Highfire

by Eoin Colfer

The water was cool, and the alligators did what they were told, for the most part.

Shining a spotlight on your own head was the behavior of an idiot, in Vern’s opinion. And his opinion was the only one that mattered, in his opinion.

He also wasn’t feeling suicidal just at the moment. He often did, but mindfulness helped with that.

he was at that age where every idea he had seemed like the best damn idea in the universe.

The era of man was nothing more than a reign of murder and conquest, so far as Vern could see, which was why enjoying human media was about as far as Vern was prepared to go on the whole integration front.

Squib was at that special age where he was young enough to believe what he was seeing and old enough not to entirely freak the hell out. It was a magical fine line.

Okay, so the frogs ain’t out to get me, thought Squib for the first and last time in his life.

The Chinese called what Waxman was a mogwai, a malevolent-type fairy.

That was not the Regence Hooke way, especially with a potential murder charge hanging over his noggin like the sword of Damocles. Hooke knew all about the sword of Damocles because his pops liked to reference it whenever the pressure of running a failed storefront ministry was too much for even the bourbon to alleviate.

I guess the colonel was right and I’m one of them sociopaths, thought Hooke. Like Spock.