Prequel

Thief! (a short illustrated prequel to ‘The Thief’ by Megan Whalen Turner) [Free Read]

Megan Whalen Turner, the author of the acclaimed Queen’s Thief series, wrote a short prequel Thief! for the Disney Adventures Magazine in 2000. The first book in this series was first published in 1996 and then re-released in 2005 by Eos. This short story came out between the second and third book in the series.

M.W. Turner’s fans are ardent and near-stalkerish (join the club here) but they are also suffering from a long draught between Turner’s last release and the well-anticipated fifth book. So this particular prequel is especially valuable to us, because it gives a tiny glimpse into Gen’s childhood and reconnects us with our favourite boy thief.

About this short story.

Thief! (The Queen's Thief, #0.5)Thief! by Megan Whalen Turner

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Megan Whalen Turner made this short story available online for us to read. Go (more…)

Forever Mine – Prequel [Sarah and Sydney] (by Elizabeth Reyes)

Below is a short, well-written glimpse into Sarah’s early years with her best friend, Sydney, in Flagstaff AZ. Author Elizabeth Reyes posted it on her blog (link) for us to enjoy. If you’ve never read her works I suggest you begin with the first of the Moreno Brothers series – Forever Mine – (It’s on my list of the best YA romance of this year).

Foreword:
 “This was an alternate beginning to FM. It sort of reads like the beginning of Sofie skipping years to show the bond between Syd and Sarah. How they met, became close etc. However in the end I decided the REAL story of Forever Mine didn’t really start until she gets the call from her mother. So this was left on the cutting room floor. (more…)

An original James Potter and Sirius Black story (by Rowling)

Did you know that J. K. Rowling wrote a 800 word short story about James Potter and Sirius Black in 2008? I wonder if I was the only one oblivious of this. Of course, I had to search it out the moment I read about it in wikipedia and for those fans of Harry Potter who are as clueless as me, here’s the story that was kindly put up on the net for us to read for free.

The Harry Potter Prequel, by JK Rowling.
The speeding motorcycle took the sharp corner so fast in the darkness that both policemen in the pursuing car shouted ‘whoa!’ Sergeant Fisher slammed his large foot on the brake, thinking that the boy who was riding pillion was sure to be flung under his wheels; however, the motorbike made the turn without unseating either of its riders, and with a wink of its red tail light, vanished up the narrow side street.
‘We’ve got ‘em now!” cried PC Anderson excitedly. ‘That’s a dead end!”
Leaning hard on the steering wheel and crashing his gears, Fisher scraped half the paint off the flank of the car as he forced it up the alleyway in pursuit.
There in the headlights sat their quarry, stationary at last after a quarter of an hour’s chase. The two riders were trapped between a towering brick wall and the police car, which was now crashing towards them like some growling, luminous-eyed predator.
There was so little space between the car doors and the walls of the alley that Fisher and Anderson had difficulty extricating themselves from the vehicle. It injured their dignity to have to inch, crab-like, towards the miscreants. Fisher dragged his generous belly along the wall, tearing buttons off his shirt as he went, and finally snapping off the wing mirror with his backside.
‘Get off the bike!’ he bellowed at the smirking youths, who sat basking in the flashing blue light as though enjoying it.
They did as they were told. Finally pulling free from the broken wind mirror, Fisher glared at them. They seemed to be in their late teens. The one who had been driving had long black hair; his insolent good looks reminded Fisher unpleasantly of his daughter’s guitar-playing, layabout boyfriend. The second boy also had black hair, though his was short and stuck up in all directions; he wore glasses and a broad grin. Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.
‘No helmets!’ Fisher yelled, pointing from one uncovered head to the other. ‘Exceeding the speed limit by – by a considerable amount!’ (In fact, the speed registered had been greater than Fisher was prepared to accept that any motorcycle could travel.) ‘Failing to stop for the police!’
‘We’d have loved to stop for a chat,’ said the boy in glasses, ‘only we were trying -’
‘Don’t get smart – you two are in a heap of trouble!’ snarled Anderson. ‘Names!’
‘Names?’ repeated the long-haired driver. ‘Er – well, let’s see. There’s Wilberforce… Bathsheba… Elvendork…’
‘And what’s nice about that one is, you can use it for a boy or a girl,’ said the boy in glasses.
‘Oh, OUR names, did you mean?’ asked the first, as Anderson spluttered with rage. ‘You should’ve said! This here is James Potter, and I’m Sirius Black!’
‘Things’ll be seriously black for you in a minute, you cheeky little -’
But neither James nor Sirius was paying attention. They were suddenly as alert as gundogs, staring past Fisher and Anderson, over the roof of the police car, at the dark mouth of the alley. Then, with identical fluid movements, they reached into their back pockets.
For the space of a heartbeat both policemen imagined guns gleaming at them, but a second later they saw that the motorcyclists had drawn nothing more than –
‘Drumsticks?’ jeered Anderson. ‘Right pair of jokers, aren’t you? Right, we’re arresting you on a charge of -’
But Anderson never got to name the charge. James and Sirius had shouted something incomprehensible, and the beams from the headlights had moved.
The policemen wheeled around, then staggered backwards. Three men were flying – actually FLYING – up the alley on broomsticks – and at the same moment, the police car was rearing up on its back wheels.
Fisher’s knees bucked; he sat down hard; Anderson tripped over Fisher’s legs and fell on top of him, as FLUMP – BANG – CRUNCH – they heard the men on brooms slam into the upended car and fall, apparently insensible, to the ground, while broken bits of broomstick clattered down around them.
The motorbike had roared into life again. His mouth hanging open, Fisher mustered the strength to look back at the two teenagers.
‘Thanks very much!’ called Sirius over the throb of the engine. ‘We owe you one!’
‘Yeah, nice meeting you!’ said James. ‘And don’t forget: Elvendork! It’s unisex!’
There was an earth-shattering crash, and Fisher and Anderson threw their arms around each other in fright; their car had just fallen back to the ground. Now it was the motorcycle’s turn to rear. Before the policemen’s disbelieving eyes, it took off into the air: James and Sirius zoomed away into the night sky, their tail light twinkling behind them like a vanishing ruby.