“Nice slippers,” Davin grinned. They were green and furry. “Thanks.” I shrugged and looked him over, half expecting to see a new… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“Oh, it was 1775.” “What?” “1775. The Battle of Bunker Hill.” “Oh.” I laughed. “We learned about it the day we met,”… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“For someone who wrote a novel with a superhero named “Dark Lightning,” you wouldn’t think a thunderstorm would make me so nervous.” — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“I suddenly felt the way Cinderella might have felt if she hadn’t had that convenient midnight curfew: my feet were hurting, my… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“No weapon in my bag? No problem—my whole bag was a weapon. Grabbing it by the strap again, I swung it off… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“Who are you?” he asked, in a bewildered tone. I cocked my head at him, totally baffled. “I told you. Anna Fisher.… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
“As we were about to cross the road, Davin suddenly grabbed my wrist and held me back a moment; a car peeled… — J.M. Richards Copy Share Image
