Beagle, Peter S. (ed) - The New Voices of Fantasy / Бигл, Питер С. (ред) - Новые голоса фэнтези [2017, EPUB, ENG]

Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers short story by Alyssa Wong Selkie Stories Are for Losers short story by Sofia Samatar Tornado's Siren short story by Brooke Bolander Left the Century to Sit Unmoved short story by Sarah Pinsker A Kiss with Teeth short story by Max Gladstone Jackalope Wives short story by Ursula Vernon The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees / Осы-картографы и пчёлы-анархисты short story by E. Lily Yu The Practical Witch's Guide to Acquiring Real Estate short story by A. C. Wise The Tallest Doll in New York City / Самая высокая красотка Нью-Йорка short story by Maria Dahvana Headley The Haunting of Apollo A7LB / Скафандр с привидениями short story by Hannu Rajaniemi Here Be Dragons short fiction by Chris Tarry The One They Took Before short story by Kelly Sandoval Tiger Baby short fiction by JY Yang The Duck short story by Ben Loory Wing short story by Amal El-Mohtar The Philosophers short fiction by Adam Ehrlich Sachs My Time Among the Bridge Blowers short story by Eugene Fischer The Husband Stitch / Шов для мужа novelette by Carmen Maria Machado The Pauper Prince and the Eucalyptus Jinn novella by Usman T. Malik

The pond only looks bottomless. Clambering up the moss-slick stones beside the waterfall, finding purchase with cramping toes and fingers, if I chance a look back over my shoulder, the pond is a moon-black sky even on a sunny summer’s day. It absorbs light. I push back off the narrow ledge, as hard as I can, always feet first, hoping I miss the rocks, hoping I don’t overshoot the middle, hoping I won’t lose my bathing suit on the way back up because Otis and Kat are here too, and I’d become a legend in all the wrong ways. When I’m in the water, plunging, sinking, one hand dragging my sagging waistband back to something approximating my waist, wondering why I let Kat convince me to buy this suit in the first place, I let myself drop as deep as I possibly can. I trail my toes in the silt, and there is silt, and some kind of tough grass that wraps long fingers around my calves, and silt and grass mean there is a bottom. If I open my eyes, if I ignore the grit, I might catch a glimpse of trout silvering between the grasses. Or a water snake, black in the blackness. . . .