Indexing (Indexing, #1)

by Seanan McGuire

Not many people have the kind of ironclad sanity that can survive suddenly discovering that if you’re born a seven-oh-nine, you’re inevitably going to wind up poisoned and left for dead … or that rescue isn’t guaranteed, since once you go inanimate, the story’s focus switches to the Prince. Poor sap.

I smiled. I know how creepy I am when I smile. Whoever came up with “skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood” and thought people would find it attractive really wasn’t thinking things through.

I mean, we were pretty aggravating before you got to know us—and more aggravating after you got to know us—but I didn’t think we had the power to make a man’s hair fall out.

It’s customary for the field team to take a break after a confirmed memetic incursion into baseline reality—in layman’s terms, we’re supposed to get some time off after we stop a fairy tale from rewriting a major metropolitan area into an evil, R-rated version of Disney World. “New and improved! Now with extra incest and murder!”

“I just want it noted for the record that I was not responsible for killing the new girl,” said Sloane to break the silence. “Can someone please put that in writing right now, before there’s some sort of inquest?”