“You seem to be under the impression that I work for you and you can give me orders. Let me fix that." I hung up.”
“You're Mad Rogan!" Leon burst out.
"Yes," Mad Rogan said, his voice calm.
"And you can break cities?"
"Yes."
"And you have all this money and magic?"
"Yes."
Where was Leon going with this?
My cousin blinked. "And you look . . . like that?"
Mad Rogan nodded. "Yes."
Leon's dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced back at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks.
"There is no justice in the world!" Leon announced.”
“Yes, I'm a hermit. Mostly I brood," Mad Rogan said. "Also, I'm very good at wallowing in self-pity. I spend my days steeped in melancholy, looking out the window. Occasionally a single tear quietly rolls down my cheek.”
“One school of thought says that the best way to handle an issue like this is exposure therapy," Mad Rogan said. "For example, if you're terrified of snakes, repeated handling of them will cure it."
Aha. "I'm not handling your snake.”
“Oh. "So the best way to fight you is to strip naked and attack?"
His eyes flashed with a wicked light. "Yes. You should try it and see what happens.”
“I opened a writing app and began typing what I knew about Pierce.
Vain. Terminal fear of T-shirts or any other garment that would cover his pectorals.
Deadly. Doesn't hesitate to kill. Holding him at gunpoint would result in me being barbecued. Whee.
Likes burning things. Now here's an understatement. Good information to have, but not useful for finding him.
Antigovernment. Neither here nor there.
Hmm. So far my best plan would be to build a mountain of gasoline cans and explosives, stick a Property of US Government sign on it, and throw a T-shirt over Pierce's head when he showed up to explode it. Yes, this would totally work.”
“I was conceived because it would be good for my House to have an heir and because my parents' genes ticked the right set of boxes. You were probably conceived because your parents loved each other."
"According to our mother," Bern said, "he was conceived because she was too wasted to remember a rubber."
Mad Rogan stopped chewing.
"I was conceived because my mother skipped bail. Her boyfriend at the time threatened to call the cops on her so she had to do something to keep him from doing it," Bern said helpfully.
Awesome. Just the right kind of information to share.
"Aunt Giselea isn't the best mother," I said. "There's one in every family.”
“How about you don't kill anybody for a little bit?"
"I can't make that promise."
Small talk with the dragon. How are you? Eaten any adventurers lately? Sure, just had one this morning. Look, I still got his femur stuck in my teeth. Is that upsetting to you?”
“If you’re really hard up, I can introduce you to my grandmother. She’s a fan.” Adam blinked. “She doesn’t typically sleep with pretty young things, but she would make an exception in your case. You might even learn a trick or two.”
“Speak to me."
"I hate you."
"Okay." Mad Rogan let go of me. "You're fine.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Grandma Frida asked. I put my hand over my face. “No,” Mad Rogan said. “A boyfriend?” Grandma Frida asked. “No.” “What about . . .” “No,” Mom and I said in unison. “But you don’t even know what I wanted to ask!” “No,” we said again together. “Party poopers.” Grandma shrugged.”
“Had I known you were going to pull a pretty ribbon out of your sleeve like some two-bit magician, tie me up with it, and indulge your mental torture fetish in your basement, I would've shot you. Many times."
"Two-bit magician?"
"Men like you enjoy being flattered.”
“And let’s be honest, you weren’t exactly harmed. I even took you home.” “You dumped me on my doorstep. According to my mother, I looked half dead.” “Your mother exaggerates. A third dead at most.” I stared at him. Wow. Just wow.”
“I would really like to know", he said with genuine curiosity. "The next time I kill someone, I'd like to do it in a way that doesn't freak you out.”
“Now that was a kiss,” Grandma Frida said from the doorway behind me.
I jumped. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough. That man means business.”
All my words tried to come out at once. “I don’t . . . what . . . asshole! . . . screw himself for all I care!”
“Aww, young love, so passionate,” Grandma said. “I’m going to buy you a subscription to Brides magazine. You should start shopping for dresses.”
“Can you turn so you’re not pressed against me?”
“I could,” he said, his voice amused. “But then you would have to lie on top of me.”
My brain said, “NO.” My body went, “Wheee!”
“What are your qualifications for this job?” she asked. “I’m expendable,” I said.”
“If you keep wiggling, things might get uncomfortable,” he said into my ear, his voice like a caress. “I’m doing my best, but thinking about baseball only takes you so far.” I froze.”
“I wanted you to stop.” “I was encouraged by you breathlessly moaning my name.” I spun on my foot. “I wasn’t moaning your name. I was shrieking in alarm.” “That was the sexiest throaty shrieking I’ve ever heard.” “You need to get out more.”
“He glanced at me, his eyes dark. "Would you rather talk about your dream?"
"No."
"Considering that I was featured in it, I think I deserve to know the particulars. Were my clothes missing because we were in bed? Was I touching you?" He glanced at me. His voice could've melted the clothes off my body. "Were you touching me?”
“I have a family full of quirky people. Someone has to be sensible so all of you can enjoy being reckless weirdos.”
“Mom?" Mother turned to Grandmother.
"What?"
"She's going to lunch with her kidnapper!"
"Take a picture for me," Grandma said.”
“Maybe I should drive,” Troy said. “She knows what she’s doing,” Mad Rogan said. I sniffed. “What?” “The fragrance of a genuine compliment from Mad Rogan. So rare and sweet.”
“I didn’t expect to sit here for hours. But if you’re too hot, feel free to take the bra off.” I gave him the finger. “What are you?” he asked. “I’m the woman you chained in your basement. I’m your captive. Your . . . victim. Yes, that’s the right word. All of that education. How come nobody ever explained to you that you can’t just kidnap people because you feel like it?”
“Did you send an escort with my family?” “Yes. They’re a target.” “How did you know they would be leaving?” “My people saw them load up, called me, and I told them to follow.” Duh. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. I plan to hold them hostage until you sleep with me.” I stumbled. He turned and gave me a brilliant, impossibly handsome smile. “Just kidding.” Damn it.”
“They say a hundred-and-thirty-pound woman has no chance against an athletic two-hundred-pound man. That's a lie. You just have to make the decision to hurt him and then do it.”
“She who showed weakness to teenagers would be picked on to death. True fact of life.”
“All men are liars. All women are liars, too.”
“You don’t have the touching rights.” “How do I get those?” Stop being a self-absorbed spoiled baby. “You get those if I fall in love with you.” He stopped. “In love. You’re serious?” “Yes.” That would shut him up. “What is this, the sixteenth century? Should I write you a sonnet next?” “Is it going to be a good sonnet?”
“I can buy your contract.” “No, you can’t. Any sale of our mortgage requires my consent, and I won’t consent to it.” He grinned. “You don’t want to work under me?” “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
“In the real world, equal respect for all cultures doesn't translate into a rich mosaic of colorful and proud peoples interacting peacefully while maintaining a delightful diversity of food and craftwork. It translates into closed pockets of oppression, ignorance, and abuse.”
“Before drawing any affirmative conclusions let us first note the absence of the concept of imitation as a general pastoral or moral guideline. There is in the New Testament no Franciscan glorification of barefoot itinerancy. Even when Paul argues the case for celibacy, it does not occur to him to appeal to the example of Jesus. Even when Paul explains his own predilection for self-support there is no appeal to Jesus' years of village artisan. Even when the Apostle argues strongly the case for his teaching authority, there is no appeal to the rabbinic ministry of Jesus. Jesus' trade as a carpenter, his association with fishermen, and his choice of illustrations from the life of the sower and the shepherd have through Christian history given momentum to the romantic glorification of the handcrafts and the rural life; but there is none of this in the New Testament, which testifies throughout to the life and mission of a church going intentionally into the cities in full knowledge of the conflicts which awaited here there. That the concept of imitation is not applied by the New Testament at some of those points where Franciscan and romantic devotion has tried most piously to apply it, is all the more demonstration of how fundamental the thought of participation in the suffering of Christ is when the New Testament church sees it as guiding and explaining her attitude to the powers of the world. Only at one point, only on one subject - but then consistently, universally - is Jesus our example: in his cross.”
“(The Kiowa didn’t scalp, and the real Mescalero did not live in pueblos, but factual accuracy, for May, was something that happened to other writers).”
“Not everyone you meet is going to like you, and that's okay.”
“[Dialogue between Solon and an Egyptian Priest]
In the Egyptian Delta, at the head of which the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais [...] To this city came Solon, and was received there with great honour; he asked the priests who were most skilful in such matters, about antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene knew anything worth mentioning about the times of old. On one occasion, wishing to draw them on to speak of antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world-about Phoroneus, who is called "the first man," and about Niobe; and after the Deluge, of the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and reckoning up the dates, tried to compute how many years ago the events of which he was speaking happened. Thereupon one of the priests, who was of a very great age, said: O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are never anything but children, and there is not an old man among you. Solon in return asked him what he meant. I mean to say, he replied, that in mind you are all young; there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition, nor any science which is hoary with age.”
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