“There are two types of people in this world. People who hate clowns...and clowns. (Bobby Pendragon)”
“At least I thought it was a wall. It sure felt like one. It was hard. It was flat. It stretched out on either side of me. You know... wall.”
“There are two types of people in this world. People who hate clowns...and clowns. -Bobby Pendragon”
“The history of each and every territory is written in the blood of those who died trying to fulfill the aspirations of their ambitious leaders.”
“You see, art makes people think. Blok didn't want people to think. If that happened, they might have realized what was actually happening.”
“Bobby spotted the black cat lying on a windowsill, sunning itself. They both walked over to it. Bobby tentatively reached out and rubbed his hands across the cat's belly. The cat purred. "Nice," the cat said dreamily. Bobby whipped his hand back.”
“Robart blinked, momentarily thrown off track, but recovered. “I will have my knight returned to me.”
Knight? What knight? Oh shoot. I had completely forgotten about the vampire who’d almost chopped the police car in a half. I’d left him in the basement holding cell for almost four hours. I concentrated. The knight was alive and well. He was sitting on the floor meditating. I gave the floor a little push and felt it slide up, carrying the knight with it.
“You will find your knight in your quarters.”
Robart nodded. His gaze narrowed. “Perhaps if you were less heavy-handed in your treatment of the guests you claim to honor and protect, your inn would have a higher rating.”
He did not. Oh yes, yes he did. “Perhaps if you trained the knights under your command to follow simple orders, your House would’ve reached greater prominence within your empire.”
Robart locked his jaw.
If my smile were any sweeter, you could pour it on pancakes and call it syrup.”
“Everything came and went, everything was new and bright with promise once and old and worn out later, and everything left a small, diminishing stain on eternity, a mark that time would eventually erase.”
“Your boys okay?”
“Tired, edgy, but giving it all they’ve got. One of ‘em has sworn to get Vau, another is having a love affair with a woman he shouldn’t even look at, I’m collecting waifs and strays like an animal shelter, and we nearly killed a treasury agent. But if I told you the really bad stuff, you’d think I have problems.”
“I hate people like that, people you have to protect while they keep hurting you.”
“I’m Tekchin,” he said, exchanging an empty gourd for a full one. “The handsomest and most skilled of the Galantians.”
This brought an immediate and loud moan from the other Fhrey.
“That scar suggests otherwise,” Moya replied. “On both counts.”
More laughter, louder this time.
“Pretty and smart,” Tekchin said to the others in Fhrey.
Persephone was thankful Moya couldn’t understand their language. A comment like that would have been tantamount to putting torch to tinder.
“This?” Tekchin returned to Rhunic and touched his cheek. “Naw, this is a beauty mark given to me by a special friend. He’s dead now, of course, but he was a gifted opponent and aiming for my throat. I can assure you it proves my skill. So what’s your name, or shall I call you Doe-Eyes?”
“Doe-Eyes? Seriously?” Moya rolled her same-said eyes in disbelief. “I would have expected something less sappy from a god. My name is Moya. Call me anything else and you’ll receive a second beauty mark.”
Tekchin struggled but failed to resist smiling. Behind him, the rest of the Fhrey laughed once more.
“God, eh?” Tekchin said.
“Don’t get too excited. Apparently it’s only a rumor.”
“I like you, Moya.”
“Most people do,” she replied.”
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