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set rosemary to burn over charcoal (for memory and clairvoyance, which are the same thing in two different directions).
Making Ronan Lynch smile felt as charged as making a bargain with Cabeswater. These weren’t forces to play with.
True love is a construct. Was Artemus your true love? Is Mr. Gray? Does that make the other one not true? Is there just one shot and then it’s over?” This last question was asked with the most flippancy of any of them, but only because it was the one that hurt the most.
“It was easier to tell hero from villain when the stakes were only life and death. Everything in between gets harder.”
Adam lived in an apartment located above the office of St. Agnes Catholic Church, a fortuitous combination that focused most of the objects of Ronan’s worship into one downtown block.
This was like walking the line between dream and sleep. The night-sharp balance of being asleep enough to dream and awake enough to remember what he wanted.
It was this: this moment and no other moment, and for the first time that Gansey could remember, he knew what it would feel like to be present in his own life.
“The spear, Dad told me, was him.” Declan looked at Ronan. “He told me to make sure Ronan was the name of the hero, and not the name of just another spear.”
Things that were not enough, but that she could have. Things that were something more, that she couldn’t.
It was such a throwaway sound now, that laugh. An easy one that said it could be spent so easily because there were more where that one came from. The wound was healing against all odds; the victim would make it after all.
But sounding like you were saying what you felt was not the same as actually pulling it off. A lot of ESL folks feel that way, Milo had finished. My mom said she was never herself in English. But it wasn’t that Henry was less of himself in English. He was less of himself out loud. His native language was thought.
When Adam kissed him, it was every mile per hour Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every window-down, goose-bumps-on-skin, teeth-chattering-cold night drive. It was Adam’s ribs under Ronan’s hands and Adam’s mouth on his mouth, again and again and again. It was stubble on lips and Ronan having to stop, to get his breath, to restart his heart. They were both hungry animals, but Adam had been starving for longer.
“I’ll wish it, don’t you get it?” Piper asked. “It has to favor me! It has to do what I say.” But Seondeok wasn’t sure that was the same thing.
This dreamer fought. The demon was about unmaking and nothingness, and dreamers were about making and fullness. This dreamer was all of that to an extreme, a new king in his invented kingdom. He fought.
