In the southern deserts, where wind carves dunes into the shapes of sleeping beasts, the Bedouin speak of a single night each year when...

I should have turned back when the brass horseman’s eyes followed me from across the desert’s blaze. But I had come for treasure. And you...

I first saw her at the edge of the date grove, where the irrigation ditch makes a silver mouth in the sand. Night had settled its black...