Female Science Fiction Writer: Collected Stories 2001-2012
Amy Sterling Casil
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
These stories are like a disease―only one you wouldn't mind catching.
Mint-addicted aliens. Talking horses. Little girls in wheelchairs who get the chance to pilot starships. Odd little jade carvers who save the last great Mayan city by magic. A sexy wolf girl who saves a teddy bear boy and her clown boyfriend's heart. A famous director who cloned herself and now is dying of cancer, only she's raised her clone like a normal child. Guys at the end of the world who discover they're not the world's greatest poet, they're about as bad as it gets.
Fourteen stories by award-winning science fiction and fantasy writer Amy Sterling Casil.
through the receiver. “Yes, we have some cans of dry milk,” he said. “We’ll try that. But Carina, maybe it is the water?” Not-Karen cleared her throat. “No,” she said quickly. “Don’t think that. The wedge would protect the water to the end, Nacho. I can promise you that.” “It’s dark in the building where the wedge is, Carina. There’s no power left at all,” he said. “There’s a... residual barrier,” she said. “You wouldn’t see it from the outside. It should stay up for... two, maybe three
those words here in public. There is a room in the back,” she said, indicating the rear of the bar with a toss of her head. “They didn’t think we’d put up any resistance,” the bartender called out. “And we wouldn’t have,” he said. “What are you?” the teacher asked. Paperwhite saw that her pince-nez were fogged. “Paperwhite,” Paperwhite said. “You know that. You know me.” The teacher shook her head. “No, we don’t,” she said. “She’s a demon,” the Captain said. “I don’t know what you three
“How’d it go?” “Not bad,” he said. “We won by two goals. I got the last goal.” Of course you did, I thought. I hadn’t gone to the game. Somehow, I just hadn’t wanted to. It was raining. I said it was crazy to play soccer in the rain. Watching soccer in the rain was even crazier. I couldn’t put my finger on the real reason I hadn’t gone to the game. Carolyn was at work, of course. She had a fulfilling, demanding job at the local art museum. She put together their brochures and maintained
turn. “It may be. I had not thought so before, but something of this vision tells me that this may all be a dream; of ours, or of someone else’s.” “Beelzebub’s dream?” Wilde asked. “He plays us for fools?” Will shrugged. “Nay,” he said. “You’ve spoken with him. Think you he has the imagination to create all this? Hold us captive for so long in fevered fantasies?” “No,” Wilde said. “I think not. But what of her— the Dark Lady?” Will shuddered. “Yes, what of her,” he said. “For what I spoke
he did not understand a word, and continued gesturing and speaking rapidly in Arabic. “You must accept,” said Rafi, who had become indolent, doubtless from the thick smoke of the “hubbly—bubbly.” “I dare say you ought to, Dicky,” said Sir Thomas. I looked between their faces, as the young man continued to press the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger into my hand. “Thank you,” I said, taking the dagger in my trembling fingers. “Shukran,” said Rafi, nodding. I understood that he wanted me