“She was asleep. In my car.
I stood next to the passenger side for a minute, looking down at her. The sun made her skin seem translucent and bloodless. For a moment, it didn't matter why I was falling in love with her. Just that I was.”
“By lunchtime, the glitter was flaking off my mask. Three pearls dropped off and rolled down the tiled hallway.”
“I held up my hands. 'I thought you could use a punching bag.' See, this is me, the new and improved Nick Pardee, available to girlfriends and crazy people in their time of need.”
“And just like that she was crying.
I felt a little like That Guy who holds a baby at arm's length because he's afraid it's going to pee on him.”
“Girl surrounded by flowers
Technicolor kiss
For all the night's lengthy hours
I'll miss...”
“I grinned, and a burst of shocked laughter shoved out of me. I'd done it! I'd beaten that bitch, and could see again. I'd won. With only my blood.
I climbed to my feet, cradling my throbbing hand against my stomach, and looked out over the cemetery.
The first real thing I saw was Silla, stumbling toward me. Her hands left scarlet prints on every headstone she touched.”
“[We] stared at each other. It was intensely surreal. Four people in a country kitchen, plotting bloody magic. With a psycho, body-snatching murderer stalking us through flocks of birds.”
“I looked back at Eric. I hated that his eyes were closed. Like Josephine wasn't really paying attention to me. But she had so many other eyes. Rat eyes. Fox eyes. Crow eyes. "Josephine. Tell me why you want the spell book. Why does any of that matter if all we ever need is blood?"
"You want to talk philosophy, Silla? Right now?" Eric's eyes snapped open and his fingers twitched.”
“When I arrived at the graveyard, Silla and her brother were sitting together snacking on cookies. They both wore jeans and sweaters and had blood on their foreheads. Like a gruesome splotch jerking you out of an otherwise pastoral scene. That happened to be a cemetery. Okay, it was all pretty gruesome.”
“We three just stared. I thought of Macbeth's witches huddled around their cauldron. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags. What is't you do?
A deed without a name.
We were as quiet as the gravestones around us.”
“As Mab explains to Will why using magic has to hurt...."Think about guns. If it hurt you to shoot a gun, don't you think people would think harder about when and where and why they did it?”
“I thought about ... our kind being killed, but I am not concerned. I have real power - no one could keep me chained, because my blood can transform iron into water. I could walk through walls if I needed, and now - now I know I can throw my mind into another's, and how easy, then, would it be to unlock any cage? We are invincible, Philip and I. Like unto God. Or the Devil.”
“Water be wine,” I said, not thinking and distracted by the surge of magic. “Tears of the heavens, become fruit of the vine.”
I felt more than saw Silla and Reese hesitate.
But I kept going. “Water be wine. Water be wine. Blood from my body, the power is mine. Water be wine.”
With a silent clap of energy, the entire bowl of water transformed into dark wine.”
“I´d never heard a man cry before, Bob, but...it´s awful. (...) I think some man aren´t used to it and don´t know what to do with all that feeling. Their emotions are hexane ignited in their chests and rips them apart, and then they feel like they´re going to die-just as something was dying, at that moment in Mitch.”
“Beware a kiss' he told her. 'kisses are powerful things. You expose part of your soul”
“The spittin’ image of--What was your dead friend’s name?”
“It is not to be spoken. He is dead, no? To say his name would not show respect. What is this to do with spit?”
“It’s just a saying. When someone or something looks just like something else, it’s called a spittin’ image. I don’t know why.”
“You do not know, but you say the words? The words from your mouth say who you are, Blue Eyes. I make a lie; I am an easop, storyteller. I speak hate; my heart burns with hate. The People do not make talk if they do not know the words. If it is spoken, it must be. A man is what he speaks. This is not so with the tosi tivo?”
Loretta shrugged and bit back a smile. “I seriously doubt I’ll become spit. It’s just something everyone says.”
“You will learn the meaning of this spit image, no? And say it to me. When we meet again?”
Loretta tightened her hand on the reins. “Yes, if we meet again.”
He glanced over at her, his expression suddenly solemn. “We walk backward in our footsteps, eh? Maybe you will walk forward a new way when we reach your wooden walls. You could be a little bit happy as my woman, no?”
Loretta fixed her eyes on the horizon ahead of them. They were only a day and a half’s ride from her home. A day and a half from real clothes, a chance to wash her hair, to eat her own kind of food. Yes, he had been kind to her. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she’d even come to like him a little. But not enough to belong to him. Never that.
“To be happy, I must be at my wooden walls,” she said shakily. “That’s my home and where my people are.”
There was only tonight and tomorrow night to get through, and then she’d be home. Suvate. It was almost finished.”
“If you know a person’s history, you can use it to help predict what that person might do. A person’s history can be the key to understanding his motivation for committing a crime.”
“Even when bad things happen, He can use them for good.”
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