absurd tax advantages

'Put an end to the crime and corruption that has plagued California'

'The Justice Department will not tolerate this behavior'

'Death threats'

At CES 2026, where innovation often leans toward screens and silicon, Sunseeker is making a compelling case that the future of smart technology also lives outdoors. The company’s new Sunseeker Elite X9 robotic lawn mower stands out as a serious step forward in autonomous lawn care — especially for large properties and professional landscaping environments. […]

Every year at CES, companies promise technology that feels a decade away. This year, LumiMind is making a different claim: that non-invasive brain–computer interface technology is ready to be used now — at home, without surgery, and without science-fiction theatrics. At CES 2026, LumiMind is showcasing LumiSleep, a consumer sleep device built on real-time EEG […]

What a depressing day it has to be for Pittsburgh Steelers fans

No subscription. No apps. No gimmicks. Just a smarter way to ride. With gas prices still volatile and electric cars out of reach for many Americans, one company at CES 2026 is offering a refreshingly simple solution to expensive commutes: turn the bike you already own into an e-bike. That’s exactly what LIVALL has done […]

Homicides in London have fallen to a decade low of 97 during the year just ended, a Metropolitan Police report revealed. At a rate of 1.1 per 100,000 people, it’s lower than New York (2.8), Berlin (3.2) and Milan (1.6), according to the BBC. When measured in this way, it’s also the lowest homicide rate […] The post Number of London Homicides Falls to 11-year Low Equating to Record Lowest Homicide Rate Ever appeared first on Good News Network.

Excerpts Urban Fantasy Read an Excerpt From Twelve Months by Jim Butcher Harry Dresden, Chicago’s only professional wizard, has always managed to save the day—but this time, can he save himself? By Jim Butcher | Published on January 13, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Twelve Months, the 18th installment in Jim Butcher’s long-running Dresden Files—publishing with Ace on January 20. Harry Dresden has been through a lot, and so has his city. After Harry and his allies narrowly managed to save Chicago from being razed to the ground, everything is different—and it’s not just the current lack of electricity.In the battle, Harry lost people he cared about. And that’s the kind of loss that takes a toll. Harry being Harry, he’s doing his level best to help the city and his friends recover and rebuild. But it’s a heavy load, and he needs time. But time is one thing Harry doesn’t have. Ghouls are prowling Chicago and taking out innocent civilians. Harry’s brother is dying, and Harry doesn’t know how to help him. And last but certainly not least, the Winter Queen of the Fae has allied with the White Court of vampires—and Harry’s been betrothed to the seductive, deadly vampire Lara Raith to seal the deal. It’s been a tough year. More than ever, the city needs Harry Dresden the wizard—but after loss and grief, is there enough left of Harry Dresden the man to rise to the challenge? I fell back onto the bed, gasping, my heart pounding against my chest. The gorgeous woman from the party, I hadn’t caught her name, collapsed atop me. She was shaking and made soft, gentle sounds on every exhale. “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God. Oh God.” “Shhh,” I said, and began to run my hand up and down her back soothingly. “Shhh. Get your breath.” A low laugh came from the padded papasan chair just across from the bed, in the shadows of the room. Moonlight came in through the windows and the draping white gauzy curtains. A slim, pale form slith- ered up out of the chair and prowled lithely across the rich carpet to- ward me. “Oh,” Lara breathed. She emerged into a beam of moonlight that caressed every unclad, perfect inch of her. Her eyes glowed brilliant silver. She touched my hand gently and then caressed the woman’s back, drawing shudders of pleasure from her. Lara smiled down at me and leaned in for a slow kiss. Part of my brain melted when our lips met, and turned into slow, swirling liquid pleasure, but she didn’t let it last for long. Not yet. She drew slowly away, smiling down at me, and said, “That was beautiful.” It took me a moment to get enough breath and focus together to say, “It still feels strange.” “It’s been a year,” Lara teased, gently—but her eyes were like mir- rors as she turned to the woman and kissed her with a sudden, sinuous speed that reminded me inevitably of a serpent striking and devouring its prey. The woman kissed Lara back helplessly, letting out a brief, intense scream—and then melted, her eyes rolling back. Lara guided her down to the bed, where she lay in a boneless, whim- pering heap, jerking breaths in and shivering, her eyes as unfocused and vacant as those of any narcotics addict. The woman made small animal noises. “Mmmm,” Lara purred, licking her lips. Then those silver eyes, swirling with faint whirls of violet and blue, so easy to stare at, turned to meet my gaze. She wasn’t afraid of my eyes anymore. She’d gazed upon my soul, and I upon hers, and she wasn’t afraid. For a second, I wondered if I could say the same. “Delicious little appetizer,” Lara murmured. She took my hand and drew me up from the bed. “But it’s time for the main course.” “This is a dream,” I rasped aloud, and opened my eyes. I found myself in my chambers in the basement of the castle. There were still a couple of candles burning. I had thrown the covers off me and was covered with sweat and trembling. Mister the cat looked up from the bed I’d made for him halfway up my bookshelf, and blinked his gold-green eyes at me, before arching his back, stretching a little, and settling back down again. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My head was pounding ferociously. My neck ached from collapsing with it at an odd angle on the pillow. I’d drunk too much Scotch, and my burning stomach crept around the inside of my torso as if looking for a way out. On the low table next to the little couch in my room, there was still a Monopoly game set out. The place where I’d been sitting had very few dollars left next to the empty fifth. The empty spot across from me had most of the money and most of the properties. No one was there. “It doesn’t have to be a dream,” said my voice, from the other side of the room. I twitched and squinted. I stepped out of the shadows. Well. Not me-me. It was that other guy. That other me. He was dressed in black and had a goatee and didn’t have as many scars as I knew I would have if I looked in the mirror. He didn’t look younger. Just infinitely better preserved. “The hell was in that bottle?” I muttered. “Veritas, maybe,” said my double. He went across the room and looked down at the Monopoly board, at the little dog and the thimble. “I’ve never understood why you like to be the thimble.” “It’s useful,” I said. “And it protects.” The other me snorted quietly. “We’re going insane, aren’t we?” I asked. He studied me soberly for a moment and then said, “We’re decid- ing.” He looked at me and shook his head. “There’s a future out there, you know.” Buy the Book Twelve Months Jim Butcher Buy Book Twelve Months Jim Butcher Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget My heart tried to rip its way out of my chest and crawl over to the Monopoly board. “Fuck the future. I don’t want it.” “That’s our pain talking,” the other me said. “Our pain?” I demanded. “I miss her, too,” he said. “She was a hero. It felt good to have a hero protecting us.” “Fuck you,” I said in a flat, dead tone. “Self-pity isn’t going to accomplish anything. For anyone.” “I’m doing my fucking best. Asshole.” “You know, you don’t talk like this to anyone else,” the other me pointed out. “Not to Mab. Not to Marcone. You didn’t even talk like this to the ghoul. You’ll curse at them, but you save the real venom for yourself.” I sat there and thought about that for a moment. “Just pointing out the obvious,” the other me said. He looked around my room. It was a mess. It was most nights. I would put it back together before I went out to face the day. He nodded toward the Monopoly board and said, “That really isn’t very healthy.” “Don’t care,” I told him. “Obviously.” He shook his head. “Look. I know we don’t always see eye to eye when it comes to your moral and ethical limitations.” I snorted. “You and everyone else.” He smiled briefly. “But have you even once considered that life with Lara would have its advantages?” My body was still recalling the proposed advantages. It was uncom- fortable. It made me feel ashamed. And other things. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting to live,” the other me said. “Of wanting to embrace life.” “Mind your own business,” I snapped. He spread his hands and gave a helpless little roll of his eyes. “Watch Lara more closely,” he said. “You haven’t been seeing the same things I have.” “Like what?” I demanded. “Come on,” he said. “You know that’s not how I work.” “Not interested,” I said. He glanced at my hips and then shrugged. “If you say so.” “Lara is a monster,” I said. “And I have a daughter.” “Who needs you, and who will need you for a few more years,” he said. “And who then will face the world on her own, like all grown chil- dren. You have many tomorrows to think about.” I let out a half-hysterical laugh. “Figure I should cut them short to be with Lara, eh?” “Thomas and Justine seemed happy together,” he said reasonably. “What if you could strike a similar balance?” “I had the balance I wanted,” I snapped. “Did you?” he asked lightly. “Then why doesn’t Lara burn when she touches you?” The air turned to crystal. “You were with her,” said my other self. “You haven’t been with any- one else. If she loved you and you loved her, it should scorch Lara when she touches you. But it doesn’t. Don’t you think there’s some reason why?” I snarled, surged to my feet, seized the water glass next to the bed, and threw it at the other me. It shattered against the door to my room. Two seconds later, Bear slammed my door open, sending the bolt fly- ing across the room as if it hadn’t actually been attached to the door and the frame. She was wearing a long white nightshirt that struggled to con- tain her arms, and her brown hair was down and fell to her waist. She had a knife with a blade as wide as my forearm in her hand that looked as if it could readily chop telephone poles, and her eyes were wide. She stared at me and then around the room for a moment, her nos- trils flared. We were alone. I peered at her blearily. “You all right?” she asked me. I started to tell her I was fine. Instead, I said, “What time is it?” “Witching hour,” she said. “Three a.m.” I nodded slowly. Then my stomach rolled and I took a staggering step toward the bathroom. I fell. Bear stepped over the broken glass and caught me as if I were a child. “Hey, easy,” she said. “Come on. Come on, you should have drunk that water.” She helped me to the bathroom and got me there in time for me to hurl my guts out. I collapsed to the tile floor shaking when I was done, my throat burning. I felt weak. I felt sad. I felt lost. I felt hollow. I felt like tomorrow had stopped existing. There was only a constant now, a single ongoing, endless hour of pain. Of loss. “Dresden,” Bear said gently. “Hey.” I opened my eyes. She towered over me like some kind of vast sailing ship. Her hand was held out. Her broad face was gentle. “Come on, seidrmadr,” she said gently. “You can take my hand.” My arm felt unbearably heavy. But I did it. Bear hauled me up. I wasn’t able to give her any more help. There just wasn’t the will inside me. But she took me to the bed. She was careful with me. She took a cold rag to my face and neck. She made me sip some water that had the fizzy sensation of some kind of effervescent antacid. My head pounded abominably. She got me settled into bed about the same time I started shivering. She covered me and started singing. Her voice was astoundingly melodic, gentle, and precise. I didn’t know the language, and the rhythms were strange. It sounded old, old. A song from a world that had been all but forgotten. It sounded steady. Reassuring. Patient. As if she could continue it all night if she needed to. I thought I was going to cry but I was just too damned tired. And that was the first time since Murphy died that I slept until dawn. Excerpted from Twelve Months, copyright © 2025 by Jim Butcher. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>Twelve Months</i> by Jim Butcher appeared first on Reactor.