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“Blood contract with the doorknob’ isn’t even the weirdest phrase you’ve said today, is it?” she asked.
Since he was a child, Edison had loved how stories were like shoes, each person preferring their own style, their own fit. Sometimes, you had to help people try on story after story, letting the discarded ones pile up until they found the right one.
smirking while he plucked books off the shelves at random and put them back out of order. There was not a more sinister microaggression towards a librarian.
“It’s not a penis,” Caroline scoffed, her gaze dropping to the two-inch white marble fragment in Riley’s palm. “Holy hell, it looks just like a tiny marble penis. Your aunt Nora literally left you a dick in a box.”
“I haven’t survived a winter here, I’m aware, but there is something to be said for living in a place that has all four seasons,” she said. “In Florida, are only two—’sweaty’ and ‘still sweaty, but not quite as sweaty.’”
“Well, we’re in pretty fierce competition with Mackinac Island, in terms of being quaint.” Riley gasped. “Wait, how did you say it?” “Mack-in-Naw,” Regina said again. “I’ve been calling it Mack-in-Ack this whole time, and no one said anything to me?”
He’d become, if not a friend, a sort of surrogate uncle-mentor-spiritual guide.
“It is really not great that a ghost child can physically interact with matches,” Caroline said, shaking her head.
