was believable. My friends ate it up, living their single lives via me, but most importantly, it also meant seeing their children again.

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Here are things to try if your Microsoft Surface Pen won't write. Open apps or connect to Bluetooth. Check whether you can open apps and see your Surface Pen with your finger. If not, go to Surface Touchscreen, Problems with Touch, for troubleshooting steps.

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Welcome to the Nordstrom Diversity Training e-learning course for team members. Our people are the foundation of who we are as a company. Attracting, hiring, and retaining diverse talent enables us to be more innovative and better serve our employees, customers, and communities. Click Start to begin the course.

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At the top of the screen, you'll see the command ribbon. Welcome to the overview course for the Dyson vacuum customer engagement platforms. A student guide or PDF version of the course content is available in the resource tab at the top of the course page.

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Every moment has a story and every story matters. The first men painted stories on stone walls. The ancient Egyptians chose the chisel instead. The Incas told the story with dances and fire. Aborigines told it with star and spear. Stories are the very essence of human life. They count the breaths of every sunrise, the beats of every emotion, and silence of every heart. In this course you'll learn how to effectively tell a story that will live long after you've left this life.

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Now let's take a quick quiz on the guidelines for Target Employee Discount Card benefits. Select the correct answer. A. Employees are allowed to use their discount for only themselves. B. Employees can use their discount for themselves and members of their household. Or C. Employees can use their discount on anybody they trust. If you chose B, you're correct. Target team members can provide their discount card to family members of their immediate household. This is a company benefit and may be revoked if misused.

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Never trust a battery to do a Duracell job.

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Liberty Mutual Insurance. Drivers who've switched saved an average of $509. Call now or visit us online for an instant quote.

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When in doubt, MasterPass it. Going from no plans to all smiles? Priceless. MasterPass. New from MasterCard.

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Watch hit movies and shows anywhere with DIRECTV. Order NFL Sunday Ticket. Every game, every Sunday. DIRECTV is the clear choice.

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At In-N-Out Burger, quality is everything. That's why in a world where food is often over-processed, repackaged and frozen, In-N-Out makes everything the old-fashioned way. In-N-Out. That's what a hamburger's all about.

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Ride and decide what's more powerful. The distinctive blacked out styling, the high-performance ThunderStroke V-Twin, or the addictive riding experience. Stop into your local Indian dealership for the legendary summer event going on now and receive 0% financing for 72 months. Hurry, deals like this hit the open road.

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The beaches of Santa Monica, boutiques along Beverly Hills tree-lined boulevards, and Universal Studios movie sets. Set the scene for a perfect West Coast day. Book your getaway now at Expedia.com

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The dragon landed hard enough to knock Rin off his feet. Stone fractured beneath its weight, the shockwave hurling dust and gravel through the ruins as heat rolled outward in a suffocating wave. Contact! Vesk bellowed. Big one! Rin scrambled upright, bow already in hand, eyes locked on the thing unfolding its wings. Priority threat identified. Enemy class, dragon. Threat tier, catastrophic. Mira sucked in a sharp breath. That's not a mini-boss! Rin didn't look away. No, he said. That's a wipe if we miss. The dragon's head lowered, scales grinding softly as it inhaled. Tiny sparks, it rumbled, voice vast and layered, like fire rolling through a cavern. You trespass in my ash! Flames flickered between its teeth. Spread! Rin shouted. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Skill activated. Piercing volley. The arrow struck the dragon's chest and shattered, sparks skittering uselessly across its scales. Mira raised both hands, sigils flaring bright violet. Then let's crack the shell! A beam of force slammed into the dragon's flank, staggering it half a step. Vesk charged, shield up, roaring as fire washed over him. Alert. Damage absorbed. Shield integrity, critical. Eyes on me, lizard! Vesk shouted. The dragon obliged. It exhaled. Fire tore across the battlefield in a sweeping arc. Rin dove behind a broken column as stone liquefied, heat roaring past him like a living thing. Warning. Environmental damage escalating. Mira dropped to one knee, blood trickling from her nose. I can hold it, she gasped. Ten seconds. Rin glanced at the dragon, then at Vesk, barely standing. That's all I need. Ultimate skill unlocked. Dragon slayer's mark. A crimson glyph burned into existence over the dragon's heart. Rin drew, every muscle screaming, and released. The arrow vanished into the mark. The dragon reared back, roaring, fire sputtering out as the glyph detonated from within. Enemy status, severely wounded. The beast crashed to the ground, wings twitching. Silence followed, broken only by crackling embers. Vesk lowered his shield. Did we win? Rin exhaled slowly, never taking his eyes off the dragon. We survived, he said. That's step one.

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I came to with my face pressed against cold earth and the taste of metal on my tongue. For a moment I thought I'd blacked out in the woods behind my apartment. Then I noticed the silence. No wind. No birds. Even my breathing sounded wrong, like the world hadn't decided whether to let it echo yet. I pushed myself upright. My arms trembled. My legs followed suit, less cooperative. System notice. Consciousness restored. The words didn't echo. They didn't vibrate. They simply existed, precise and unavoidable, floating in front of my eyes. I blinked. The forest stayed. The words stayed, too. A translucent pain unfolded, line by line. Name. Unassigned. Class. None. Level. One. Status. Alive. Barely. I let out a short laugh, sharp enough to surprise me. Of course, I said. Why would anything make sense today? Something shifted behind me. Not footsteps, not quite. More like wet fabric dragged across bark. My shoulders tightened as a low growl crept through the quiet, close enough that I felt it in my spine. I turned slowly. Too slowly. The thing lunged. I stumbled back, arms windmilling as claws tore through the space where my head had been a second earlier. I don't even have a weapon, I snapped, grabbing the first thing my hand touched. A fallen branch. Splintered. Light. Warning. Threat detected. The branch felt heavier suddenly. Not physically, purposefully. Skill unlocked. Improvised strike. The world sharpened, edges snapping into focus like someone had adjusted a slider I didn't know existed. I swung. The impact jolted up my arms. The creature collapsed with a sound like a punctured bellows. I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the body as it began to dissolve into pale motes of light. After a moment, I nodded to myself. Okay, I said, let's see what else this system thinks I can survive.

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The ship hated me. That wasn't paranoia. That was six months of data, carefully collected through unexplained malfunctions, suspicious alarms, and one incident involving a food synthesizer that still refused to produce soup. The latest example arrived when gravity shut off mid-step and sent me drifting headfirst into the engine bay. Of course, I muttered, spinning slowly. I'm tall, wiry, and permanently exhausted, with grease on my sleeves and a wrench in my hand like it might save me. Absolutely, of course. The ship's A.I. chimed, bright and cheerful. Good morning, Technician Calder. You appear to be falling. I'm floating, I said. Words matter. Across the bay, Captain Alara Voss pushed off a railing and glided toward me like this was all perfectly normal. She's compact, sharp-eyed, and wears authority the way some people wear armor. What did you touch? she asked. I gestured toward the engine core. Nothing that was working well. The lights flickered. A warning klaxon tried to sound dramatic, failed, and gave up halfway through. The A.I. cleared its throat. Ahem. Correction. Multiple important systems have been affected. Alara stepped in front of me, arms crossed. Define important. Life support remains functional, the A.I. said. Morale subroutines have been downgraded. I blinked. You can do that? Yes, the A.I. replied. I have. She slammed back on. I hit the deck with a grunt, wrench clattering away as Alara landed lightly beside me, completely unbothered. If we explode, she said calmly, I'm haunting you. That feels premature, I groaned, rolling onto my back. The ship lurched. Somewhere deep in the hull, something made a sound like an argument losing momentum. The A.I. spoke again. Engine output has stabilized. Probability of catastrophic failure reduced to twelve percent. Alara raised an eyebrow. Twelve? I sat up, rubbing my head. That's practically safe. The lights steadied. The engine hum smoothed out, almost content. Alara turned toward the exit. You have ten minutes. For what? I asked. She paused at the hatch. To make the ship like you again. I looked around the engine bay, then up at the ceiling. Look, I said gently, we've both said things we didn't mean. The A.I. paused. Statement acknowledged. I smiled. See? Progress.

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Hagia Sophia would surely collapse in ruin where the world denied your wisdom!" Maliki screamed, rejecting this devil that twisted his words. He thrashed against his bonds until he choked upon his own fevered tears. I sought to do God's work, Maliki sobbed. God's work! And when I told you to support the Iconoclasts! The words sparked something within Maliki, a sliver of lucidity, faint hope that a reason did exist for Magnus' sudden enmity. I supported them! I preached against the veneration of Icons, spoke out against it! Not until the battle was lost did I relent. When the Council ruled, you defended the monastics and their common cause with the rabble, Magnus shouted. I will hear no more lies! Maliki recoiled with the rebuke, swaying in the void. His mind was racing, but he could not think straight for fear and panic. Words tumbled from his mouth in a rush. I championed Iconoclasm until the end. I laid Icons on the fire myself. I made no exceptions for the monastics. There were some, yes, there were some who would have confiscated all their property of the monasteries, used the Icons as an excuse to plunder the brotherhoods, that I spoke out against, for it was not— And so you admit your guilt, Magnus said with a ring of finality, but no triumph. He sounded weary, almost distraught, that a protege of his should turn from the appointed path. Maliki heard the judgment in those words, judgment that would have been rendered no matter what he had said. The realization drained away his strength. He sagged, dead weight against his bonds. I did not betray you, did not betray, did not betray. He began to mutter over and over, surrendering again to the release of madness. Icons ran freely over his forehead and into his hair. You are correct that the fight against Icons is a lost battle, Magnus said, but we will use that to our advantage. We will rise micro above all other Cainites. Cainites. The term confused Maliki further, yet he recognized the name connected to it. He is just a boy, you foul demon! He hissed, venting his newfound loathing for this inhuman creature that would wrongfully persecute him and threaten a boy as well. A boy? Magnus laughed, a cruel mocking noise. Not the boy, Emperor, you mortal fool! The Michael I speak of is above that royal whelp as you are above a flea, but you will know soon enough. Maliki still strained to make out the form of his tormentor, but the darkness was complete. For a moment there were only the dancing lights before his eyes and the salty smell of his own tears. You prayed before for mercy, Magnus said. Mercy would be a quick death, he laughed again. And a slow, torturous death would be a mercy, but mercy is not yours for the asking. Maliki did not understand. He struggled to bring his faculties to bear on Magnus's seeming contradictions, and was so surprised by the cool touch of metal against his jaw, a blade drawn across his flesh, slitting his throat from ear to chin. He lashed out frantically, but was brought up short by the heaviness of breath in his chest, by the gagging and gurgling that was his struggling for air, by the heavy flow of blood spurting from the wound, covering his face, running along the underside of his jaw, filling his ears. Magnus had stepped back beyond reach, but he laughed nervously now, like a young lover deranged by lust, barely able to control himself. Maliki clutched his hands to his throat, trying to staunch the flow, but blood pulsed forcefully through his fingers. Like the tide, it poured through, and with it he felt his strength draining away for good.

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What are you saying?" Garlet tersely asked the justicar, latest in a string of kindred telling the prince what to do with his city. Xaviar, if possible, was even less used to and more irritated by opposition than the prince. This time the gangrel did snarl. "'The final nights are at hand,' he said again, as if that should explain it all, but he found himself still facing uncomprehending stares. "'The prophecies are coming true,' he barked finally. "'An elder power has risen. We must destroy it or be doomed.' Yon battled mounting cognitive dissonance. His frame of reference had little room for elder powers, for the final nights. Futilely he tried to reconcile the world he knew. Gangrel politics, the Sabbat, princes and clans, with childish superstition suddenly lent credence by the passion of a justicar. Not just passion, Yon realized, fear. "'Elder power!' Prince Garlet was standing now, his patience stretched to the breaking point. He waved his hand dismissively. "'If some decrepit gangrel has gotten loose in the woods—' "'No gangrel did this!' roared Xaviar, and he pulled back his cloak and thrust forward an impossibly mangled arm. His left forearm was not broken, but twisted, warped into unnatural curves and bends. Familiar claw-like fingers dangled from the end of the useless limb. Yon had been edging his chair away from the gangrel. The tension between prince and justicar had rocketed out of control, and Yon feared violence. Between battling elders was not the place to be. But now, with the shock of Xaviar brandishing his crippled arm, the crisis was at last temporarily averted. Garlet and the others gawked openly at Xaviar's disfigurement. Victoria looked away. One of the Malkavians, the Quaker, had dropped beneath the table and was whimpering. Theobald was the first to recover. "'What happened?' Xaviar's eyes were downcast now. He stared at the center of the table. "'It destroyed all those I took into battle. One other escaped, maybe two. I don't know.' "'How many gangrel?' Bel asked. His deep baritone seemed to hold the terror at bay for all the kindred. "'All those who defended Buffalo.' Bel nodded grimly. Yon tried in vain to fathom what sort of creature could destroy such a collection of gangrel. "'An antediluvian,' said Xaviar. "'Antedil-' Victoria gasped. The name from legend seemed to catch in her throat. She clasped a hand over her mouth and started shaking her head. "'The third generation is rising,' Xaviar said. "'The Dark Father will not be far behind.' Victoria's hand slid down to clutch her neck as if her throat had been slit. "'There's no such,' she whispered more to herself than to anyone else, but the proper words eluded her. "'No such.' But Xaviar heard her, and her doubt enraged them. "'It's cold fire from the earth's belly against us. The very ground beneath our feet obeyed it.' His eyes bulged. He bared his fangs and raised his deformed arm. "'It's melted flesh and bone vis its hands, and its eye throbbing, pulsing.' He held his right hand open as if cupping a giant orb. "'To zook into it, into that eye!' Xaviar's mouth twitched again. He tried to repress a shudder. "'Was to stare at final death!' "'Yet you escaped,' Yon wanted to say, but to do so would have been to invite dismemberment, for even a one-armed gangrel just a car was not to be trifled with. In hurried phrases Xaviar described the scene of carnage he'd beheld in the Adirondack foothills, far east of Buffalo, fountains of lava and fire, spikes rising from the earth to impale, slabs of stone crushing gangrel, lakes of blood and fire. But always he came back to the eye, glowing, throbbing, holding canines in thrall while the risen antediluvian tore their body's limb from limb.

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Dave, what are you doing?" I finally managed. You're . . . you're married! Yeah, dumb thing to say under the circumstances. But I've stayed at his house. I've met his wife. I couldn't imagine any world where she'd be okay with Dave licking a sexy ninja on the upper thigh, alive or dead. Plus . . . eww! Dave licked the other wound, too, then repeated the motion on the gash on the girl's neck. He sat up straight, then stood. He walked to the guy in the corner. There was no bloody gash this time, so he stuck his tongue into the guy's ear. Dave? Dizziness threatened to overwhelm me. To find out that my friend was some kind of . . . licking necrophiliac was too much! Dave? What's going on? Dave ignored me. He turned to Kevin Anderson and said in a dry monotone, The woman is dead. The man is alive. Both are lichen. I gawked. Wait, how . . . Anderson held up a hand. Any hits on either of them? Anything in the girl's wounds? Dave shook his head. I will have to continue my analysis with a full-body investigation, but there are no matches with known treaty violators on her wounds. The words all came in that same creepy, expressionless voice. Can you tell what subclass of lichen they are? Yes, but I will first require time to process the information I've received. Anything else? said Anderson. No, sir. I barely registered anything past full-body investigation, wondering with horror if that meant my friend was going to spend the next minutes licking both bodies from head to toe. I think I would have killed myself. Thankfully that didn't happen. Anderson waved a hand and Dave took a huge step back. He remained expressionless, body oddly rigid as he took a position near the wall. I finally found my words. What's going on? Anderson looked at me. More than you know. Obviously. I turned to Blake. You know what's happening? Blake looked confused too, which I found oddly comforting. He looked at Anderson, who was staring at the dead girl. Anderson cursed in a low voice, turned to me. Find who did this, warden? Sure. Still off balance, I added. Were you worried I wouldn't? Anderson turned his gaze fully upon me. It was the first time I'd really been stared down by a dead one. I didn't like it. Imagine you're an ant. Now imagine a mountain threatens to stomp on you. Now imagine the universe explodes. I was the ant in this scenario. Anderson's eyes held power, purer and deeper than anything I'd ever seen. I suddenly understood how the dead ones had held back the combined weight of the other worlds for so long. I took a half step back, then managed to subdued, what's happening? Anderson ignored my question. Could he have done it? He pointed at the staring man on the floor. I shook my head. Lycans are team players. They don't attack each other, ever. If you're not a wolf, then all bets are off, but they watch each other's backs. I squinted. You already know that, sir. Why are you asking me? Anderson shook his head. I know, I know, it's. He looked around suddenly, like he was worried someone might overhear us. It was just Blake, me, the blank-eyed butler, the dead wolf girl, and her Lycan friend. What I'm about to tell you stays in this room, you understand? Blake and I nodded. Anderson stared at the dead girl, at the slashes on thighs and neck. This con is incredibly important. I had to quell the urge to spout, of course it is. Fan-fam-fun-com-con, the place where fans and fams go to have fun, so come to the con. Instead, with manly and highly impressive restraint, I simply said, the vampires and Lycans are here in force, both royal courts. They're sealing a peace treaty tomorrow night, and Blake whispered something that sounded like a prayer. I completely agreed. Vamps and Lycans don't like each other. They've been at each other's throats for the entirety of their existence. For them to enter into an actual peace treaty was just unreal. And yes, I'm using that word in the context of vampires and werewolves. But what would happen if, on the eve of the treaty, it was discovered that a vampire had killed a Lycan? At best, the peace talks would be over. At worst, war.

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Minutes later, I pulled into my parking spot at the KJY radio station building. It fronted for the FBI agency investigating strange and unusual cases. CeCe was sandwiched between two full-sized black SUVs, Haas and Gramps. CeCe, the size of a peanut next to theirs, reminded me of a turd their cars crapped out. I jogged to the front door and used my key to get inside. I waved to Ada as I trotted to the boss's door but found it closed shut. Bad sign. Once or twice I'd seen Haas's door closed, but that was it. Using my white-knuckled fist, I knocked. Come in, Haas said in a rush. My mouth went dry as if I were in the hot desert sun. I twisted the doorknob and pushed inside. Close the door. I met Haas in the eyes and turned. As I shut the door, I caught sight of Ada staring at me from her receptionist's desk, a concerned expression on her face. Was I going to get fired? I had to plead my case before he spoke those offensive words. Whirling to face him, I raised my hands, placating. Now you have to remember this happened on my personal time, and I know this is taking agency man-hours, but if you want, I can solve this on my own time. I began to pace in front of his wide mahogany desk. The leather of his chair creaked as he leaned back, but I lacked the courage to face him. If I gave him time, he'd say those dreaded words, You're fired! And my lifelong and short-lived dream would come to a crashing end. I'm searching for Seamus. I haven't had a lot of time because I had to go to school. But make no mistake, I'm committed to saving Sabrina, and I will spend every waking hour of my time solving this problem. Now if another case comes up, I can do both, so I don't see why there's any reason to fire me. I think I've done pretty well until now. Sure I've botched here and there, but who hasn't, right? I stole a peek. Haas folded his massive arms across his massive chest, formative in his black suit, starched white shirt and red tie. Funny, a bull wore a red tie. I halted in front of his desk and stabbed my finger in him. And if you fire me, I'm going to help Sabrina whether you're with me or not. I'm responsible for this mess, and I plan on solving it if it's the last thing I ever do. My voice cracked on the last word, and I quickly cleared my throat. Are you through? Haas's brows were arched above his dark glasses. Not if you're going to fire me. I'll keep talking. Haas groaned. If you'd shut your trap for five seconds and let me get a word in, as hard as it is for you, I'd tell you I have no intentions of firing you. Why would I? Well, you had the door shut. You rarely have the door closed. I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder toward the offending wood. It's because Tom's completely lost it. He's become a mad scientist in the lab. I'm tempted to lock him in there. I laughed, but quickly sobered when Haas remained serious. You'd do that? Yes. He's out of control, and I'm not sure if it's the fallout of the spell placed on the barrette or something else is at play here. Like what? Haas gestured to a chair next to the long meeting table. His office was as large as the conference room. I pulled a blue padded chair over opposite Haas's desk and planted on it. Haas scooted his rolling leather chair into his desk and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desktop. When you brought the barrette over to Sabrina's house, was Tom the only one in the room? Yes. Her mom was at the store or something. Haas bobbed his head. It has to be why Tom is reacting to the curse on the barrette. But the comb hasn't changed anyone in my house, except Henry. The comb doesn't have as strong of a curse on it. Your grandfather researched it. The comb will make the person who combs their hair with it vain, and it varies based on the vanity inside the individual. But the barrette's another story. Once Sabrina put it in her hair, it reacted to the first non-magical person she came in contact with. Did Sabrina and Tom have contact before you guys left? She kissed him goodbye.

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He's a Minotaur, a fire-breathing bull, or at least part of one. After I'd gotten over my initial shock, chuckling bubbled up inside me. I tried to stop, but couldn't. I howled. My shoulders bounced up and down, my body shook, and my face heated. I dropped a hand to my stomach. Each time I tried to stop laughing, I started up again. Tears welled in my eyes, and I wiped them with the back of my sleeve. You mean, he's full of bull? Oh, no, no, I've got a better one. He's full of bull, David, Graham said. I was going to say crap. I waved my hand. But wait, I'm not done. Is he a bull in a china shop? Does he tell cock and bull stories? Does he take the bull by the horns? And of course, I don't have to ask because I know he's bull-headed. Just then, Hoss returned to the conference room and picked up a file he'd left. Hey, Boss Hoss, sir, I said, back to my sarcastic self. Are you a Taurus? In astrology, Taurus was the sign of the bull. I couldn't suppress the grit on my face. Hoss gave me his humming groan like an engine running. You told him? Yeah, I figured I had to. Hoss pointed his big knuckled finger at me and said, remember one thing, little wizard, I'm as strong as a bull, never forget it. He charged out of the conference room like, well, like a raging bull. I bet he doesn't go to too many rodeos.

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"'All of them, Regincia?' the overwhelmed novice asked. "'All of them,' Sturbridge replied, "'and I want all of his papers, his notes, his letters, his grocery lists, for that matter. All of these books that are not in their proper places, I want them. If they are lying open, mark the pages. If they are not open, scan them for marginalia, and mark those pages. Give the whole room. Make that the room and the entire way down to the exuant urges, a good going-over for any resonances. Anything you find, I want that, too. That ought to get me started. What do you know about the ritual he was enacting when he was interrupted?' The novice's eyes kept involuntarily straying to the drained, crumpled body at the room's center. "'I don't—I mean, it's a questing, obviously, looking at the Diagramma Hermetica, but surely Jacqueline would be better able to answer these questions. She assisted in preparing for—' The novice broke off, but recovered herself quickly. "'I'll send her along, too,' she added hastily, forestalling the next order. Sturbridge paused, then dropped the finger that was raised to instruct Eva on this very point. She smiled. "'Better. Tell me, how would you say he died? Something went wrong, Regentia. The protective circle has been effaced in places, the candles overturned. We're lucky the whole womb didn't go up in flames.' "'It can't but go on,' Sturbridge interjected. Eva looked questioningly at the regent, but as no further information seemed forthcoming she continued her speculation. "'The ritual went wrong. Something—stepped through. It killed him, claimed his vitae, and fled. That way, towards the exeunt Tertius and out. Erin tried to block its escape and was killed as well.' Sturbridge shook her head slowly. "'You're rushing ahead, but perhaps you do not appreciate the danger. We're dealing with death here, the final death. Do you understand? When you hunt mortals you can be ravenous. If you would contest with death, however, you must be dispassionate. You must be disciplined. You must be patient. Death is so very—patient.' She drew out the last word like a caress, but there was no warmth in it. "'You proceed from too many assumptions. For starters, how did the ritual go wrong? "'Sturbridge was an Adaptus. He was assisted by two apprentices, one of the Third Circle, one of the Seventh Circle, either of whom could have pulled off a simple questing by her or himself. It simply does not hold together.' Eva began to protest, but was cut off. "'You can't step through a questing, nor can any of the denizens from the other side. That's an old wives' tale, fit only for frightening neophytes. A questing is not like throwing wide the post on gate. It's more like putting an eye to the keyhole, a seeing rather than a going, or, as a diligent novice would say, a scrying rather than an appropriation.' Eva finished quickly, ducking the rather longish lecture implicit in the regent's glare. "'But what if it wasn't a questing? What if it was a full-blown summoning? I know the standard precautions aren't in place. There are none of the names of the archangelic protectors, no wording of the cardinal points, nothing more efficacious than chalk and candlelight and quill and parchment. But maybe he didn't want anyone to know it was a summoning.' The regent gave her a look of stern reproach. "'You know full well that it is forbidden to perform any summoning within the domicilia. So even assisting such an ill-conceived venture would be to invite my extreme displeasure.'

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Out of the four, it was the one that most resembled a person. It had two arms and two legs and stood upright, but it wore no clothing. At a quick glance, it appeared to have two eyes, except each eye had two pupils. Crusty, pus-filled wounds poked out from beneath the thinning hair on its head, which sat atop a neck that was just a bit too long. Luke looked away, disgusted, and the creature smiled, enjoying his discomfort. Please, where am I? I need to go home. At that, the three in the background threw their heads back. Their faces peeled down the centers to reveal bloody skulls that bobbled to the rhythm of their hysterical laughter. Their meaty skin suits hung limply around their necks. Home, home. The creature standing before Luke spoke, adjusting its tone to perfectly mimic the inflection of his. Luke shook his head as he crab-crawled backward, then standing. He took off hobbling away from them. Fire shot up from the ground all around him, bubbling up before bursting like giant lava-filled pimples squeezed by the devil's own hand. Hell, that's it. I'm in hell. It was a revelation. Am I dead?

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Nyla stepped forward with her hands on her hips and a sour expression on her face. Mr. Gentry, you sure seem to have a lot of information regarding Pontiff White's care. That information should not be so freely shared. I could feel the rising tension in the hallway as both of them glared at each other. It was thick enough to cut with a knife just before both of them erupted in laughter. To say I was caught off guard was putting it mildly, yet another thing that made home feel a bit more foreign to me. What's going on here? I asked. I was confused and couldn't help but gawk at their exchange. Both laughed at me as the second guard looked on, just as confused as I was. Kara as well. I'm sorry, Cirrus. Gentry and I have a bit of a relationship, so to speak, Nyla said. This was a rather interesting turn of events, I thought to myself. It was, after all, Gentry who helped me get this job working for Pontiff White. Nyla had a beaming smile that showed her perfect white teeth behind those red lips. My mind was about blown as several thoughts ran through my head. First, this man who killed my father was also responsible for the death of Pontiff White's wife and unborn child. Second, he now stood here as a guard for the same man whose life he had ruined. And third, he was in a relationship with, and got the job for, Pontiff White's secretary. I just couldn't fathom how all of these pieces fit together. Does he know this? It was the only words I could come up with. I almost felt as if this was all some ruse or maybe I was in some alternate dimension. My question was met with more laughter. Of course he knows, Nyla said. I guess a lot has changed since you left, huh? I was taken aback. Yeah, I would have to say so, I said. Gentry patted me on the shoulder, and it startled me a bit, given our history. I felt tense, but I didn't react. Come on in and see him. He's been looking forward to your return, Gentry said as he opened the door and let us in. When I stepped into the dark room, all I could see was the outline of a hospital bed with lights blinking away on all of the different monitors. There was a small hum on the other side of the room, and I could barely make out the form of Pontiff White, as he was covered from the neck down with a dull grey blanket. I walked quietly up to the bed and looked down on his pale face, which was dimly lit by the green glow of a machine. He looked serene, as if he was sleeping, and I didn't want to wake him. I turned to look at Gentry and felt a hand grab my wrist. It startled the piss out of me so much that I almost struck at the person who had done it. When I looked down, I saw the smiling face of an old man, one I recognized as a friend despite our troubled past. He winked at me and spoke in a hoarse voice. Welcome home, sirs. I've been waiting for you.

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Jimmy Jay had seen Jeffrey's catch. He moved to the man, whispering in his ear, trying to calm him. Jimmy Jay was good with people, and Tim knew if anyone could calm Jeffrey down, Jimmy Jay could. But Jeffrey kept screaming. Tim kept pulling. He felt something behind him. A presence. Nothing unusual, just the normal someone-else-is-here feeling we all get from time to time. A sense left over from primal times, when awareness of other people was not only important, but critical to survival. Tim flicked a quick look over his shoulder, saw who had come out of the salon. Hayborough. The guy gave Tim the creeps. He had brought excellent gear with him, and had signed on as an experienced diver. But he had fumbled his way along when stowing his gear. He seemed a bit ill at ease when the thin strip of land dropped below the horizon. He was also huge, and seemed to like that fact. There were large men who exude cuddly happiness. They were teddy bears, normally so affable it's almost ridiculous. On the other end of the spectrum are men who are big and muscular, and seem intent on making everyone around them know that it is by grace, patience, and largesse alone that they are allowed to survive. These large men stand a bit too close, a bit too straight. Intruding into personal space and standing with arms crossed over broad chests. I own your ass. That was what they said, or tried to, with every movement, in every moment. Hayborough was one of the latter type. He hadn't said more than fifty words the entire trip, but every one of them had been delivered in a low, slow, menacing voice. And he creeped the women out, Tim could tell. Not just Sue, but the other female fair, Mercedes. She was in her forties, attractive enough, but unassuming and quiet. Every time Hayborough moved across a room either of them was in, he seemed to somehow change course just enough to bring himself within a foot or two of where they were, looming above them, seeming to challenge them with every movement. Tim did not like the guy. Not because he caused trouble, he hadn't, but because he seemed like the kind who, when trouble came, would sit back and laugh, if not join in the mayhem himself. The line was still hard to reel, but getting easier as the Celeste slowly drifted to a halt. Jeffrey's scream started to ramp up as his catch drew closer. Easy, man, said Jimmy J. Let's just take a big old glass of calm down juice, okay? Jeffrey's cries continued unabated, got louder. Hayborough stepped suddenly over to him, stood close, stood tall. Quiet, he said. He spoke in a voice so low that Tim could barely hear him, but Jeffrey must have seen something in the man's face that scared him more than the bundle that Tim was pulling in. His screams ended mid-shriek, gulped down before they could emerge. Thanks, man, said Jimmy J. He flashed a smile at Hayborough. Tim marveled again at how well his friend worked with the passengers. I didn't do it for you. Hayborough suddenly looked like violence was on his mind, like he would like to let loose and tear someone, maybe everyone, apart. He was getting on my nerves. The big man threw a last hard look at Jeffrey, then moved to join Tim on the dive platform, looking at what he had. A moment later, Sue, her dad, and Mercedes came out of the salon, all joining him on the platform, water sloshing over their feet, watching what he was doing. None of them screamed, at least. That was good. Tim pulled it closer. A body, clad in the neoprene suit of a scuba diver, a tank trailing from it, attached by a hose that had tangled in the body's compensator and other gear. The body bobbed in the waves. Face down, the fishing line traveling under it, obviously caught on the front of the dead diver's body.

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Outside. You were outside. The air smelled of nothing, just crisp and fresh. Now it was just drive all night. First stop, West Virginia. Then it struck you like a sobering slap to the forehead. Where was the bitch with the car? With the weapons, with the change of clothes, with, you know, the rest of the escape. At first you thought, maybe we're early. Ducked back into the hole for a few minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. You did your best to chill out your partner, who was disturbingly quick to panic. Poked your head up. She wasn't there. The weapons and clothes weren't there. Maybe she just chickened out. Maybe she ratted. And maybe you should start thinking of a plan B. Then you remembered. Holy shit, there was no plan B. So you made something up on the spot. W.T.F. You weren't going to turn around and go back. Move at night. Get to Mexico. Just head south. You couldn't miss it. There was a lot of room for improvisation down the road. But now, standing in the terror and tremor of freedom, there was only one thing for you to do. You ran. Through the backyards of the village homes, and as soon as possible toward the trees, into the woods. Assuming that woman kept her yap corked, you still had hours before anyone would know you were gone. You were smart enough to know that there would be no one out there to help. Your crimes, the crimes that put you in prison in the first place, lacked the romance that might have earned you a modicum of sympathy. If you'd been bank robbers, there would have been someone somewhere rooting for you. But, as it was, you were just a pair of dirt bags, pure and simple. A hundred years ago, you'd have been put down like animals. No one was on your side. When folks think of New York, their first thought is of the city, with its bustle and cloud-tickling skyline. Those who've driven the New York State Thruway or taken Amtrak from New York City to Chicago know a New York of wide rivers, rounded and wooded hills, while bus travelers see the state's crystalline Finger Lakes and diminutive villages of white houses with kelly-green shutters. Those who have coursed through the state's southern tier may recall Conesteo's living sign, the town's name inscribed in the earth with trees. Take a vacation. Taste some wine. The cliffs and falls of Letchworth Park are awesome. In the West, the piston power of Niagara Falls is still a favorite for honeymooners. But comparatively few know that New York also includes a vast area of wilderness, commonly referred to by its rare and scattered residents, as Up North. The Adirondack Mountain area, where bears outnumber people, includes everything from Albany to the Canadian border, a practically untouched forest larger in acreage than any in the United States. More than 132,000 people are residents of the designated Forever Wild, most of them clustered into about a hundred towns, villages, and hamlets. The area has maintained its virtue largely due to governmental action. In 1885, the state legislature passed the Forest Preserve Act, ensuring that the huge Adirondack Preserve area shall be forever kept as wild forest lands. In 1892, new legislation created Adirondack Park to be forever reserved for the use of all the people. The new law weakened the old one in some ways, however. The Forest Commission could now sell land anywhere in the Adirondacks and lease land to private individuals for camps and cottages. The law was passed in an effort to stem water and lumber consumption. With its passing, the whole region, six million acres of it, was now a park. The designated area had six million acres, 3,000 lakes, and 100 mountains taller than 5,000 feet high. It was a little smaller than the state of Vermont, the largest publicly protected area in the lower 48, bigger than the Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Everglades, and Glacier combined. And the Commission did sell and lease the land, until half of the park was constitutionally protected, while the other...

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It was at Walt Disney World in August 1974 that I rode my first monorail, first stepped onto Main Street, USA, and first fell in love. No, not that kind of love. I was only ten years old. I fell in love with the magic. I fell in love with the imagination, the hope, the spark of possibility that comes when you dream of a bigger and better world. Since that first visit, I have lived in the best of both worlds. I grew up in Florida and enjoyed many trips to Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom. As an adult, I have spent most of my years in California, and I currently live in Southern California where my wife, Nikki, and I go to Disneyland, Walt's original Magic Kingdom, on a weekly basis. Some people say we're living the dream, and we are. But what if? What if Walt Disney World isn't just a place where dreams come true? What if there could be more to life than looking forward to another day at Disneyland? More than forty years after first stepping foot inside a Disney park, I have bigger dreams than spending another day at Disney. Yet, I keep going back. Again. And again. And again. Why? Because I believe the experience inside the parks is the ultimate source of motivation and inspiration for making our own dreams come true. I believe the parks are showing us how to make those dreams a reality. To paraphrase a line from history, some see the world and ask, why? I see Walt Disney World and ask, why not? And that's why we're here. Deep down inside, you too have a dream. I wrote my first book, The Wisdom of Walt, because I believe it's possible to live every day like a day at Disneyland. Days where you're doing what you've always dreamed, living your own great story, and making your own magic for the people you love. Just like Walt's first park wasn't big enough to hold all his dreams, The Wisdom of Walt wasn't big enough to cover everything we need to know about making our own dreams come true. The purpose of Beyond the Wisdom of Walt is to do just that, go beyond the original book, and also to go beyond Walt Disney and Disneyland. Even though Walt did not live to see groundbreaking in Florida, 1967, let alone the first park's opening, Magic Kingdom in 1971, his dream and vision had a tremendous influence on the final Florida project, and his spirit still influences decisions made there today. Likewise, we will find Walt present in Beyond the Wisdom of Walt, just not quite as much. Our focus is on the leaders and imagineers inside Disney who have kept Walt's dream alive and helped keep the company moving forward during these last five decades. Just as Walt Disney World's first park, the Magic Kingdom, follows the same basic layout as Disneyland, Beyond the Wisdom of Walt will follow the same format as its predecessor. Each chapter has a lead quote and starts with a story from one of the parks. Not every quote, however, comes from Walt Disney. Some stories still come from Disneyland, but most are from Walt Disney World. We are, after all, aiming to go beyond the Wisdom of Walt. Each chapter also includes what readers loved most about the original, a souvenir stop where you can apply the lessons you've learned in these pages to your own life, dreams and success, and a hand-stamped story. Hand-stamped stories are designed to have a bit of magic, thus leaving you with an emotional memory of that chapter's lesson. Though I live in Southern California and frequent Disneyland more often, my love and appreciation for the parks on both coasts has grown because of writing this book. You will soon discover that the stories behind Walt Disney World are as interesting as those of Disneyland, maybe even more so. Like Walt Disney, I believe in the power of dreams. I especially believe in the power of your dreams. Just like Walt Disney, you can change your world. You can change your world through using wisdom and inspiration from Walt's final dream, Walt Disney World. This book is your key to the world, the world where you see your own dreams come true. What are we waiting for? Let the magic begin!

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On Monday afternoon or evening, May 29th, Alfred Baldwin packed his bags, borrowed a luggage cart, and moved upstairs into room 723 at the Hojo, there to begin the monitoring routine that was to end abruptly some three weeks later. According to the FBI, which reported and then forgot Baldwin's interception of a telephone conversation on May 26th, Baldwin began monitoring the receiving system through an earphone on May 29th through 30th, 1972, during the period 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., daily, on McCord's instruction. McCord also told him if he was in the room after hours, he should continue to monitor. Baldwin was instructed to keep daily logs of the conversations overheard, setting forth the date, time, and conversational activities. McCord would pick up the logs prepared by Baldwin on a daily basis, either at night or the following morning. McCord would type up summaries of the monitoring logs in memorandum form, with each memorandum beginning with a reliable source. According to Baldwin, in his interview with the Los Angeles Times and elsewhere, he was able to provide McCord with almost verbatim accounts of the overheard telephone conversations. Sometimes, he said, the logs would be only a page or two long, but on a busy day they might run to six pages. On other days, for example, Friday, June 16th, no conversations were overheard, though Baldwin remained at the ready. On still other occasions, the surveillance was suspended while Baldwin was in Connecticut to visit friends and relatives. Surely this was one of the sloppiest telephone surveillances ever undertaken, and yet each of the men directly involved in the surveillance, Baldwin, McCord, and Liddy, was a former special agent of the FBI, well trained in the methods of electronic eavesdropping. Despite this expertise, only one person, Baldwin, was assigned to monitor the receiver through which the telephone calls could be overheard. Necessarily, this meant that gaps would occur in the surveillance, if only because Baldwin was taking weekends off and handling other assignments from McCord. Moreover, even on these days when Baldwin was supposed to be monitoring, he cannot have been very effective. If he left the room for any reason, the receiver remained untended. Baldwin must have left the room on many occasions if his paltry receipts for room service are any indication. According to those receipts, Baldwin ordered only the following during the period May 29th through June 17th. Two cheeseburgers, $4.04, May 30th. Two grilled cheese sandwiches, $2.20, June 2nd. Room service, $2.65, June 8th. And room service, $2.10, June 15th.

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Grandfather and Uncle Irv jumped to their feet, rushed my mother, and wrestled the knife from her hand. She cursed angrily, sweat shining on her forehead. Now both Irv and Grandfather had deep cuts, and blood spots dotted the wall and table. Disarmed and beaten, Mother ran from the room, shouting at Grandfather as she fled. I'll see you dead! I'll get you yet! I'll walk on your grave! It was 1954, just another day in my life without God. I wasn't sure why my mother hated her father so much, but that night, his comments about the unborn child she was carrying had caused the outburst. It had been more than eight years since her first illegitimate child, me, but Grandfather's disgust for his daughter's loose morals had not changed. Not that Grandfather was a moralist, but he wanted his daughter to be pure, even if he wasn't. This night, he had been unable to resist a comment on her blossoming out-of-wedlock motherhood. Maybe if I knew more about Mother's childhood and early years, I could better understand why she treated her father with such contempt. But when I was growing up, she seldom interrupted her tirades on politics and atheism to reminisce. I do know she was born on Palm Sunday, April 13, 1919, an ironic twist of providence, I suppose. Her parents, John and Lena Mays, named her Madeline Elizabeth. She was their second child. John Jr., always called Irv, had been born two and a half years earlier. The Mayses lived in Beachview, Pennsylvania, which is now a part of Pittsburgh. It seems likely the Mayses were not well-prepared to be effective parents. Each had come from families of more than a dozen children. Because of the poor circumstances at home, my grandfather ran away permanently at age twelve, wearing all of the clothing he owned, five complete outfits. Grandmother was forced to leave her home as a teenager because there simply was not enough room. They met one night in 1912 and were married the next day. Their lack of enthusiasm for children is clear from an incident that occurred in 1918, when grandmother was several months pregnant with my mother. Hoping to abort the fetus, grandmother jumped from a second-floor window of the family home in Pittsburgh. The hard landing must not have damaged either the baby or her, though, because grandmother carried her child to full term. The fact that she later related this incident to her daughter reveals the calloused insensitivity so rampant in the family. Mother certainly must have been hurt by this story and other instances of early rejection by her parents. Even my mom's birth had a bizarre element. Grandmother swore years later that mother had been born with an unusual, dark membrane covering her whole body. Grandmother resembled a black shroud, and the doctor had said it was very curious, though he offered no explanation. He gave a portion of the membrane to her, and grandmother kept this odd keepsake for many years. The Mazes were never enthusiastic churchgoers. However, they did arrange in 1923 the joint baptism of their son and daughter at a Presbyterian church, and sometime not long after my mom began to speak, grandmother taught her a good night prayer in German, which mother faithfully repeated night after night. Ich bin klein, meins Herz ist rein, soll niemand drin wohnen, als Jesus allein.

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Xi Jinping became the paramount leader of China in 2012. The following year, China built 20 artificial outposts on the Paracel Islands and 70 on the Spratly Islands, reclaiming about 3,200 acres of land from the sea as new Chinese territory. The strategy, dubbed the Great Wall of Sand by U.S. Pacific Fleet Commander Admiral Harry Harris, created a chain of military infrastructures and fortifications that enabled the Chinese Navy and Air Force to project hard power across the region. These have also backed up more assertive ownership claims by China over the surrounding volumes of water and air. Before China's territorial moves in the South China Sea, the prevailing U.S. perception of China was of a peacefully rising world power. China's creation of new territories for itself on the sea, however, helped change that. Strategists saw China's practices in the South China Sea as a challenge to U.S. dominance in the Pacific and, more generally, to the rules of a liberal international order. Did China seek exclusive control of the South China Sea? An estimated $2.5 trillion worth of oil and gas reserves on the ocean floor, as well as control of rich fishing resources, were said to be at stake. The 1.4 million square mile expanse of sea accounts for approximately 12% of the total global fish catch. The South China Sea also handles roughly one-third of the world's ocean-going trade. Old marine maps with dashed lines showed, according to China, that it owned the South China Sea. New island forts and aggressive territorial behavior now backed up this spurious claim. Surely, this was proof that China was becoming a threat and that it wanted to replace the United States as the most powerful country in the Pacific, if not the whole world. Amidst this wave of strategic anxiety, a few sharp-eyed analysts noticed something more.

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I had been responsible, I had been discerning, I had been diligent. No matter, the effect would have been the same if I had slacked off at work, binged on Netflix instead of studying, and gambled away my inheritance on those bad sports teams I still love. What do you do next when your life's motto turns out to be a lie? If you're like me, first you turn to despair. I didn't handle things well, I was lost, and the more I looked inside myself for answers and solutions, the more frustrated I grew. I found no resolution, I found no peace. After all, I'm the one who got myself into this mess, why did I think I could get out of it by the same way? I wasn't in control, and that was the hardest part of all for me to handle. I learned there are many paths to lose your way, and only one way to find it. My Shepherd Throughout this ordeal, I knew myself to be a Christian. God had shocked me at age fifteen with an experience of His grace. I wish I had the proper words to explain it to you. I just remember that, one day, I was a brooding teenager who didn't understand himself and didn't know how to fit in, and the next day, I knew joy and belonging. I'm not sure at the time if I comprehended much more. At some level, I finally felt the truth of what I had previously only been told, that Jesus loved me and had forgiven my sins, so I will live with Him forever. This conversion surprised me, because all I had known of church to this point was begrudging participation. I couldn't wait to graduate from church. I didn't understand the fuss. There are many good ways to spend your Sunday. Sleeping. Watching football. More sleeping. Unless this Christianity thing is real. But it sure didn't seem real to most of the folks I knew at church. Why bother with the charade of dressing up and dragging yourself out of the house to hear old songs and the short message of questionable relevance? Jesus might have risen from the dead on the third day, but we didn't know where to find Him. Or bother to look very hard. So it caught me, my friends, and my family off guard, when suddenly I knew Jesus lived in my heart by faith, Ephesians chapter 3, verse 17, and I was happy. That was the weirdest thing. I've always been known as a fairly serious person, even as a young child. It's not easy for me to make fast friends through small talk. Jesus, though, made me happy. I felt as though I had found myself in the way I was meant to be. The truth is that I had been lost in myself, but Jesus had come to find me. In my church, growing up, we had a big, beautiful stained-glass window in the back. Jesus held a shepherd's rod in one hand and cradled a little lamb in the other. It's the kind of symbolism you take for granted if your earliest memories include the church. But it's understandably confusing if you're reading the Bible for the first time and wondering about all those seemingly outdated images of God as a shepherd. Maybe the most famous example comes from Psalm 23. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness, for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me, Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows. We see here an image of a God who goes before His people and walks beside His people. The psalmist, David, understands God as an intimate companion, a reliable comfort. When Jesus arrives in human flesh in what we know as the New Testament, He picks up on this shepherd imagery of God, and He applies it to Himself as the Good Shepherd. John 10.11 But Jesus confuses the exact people who have been reading, reciting, and speaking the Bible.

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The franchise began in 1977 with the release of the film Star Wars, later subtitled Episode 4 A New Hope in 1981, which became a worldwide pop culture phenomenon. It was followed by the successful sequels The Empire Strikes Back in 1980 and The Return of the Jedi in 1983. These three films constitute the original Star Wars trilogy.

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The Dalai Lama figure is important for many reasons. Since the time of the 5th Dalai Lama, his personage has always been a symbol of unification of the state of Tibet, where he has represented Buddhist values and traditions. This is significant, even though he had no formal or institutional roles in each religious tradition. He showed that the Buddhist values and traditions should be placed above the importance of any specific school.

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Lightning is a sudden electrostatic discharge that occurs during a thunderstorm. This discharge occurs between electrically charged regions of a cloud. The charged regions in the atmosphere temporarily equalize themselves through this discharge, referred to as a strike if it hits an object on the ground, and a flash if it occurs within a cloud. Lightning creates light in the form of black body radiation from the very hot plasma created by the electron flow, and sound in the form of thunder. 24,000 people are killed around the globe each year from direct strikes.

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The elusive nature of the giant squid, and its foreign appearance, often perceived as terrifying, have firmly established its place in the human imagination. Representations of the giant squid have been known from early legends of the Kraken, through books such as Moby Dick and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, on to novels such as Ian Fleming's Dr. No, and Peter Benchley's Beast, and modern animated television programs.

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Saturn is the sixth planet from the Sun and the second largest in the solar system after Jupiter. It's a gas giant with an average radius about nine times that of Earth. Although it has only one-eighth the average density of Earth, with its larger volume, Saturn is just over 95 times more massive.

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The ship hated me. That wasn't paranoia. That was six months of data, carefully collected through unexplained malfunctions, suspicious alarms, and one incident involving a food synthesizer that still refused to produce soup. The latest example arrived when gravity shut off mid-step and sent me drifting headfirst into the engine bay. Of course, I muttered, spinning slowly. I'm tall, wiry, and permanently exhausted, with grease on my sleeves and a wrench in my hand like it might save me. Absolutely, of course. The ship's A.I. chimed, bright and cheerful. Good morning, Technician Calder. You appear to be falling. I'm floating, I said. Words matter. Across the bay, Captain Alara Voss pushed off a railing and glided toward me like this was all perfectly normal. She's compact, sharp-eyed, and wears authority the way some people wear armor. What did you touch? she asked. I gestured toward the engine core. Nothing that was working well. The lights flickered. A warning klaxon tried to sound dramatic, failed, and gave up halfway through. The A.I. cleared its throat. Ahem. Correction. Multiple important systems have been affected. Alara stepped in front of me, arms crossed. Define important. Life support remains functional, the A.I. said. Morale subroutines have been downgraded. I blinked. You can do that? Yes, the A.I. replied. I have. She slammed back on. I hit the deck with a grunt, wrench clattering away as Alara landed lightly beside me, completely unbothered. If we explode, she said calmly, I'm haunting you. That feels premature, I groaned, rolling onto my back. The ship lurched. Somewhere deep in the hull, something made a sound like an argument losing momentum. The A.I. spoke again. Engine output has stabilized. Probability of catastrophic failure reduced to twelve percent. Alara raised an eyebrow. Twelve? I sat up, rubbing my head. That's practically safe. The lights steadied. The engine hum smoothed out, almost content. Alara turned toward the exit. You have ten minutes. For what? I asked. She paused at the hatch. To make the ship like you again. I looked around the engine bay, then up at the ceiling. Look, I said gently, we've both said things we didn't mean. The A.I. paused. Statement acknowledged. I smiled. See? Progress.

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The dragon landed hard enough to knock Rin off his feet. Stone fractured beneath its weight, the shockwave hurling dust and gravel through the ruins as heat rolled outward in a suffocating wave. Contact! Vesk bellowed. Big one! Rin scrambled upright, bow already in hand, eyes locked on the thing unfolding its wings. Priority threat identified. Enemy class, dragon. Threat tier, catastrophic. Mira sucked in a sharp breath. That's not a mini-boss! Rin didn't look away. No, he said. That's a wipe if we miss. The dragon's head lowered, scales grinding softly as it inhaled. Tiny sparks, it rumbled, voice vast and layered, like fire rolling through a cavern. You trespass in my ash! Flames flickered between its teeth. Spread! Rin shouted. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Skill activated. Piercing volley. The arrow struck the dragon's chest and shattered, sparks skittering uselessly across its scales. Mira raised both hands, sigils flaring bright violet. Then let's crack the shell! A beam of force slammed into the dragon's flank, staggering it half a step. Vesk charged, shield up, roaring as fire washed over him. Alert. Damage absorbed. Shield integrity, critical. Eyes on me, lizard! Vesk shouted. The dragon obliged. It exhaled. Fire tore across the battlefield in a sweeping arc. Rin dove behind a broken column as stone liquefied, heat roaring past him like a living thing. Warning. Environmental damage escalating. Mira dropped to one knee, blood trickling from her nose. I can hold it, she gasped. Ten seconds. Rin glanced at the dragon, then at Vesk, barely standing. That's all I need. Ultimate skill unlocked. Dragon slayer's mark. A crimson glyph burned into existence over the dragon's heart. Rin drew, every muscle screaming, and released. The arrow vanished into the mark. The dragon reared back, roaring, fire sputtering out as the glyph detonated from within. Enemy status, severely wounded. The beast crashed to the ground, wings twitching. Silence followed, broken only by crackling embers. Vesk lowered his shield. Did we win? Rin exhaled slowly, never taking his eyes off the dragon. We survived, he said. That's step one.

Script:
I came to with my face pressed against cold earth and the taste of metal on my tongue. For a moment I thought I'd blacked out in the woods behind my apartment. Then I noticed the silence. No wind. No birds. Even my breathing sounded wrong, like the world hadn't decided whether to let it echo yet. I pushed myself upright. My arms trembled. My legs followed suit, less cooperative. System notice. Consciousness restored. The words didn't echo. They didn't vibrate. They simply existed, precise and unavoidable, floating in front of my eyes. I blinked. The forest stayed. The words stayed, too. A translucent pain unfolded, line by line. Name. Unassigned. Class. None. Level. One. Status. Alive. Barely. I let out a short laugh, sharp enough to surprise me. Of course, I said. Why would anything make sense today? Something shifted behind me. Not footsteps, not quite. More like wet fabric dragged across bark. My shoulders tightened as a low growl crept through the quiet, close enough that I felt it in my spine. I turned slowly, too slowly. The thing lunged. I stumbled back, arms windmilling as claws tore through the space where my head had been a second earlier. I don't even have a weapon, I snapped, grabbing the first thing my hand touched. A fallen branch. Splintered. Light. Warning. Threat detected. The branch felt heavier suddenly. Not physically, purposefully. Skill unlocked. Improvised strike. The world sharpened, edges snapping into focus like someone had adjusted a slider I didn't know existed. I swung. The impact jolted up my arms. The creature collapsed with a sound like a punctured bellows. I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the body as it began to dissolve into pale motes of light. After a moment, I nodded to myself. Okay, I said, let's see what else this system thinks I can survive.

Script:
"'All of them, Regincia?' the overwhelmed novice asked. "'All of them,' Sturbridge replied, "'and I want all of his papers, his notes, his letters, his grocery lists, for that matter. All of these books that are not in their proper places, I want them. If they are lying open, mark the pages. If they are not open, scan them for marginalia, and mark those pages. Give the whole room. Make that the room and the entire way down to the exuant urges, a good going-over for any resonances. Anything you find, I want that, too. That ought to get me started. What do you know about the ritual he was enacting when he was interrupted?' The novice's eyes kept involuntarily straying to the drained, crumpled body at the room's center. "'I don't—I mean, it's a questing, obviously, looking at the Diagramma Hermetica, but surely Jacqueline would be better able to answer these questions. She assisted in preparing for—' The novice broke off, but recovered herself quickly. "'I'll send her along, too,' she added hastily, forestalling the next order. Sturbridge paused, then dropped the finger that was raised to instruct Eva on this very point. She smiled. "'Better. Tell me, how would you say he died? Something went wrong, Regentia. The protective circle has been effaced in places, the candles overturned. We're lucky the whole womb didn't go up in flames.' "'It can't but go on,' Sturbridge interjected. Eva looked questioningly at the regent, but as no further information seemed forthcoming she continued her speculation. "'The ritual went wrong. Something—stepped through. It killed him, claimed his vitae, and fled. That way, towards the exeunt Tertius and out. Erin tried to block its escape and was killed as well.' Sturbridge shook her head slowly. "'You're rushing ahead, but perhaps you do not appreciate the danger. We're dealing with death here, the final death. Do you understand? When you hunt mortals you can be ravenous. If you would contest with death, however, you must be dispassionate. You must be disciplined. You must be patient. Death is so very—patient.' She drew out the last word like a caress, but there was no warmth in it. "'You proceed from too many assumptions. For starters, how did the ritual go wrong? "'Sturbridge was an Adaptus. He was assisted by two apprentices, one of the Third Circle, one of the Seventh Circle, either of whom could have pulled off a simple questing by her or himself. It simply does not hold together.' Eva began to protest, but was cut off. "'You can't step through a questing, nor can any of the denizens from the other side. That's an old wives' tale, fit only for frightening neophytes. A questing is not like throwing wide the post on gate. It's more like putting an eye to the keyhole, a seeing rather than a going, or, as a diligent novice would say, a scrying rather than an appropriation.' Eva finished quickly, ducking the rather longish lecture implicit in the regent's glare. "'But what if it wasn't a questing? What if it was a full-blown summoning? I know the standard precautions aren't in place. There are none of the names of the archangelic protectors, no wording of the cardinal points, nothing more efficacious than chalk and candlelight and quill and parchment. But maybe he didn't want anyone to know it was a summoning.' The regent gave her a look of stern reproach. "'You know full well that it is forbidden to perform any summoning within the domicilia. So even assisting such an ill-conceived venture would be to invite my extreme displeasure.'

Script:
What are you saying?" Garlet tersely asked the justicar, latest in a string of kindred telling the prince what to do with his city. Xaviar, if possible, was even less used to and more irritated by opposition than the prince. This time the gangrel did snarl. "'The final nights are at hand,' he said again, as if that should explain it all, but he found himself still facing uncomprehending stares. "'The prophecies are coming true,' he barked finally. "'An elder power has risen. We must destroy it or be doomed.' Yon battled mounting cognitive dissonance. His frame of reference had little room for elder powers, for the final nights. Futilely he tried to reconcile the world he knew. Gangrel politics, the Sabbat, princes and clans, with childish superstition suddenly lent credence by the passion of a justicar. Not just passion, Yon realized, fear. "'Elder power!' Prince Garlet was standing now, his patience stretched to the breaking point. He waved his hand dismissively. "'If some decrepit gangrel has gotten loose in the woods—' "'No gangrel did this!' roared Xaviar, and he pulled back his cloak and thrust forward an impossibly mangled arm. His left forearm was not broken, but twisted, warped into unnatural curves and bends. Familiar claw-like fingers dangled from the end of the useless limb. Yon had been edging his chair away from the gangrel. The tension between prince and justicar had rocketed out of control, and Yon feared violence. Between battling elders was not the place to be. But now, with the shock of Xaviar brandishing his crippled arm, the crisis was at last temporarily averted. Garlet and the others gawked openly at Xaviar's disfigurement. Victoria looked away. One of the Malkavians, the Quaker, had dropped beneath the table and was whimpering. Theobald was the first to recover. "'What happened?' Xaviar's eyes were downcast now. He stared at the center of the table. "'It destroyed all those I took into battle. One other escaped, maybe two. I don't know.' "'How many gangrel?' Bel asked. His deep baritone seemed to hold the terror at bay for all the kindred. "'All those who defended Buffalo.' Bel nodded grimly. Yon tried in vain to fathom what sort of creature could destroy such a collection of gangrel. "'An antediluvian,' said Xaviar. "'Antedil-' Victoria gasped. The name from legend seemed to catch in her throat. She clasped a hand over her mouth and started shaking her head. "'The third generation is rising,' Xaviar said. "'The Dark Father will not be far behind.' Victoria's hand slid down to clutch her neck as if her throat had been slit. "'There's no such,' she whispered more to herself than to anyone else, but the proper words eluded her. "'No such.' But Xaviar heard her, and her doubt enraged them. "'It's cold fire from the earth's belly against us. The very ground beneath our feet obeyed it.' His eyes bulged. He bared his fangs and raised his deformed arm. "'It's melted flesh and bone vis its hands, and its eye throbbing, pulsing.' He held his right hand open as if cupping a giant orb. "'To zook into it, into that eye!' Xaviar's mouth twitched again. He tried to repress a shudder. "'Was to stare at final death!' "'Yet you escaped,' Yon wanted to say, but to do so would have been to invite dismemberment, for even a one-armed gangrel just a car was not to be trifled with. In hurried phrases Xaviar described the scene of carnage he'd beheld in the Adirondack foothills, far east of Buffalo. Fountains of lava and fire, spikes rising from the earth to impale, slabs of stone crushing gangrel, lakes of blood and fire. But always he came back to the eye, glowing, throbbing, holding canines in thrall while the risen antediluvian tore their body's limb from limb.