How to Come Back to Yourself

by Audrey Zhou

Lilin is the kind of small divinity that doesn’t invite notice.

She isn’t one of the gods that has to hide deep away from civilization, to avoid the notice of humans; Lilin’s only anchor to divinity is her shadow-self — her shadow in mostly the traditional sense, if shadows had their own minds — which she tries not to think about. Lilin keeps her home on the edge of the forest, down the path from a village she used to do business with.

Of course, it’s been a long time since she’s gone to the village. It’s been a long time since she’s been brave enough to do business.

It’s been so long that Lilin figures herself forgotten by anyone that would bother to look for her, so when the young man emerges from the forest, she forgets to pretend to be anyone other than herself.

“I hear you are a prophet,” he says.

He looks her age — he looks human, even: tanned skin, dark hair falling into his eyes, broad shoulders. But he’d managed to find her, and his eyes are golden like pale sun, and there is a sureness to his voice that makes Lilin suspect he’s tangled up with divinity, just like her.

“Of a sorts,” Lilin says, because prophecy is a loose word for what she divines through her shadow-self. “But it’s been years. I’m not — I don’t do that anymore, not really.”

“Are you sure,” he asks, “that you can’t be convinced?” (Continue Reading…)

Closing Aperture

By A. E. Lanier

The shapes and colors in the picture solidified and the pile of fur in Maria’s lap came fully into view.

“Aster?” she whispered, her voice catching as she began to cry.

Like many clients, she had been skeptical of the Polaroid camera, but this was why I used it. It felt more intimate to see the photo develop in real time. Connection with the dead was fleeting, and I liked my work to reflect that. I didn’t need records of every haunted house and ghost tour I worked with and neither did they.

But this was no ghost tour.

“Hello, little fluff,” Maria whispered, her fingers gently tracing the still-developing image. (Continue Reading…)

The Washerwoman and the Troll

by Julian Mortimer Smith

Bunchunkle was magnificently ugly. The trollmothers said there hadn’t been such an ugly child since Grimshik’s day, and Bunchunkle wore it with the pride and mirth befitting a troll. He could pull a face to make you void your bowels and howl with terror. He had a genius for mischief that rivaled even that of old Quillibim, the Arch Rascal of Moldy Stumps. There was much speculation about what would happen if a human ever laid eyes on Bunchunkle, but as far as anyone knew it had never happened, for Bunchunkle was as quick and sly as he was ugly.

When the faefolk decided it was time to drive the old washerwoman from the Blinking Woods, they did not come to Bunchunkle immediately. He was reclusive and cantankerous and did not like to be disturbed. Besides, they were loath to seek him out for fear of laying eyes on his revolting face. But nobody doubted that he would succeed if all else failed. They knew he was there as a last resort.

Read the full text in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #57

A Thousand Finer Foldings

By Claire Jia-Wen

1.

Phoebe’s mom calls her while she’s in the self-checkout line at Safeway. “I’ve found a solution for your apartment problem,” Mama says.

“I told you, I’ll just commute to San Francisco on the weekends,” Phoebe replies, stepping out of the warpath of a kid barreling a shopping cart towards the snack aisle.

“Aiyah, San Francisco is so far from Berkeley —”

“It’s not really —”

“Anyway, Sagan Liang is renting an apartment in San Francisco and he doesn’t need it on the weekends. I already talked to his mom, she said you can stay there then.”

Sagan and Phoebe’s mothers go to the same church and play pickleball together three days a week. Sagan and Phoebe don’t really talk anymore. “And what did Sagan say?”

“He listens to his mother. You should listen to your mother more. The Liangs won’t even ask for money. He makes so much money now, not like you. You could still go to medical school like him if you wanted.”

Phoebe sets her basket next to the checkout. “Sure.” (Continue Reading…)