The Trespasser

by Tana French

Seeing as I don’t have a legit reason to arrest Crowley or punch him in the mouth, or to tell the gaffer where to shove his domestics, I’m gonna take the head off the first person who gives me half an excuse, and I don’t want it to be our key witness. I didn’t use to be like this. I’ve always had a temper on me, but I’ve always kept it under control, no matter how hard I had to bite down. Even when I was a kid, I knew how to hold it loaded and cocked while I got my target in range, lined up my sights and picked my moment to blow the bastard away. Since I made Murder, that’s been changing—slowly, I never lose a lot of ground at once, but I never gain any back, and it’s starting to show. The last few months, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve caught myself in the half-second before I splattered temper everywhere and stuck myself cleaning up the mess for the rest of my life.