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The books were grim and also dark. The series title might as well be Holy Shit, Basically Everybody Dies.
“I’m a heartless monster with a strong character and stronger eyeliner game, and I intend to get away with my crimes.
“Villains,” she announced. “Let’s unionize.”
“You kill people? Serially?” Rahela blinked. As though banishing reason with the blink, she smiled. “Great. We may need a series of people killed.”
Perishing for love of Lia was one of the major causes of death in Eyam, up there with being eaten by monsters, torn apart by ghouls, and plague.
An anti-hero was just a villain with good PR.
Virginity as stocks and shares, precious then abruptly worthless.
Now the prime minister was calling her a harlot. Oh no, whatever you do, don’t accuse me of being cool and sexy!
Seriously, you will be powerful A.F.” The king’s brow wrinkled. “A.F.?” “As foretold,” Rae intoned hastily.
Lady Rahela punched the air in triumph. “Boom,” declared Rae. “Holy prophecy.”
I ain’t saying you’re a gold digger, but—that is in fact what I’m saying.”
“I was electrified to hear Key say that when distressed, you call on the names of your lovers,” drawled the Cobra. “Jesus and Batman?” Holy sacrilegious misunderstanding.
She knew the rules of a villainous stalk. Head high, neck long, think murder.
it seemed the Cobra was ride-or-die-mad-about-it.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who can make her enemy crawl?”
After years of helplessness, the bitch was back.
“Rahela…” “Sorry, but the old Rahela can’t come to the phone right now.” Rae wound up, and punched the ghoul in the face.
Lia was finally looking at Rae, eyes wide enough to swallow a whole sky. It wasn’t Rae’s job to rescue a damsel in distress. She wanted to talk to this story’s manager.
She knew how this story went. Moth, meet flame. Compass, meet true north. Cat hair, meet expensive sweater. Some girls were made to be loved.
Apparently Lady Rahela’s body was a harlot in the sheets and a harlot in the streets.
“Ah. You’re a sociopath. My bad.”
“You must watch a performance of his greatest work, Romeo & Juliet Overthrow the Government.”
“Keep your tongue behind your teeth. Or lose both.”
His eyes were mirrors to the ravine. Rae had heard if you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. She hadn’t heard, then the abyss becomes your pal who thinks you have many common interests.
The Cobra tried to pass off anger with a laugh. “All this slut-shaming. Where’s the slut-praising? Quick, someone tell me I’m wicked cute and have great time management.”
“I could do that,” Key volunteered with a wink. The Cobra took off his sunglasses and started to beat Key with them as Key laughed. “I wasn’t talking about murder! I’m never talking about murder and you’re always talking about murder!”
“Your poor little meow-meow is built like a brick murder house, he’ll be fine,” Rae muttered.
“O holy prophet, please ask the gods why are you like this,” hissed the Cobra.
A second hot bath might be overkill, but Rae had a lot of party eyeliner to remove and she schemed better in her hot tub. She was starting to think of it as her plot tub.
Now Emer heard only the sound of Rahela singing in the bathtub to her snake. Apparently, Rahela was hot-blooded. The snake should check it and see.
They were halfway through the tale of Lord Ross and beauteous Lady Rachel, who Lord Ross suspected of infidelity to their lovers’ vows.
“Hands off,” Key said simply. “I am your king!” Key shrugged. “Hands off, Your Majesty.”
Face alight with glorious ruin, Key tossed a laugh and a knife into the air. “Let’s see how much treason I can commit in twelve seconds.”
“You saw this horse born,” Marius reminded him. “I told you his bloodline could find their way anywhere. You named him.” “That was a joke,” said Eric. Marius didn’t see what was humorous. He’d thought it was a nice name. The Cobra stared at the expanse of the warhorse’s arched neck, up to the rolling eyes. “So this is my noble steed, Google Maps?”
