What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier, #2)

by T. Kingfisher

If this was a fairy tale, it was the kind where everyone gets eaten as a cautionary tale about straying into the woods, not the sentimental kind that ends with a wedding and the words, “And if they have not since died, they are living there still.”

Paris, when we left, had been in full glory. Much is made of springtime there, but for my money, a warm autumn is just as spectacular and you don’t trip over nearly as many poets.

“I am a scientist, and what is science without bold experimentation?” And she tossed back about half the glass and set it down, with a light in her eyes and her lips firmly pressed together over a cough.

As difficult as it is to read Angus’s emotions, I am fairly certain that he lost the remainder of his heart to Miss Potter in that instant.

while he took a long time to make his plays, he was absolutely cutthroat once he did. It was like being bludgeoned to death by a cheerful turtle.

“Why must you keep sending me innocent monsters?”

“Until next we meet, young sinner! If you die before me, we’ll drink the country dry in your memory.” I bowed very deeply, wished her the best, then pulled Angus aside, and hissed, “You’ve got to get that phrase book away from her.”

“Something bad happened to both of us, too. We don’t deserve to fall apart either.”