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The air was musty, but magic was there, too, soft as stepping barefoot into fresh earth, crisp as biting into an apple.
Marigold had said that her curves were the secrets between shadows, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life plumbing those secrets with her tongue.
the hum of energy along her skin grew stronger just as she broke through to a clearing. This was nothing like the Altar. There, the sky was her ceiling, and the meadow was vast and welcoming, dotted with wildflowers and the warmth of old memories. Here, the power was a bottomless well that vibrated until the air itself distorted, like a heat mirage.
the black swallowed her like a whale swallows a minnow, easily and with no consequence at all.
The clouds hung low as if waiting for the moon to carry them home.
there was an extravagant kind of anger in the downturn of his mouth. As though he had plenty to spare and would not be miserly with it.
Penelope’s warnings were oft repeated and came fast as rain from a storm-laden sky, like time was running out.
He stared at her for a beat, his eyes burrowing into hers. He was seeing too much of her. Counting the bricks in the walls she’d built around her heart.
“Can’t we just tie him up and demand he tell us everything he knows?” “I rather think tying him up might defeat the whole purpose of getting him to work with us willingly,” Thalia said archly. “Yes,” Calliope said. “But think how much fun it would be.”
an eerie silence that slithered over Calliope’s skin like oil, leaving a film in its stead that made her want to scrub her body clean.
a decadent kiss that felt like the sealing of fate, a metal stamp pressed into hot wax.
