“I don’t want to be a princess anymore. I want to be a mermaid.”

Celia’s father rolled his eyes. “Okay, my darling. A mermaid.” He began to close his eyes when Celia interrupted him.

“With pink hair,” she added, “and a sparkly tail.”

The request would take too much energy but he couldn’t say no to that face. So, he closed his eyes.

Celia squealed in excitement as she transformed, sparkly tail and all. Soon, her squeals turned to horror as she started to choke on the waterless air. Her father watched helplessly as they lay dying beside each other.

Author’s Note: Some parents would do anything for their children.

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“You smell like old doughnuts.”

The Devil tilted his head. “What’s a doughnut?”

“Seriously?”

“Are they made of nuts?” The Devil asked in his monotonous way. He never lingered much on human triviality.

The girl laughed nervously. “They’re soft and sweet and wonderful. You should try one.”

“I may.”

“If I get you one, will you—will you let me go?”

The Devil considered her. At fourteen, she had sold her soul after a night of too many ‘Bloody Marys’ in the mirror. “Are you willing to stake your soul on my good opinion of a doughnut?”

The girl nodded.

Author’s Note: I sometimes feel like I might sell my soul for good food.

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She flickered her fingers and watched as the static fizzled across the screen. She wasn’t allowed to watch TV anymore but there was a small CCTV screen outside her cell. The police said her “Breaking Bad” stunt was the one that went too far but really, she knew that breaking up Ross and Rachel was the last straw. Eventually—after a tumultuous relationship with an eighties heartthrob—the police tracked her down and locked her away with nothing but the blurry CCTV screen.

And books.

A smile lifted at the corner of her mouth. She’d never tried a book before.

Author’s Note: There are a lot of things I can imagine doing with this power. Watch out Lizzie Bennet.

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My department deals with the aftermath—the grieving families, messy crime scenes and overzealous reporters. At nine every morning, my computer buzzes with updates on new incidents and developing threats. Today, it looks like Poseidon had another temper tantrum and took out a fleet of cargo ships.

“Lenny!” I call, waiting for my portly desk partner to waddle into the office. He always has food in his teeth. Today, it’s something yellow.

“Kobaloi?” he groans, shoving a piece of cheese into his mouth. “Another Internet scam?”

“No, it’s Poseidon.”

Lenny shakes his head. “He’s always moody when the tides change.”

Author’s Note: You’d really need a coffee break after a nine to five in the mythological world.

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