Beth Cato hails from Hanford, California, but currently writes and bakes cookies in a lair west of Phoenix, Arizona. She shares the household with a hockey-loving husband, a numbers-obsessed son, and a cat the size of a canned ham. She’s the author of THE CLOCKWORK DAGGER (a 2015 Locus Award finalist for First Novel) and THE CLOCKWORK CROWN from Harper Voyager. Follow her at BethCato.com and on Twitter at @BethCato.
Day 1 I am ancient yet not immortal, and I wonder if this is how my death begins. I have lived in these mountains for seasons beyond measure. I have bonded myself with dozens of trees and mourned their mortality… Continue Reading
Charlotte sank her pitchfork into the fragrant compost and daydreamed of libraries — the old-fashioned sort, lined with yellowed tomes of liver-spotted pages and fragile leather spines that crackled against her palm. As data technician officer for the colony on… Continue Reading
For most people, the dry Phoenix heat left their hair as limp as over-boiled Top Ramen noodles. However, it made Molly’s full head of snakes absolutely crazy with joy of the sun — the electrified poof of ’80s Weird Al… Continue Reading
Darren faced his greatest creation and failure. The torso and head of the mechanical man leaned in the corner of the basement. Even limbless and freckled by rust, the old prototype was an awesome sight. It dominated the room, as… Continue Reading
“Madam President, the delegation is ready.” Gloria didn’t glance towards the doorway, instead stroking the smoothness of a shot glass between her thumb and forefinger. “I hate Awakening Day celebrations. Have I mentioned that, Clarence?” “Every year, Madam.” She sighed.… Continue Reading
Snow whirled in soft lazy circles. Marya no longer felt the cold. She walked on, hunched over, a man’s thick black coat clutched to her chest. Beneath the coat, Elena lay strapped against Marya’s torso. Weeks of hunger had rendered… Continue Reading
Gertrude froze, the morning dew soaking through her thin-soled slippers. Half-eaten pink petals littered her lawn. A full swath of her prize tulips had been chewed down to nubby stalks — the rest looked intact, for now. She could only… Continue Reading
The world would end at 6:09 p.m., but Meg’s final batch of chocolate chip cookies would be done in three minutes. She had kept the dough in the fridge all night, chilling it to perfection, and began to bake before… Continue Reading
“Where did those come from?” Val said. The door slammed shut behind her, causing the thin walls to rattle on every side of the room. I stuffed the paper I was writing into the nearest book and shut it, pinching… Continue Reading