The Lonely God

Henri had played with the three ondine of the Seine as a child, and he’d had misgivings (to say the very least) watching the city’s elders induce them to do their duty to the city, luring Prussian soldier after soldier to their deaths. In the wake of the Germans’ retreat from Paris, the nymphs had developed a taste for blood and breath — he forced himself to think on this very calmly as he watched Niklas Bergqvist crouch on the riverbank and stare into its depths.

“Eighty thousand francs,” said Henri. “You won’t kill them, will you?”

Closing his eyes, Niklas frowned and dipped his hand into the black water. “Just talk to them.”


Eye in the Storm

The training room’s high, vaulted ceilings were covered in black scorch marks that could have only been put there by a strong pyrokinetic’s going crazy; Daniel craned his neck back to trace the pattern of burns over the beams with his eyes, and was glad he wouldn’t go out in a firestorm.

No, he was a telekinetic; he’d bring the building down on his head. And maybe his new trainer had picked this room for just that reason.