Steve Rimmer

The Florida sun cuts through the blinds like a laser. Outside, humidity wraps around the neighborhood like a warm, wet blanket. Inside, Chloe stares at her coffee mug, waiting for the inevitable.

There was more talking. Then the bell rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother
came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale red--her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all.

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Brought to you by the English Programme. Featuring news, politics, popular culture, celebrity trivia, quizzes, book readings, and a whole host of fun.

Support Our Rescue Cats | Our Blog | Get New Episodes By Email | Rumble | X | YouTube | NewsK365 on Spreaker | Get New Blog Posts By Email | Throne Wishlist |

Brought to you by the English Programme. Featuring news, politics, popular culture, celebrity trivia, quizzes, book readings, and a whole host of fun.

Support Our Rescue Cats | Our Blog | Get New Episodes By Email | Rumble | X | YouTube | NewsK365 on Spreaker | Get New Blog Posts By Email | Throne Wishlist |

Brought to you by the English Programme. Featuring news, politics, popular culture, celebrity trivia, quizzes, book readings, and a whole host of fun.

Support Our Rescue Cats | Our Blog | Get New Episodes By Email | Rumble | X | YouTube | NewsK365 on Spreaker | Get New Blog Posts By Email | Throne Wishlist |

Leo props his phone against a cereal box on the kitchen counter. He taps the red record button on his screen. "What is up, guys?" he whispered loudly into the microphone. "Today, we are doing a deep-dive archaeological dig into the deepest, darkest trench of the family pantry."

The afternoon sun beats down on Elm Street. Sweat drips from Marcus’s forehead as he carries a heavy cardboard box. He is a postal carrier, and June is proving to be brutally hot. He sighs, steps onto the neat porch of house number 42, and sets the package down.

Leo walks into the glass lobby of the Grandview Apartments and stops. He blinks twice. The heat outside is thirty degrees, but the building lobby has a permanent guest from December. A giant, wooden Nutcracker soldier stands right next to the entrance doors. The bright June sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling glass, baking the soldier's face.

The damp morning mist of Offal Court still clung to Tom Canty’s mismatched, oversized velvet boots. Days ago, he had been a shivering beggar, dreaming of golden plates. Now, he sat on a carved oak bench inside Westminster Palace, wearing the heavy crimson robes of Prince Edward Tudor. Yet, his heart was a knot of anxiety. Across London, the true prince, Edward, was stumbling through muddy alleys, wrapped in Tom’s foul rags, learning a harsher lesson.

The cold air of Sherwood Forest offered little comfort to Wilfred of Ivanhoe as he rode alongside the mysterious Black Knight. Having barely survived the treachery of Torquilstone Castle, Ivanhoe remained vigilant, his hand resting tightly on the pommel of his sword.