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How many people could fight a murderous, technically undead bear and make it to campus in time for the big game? Not many, that was how many. She was crushing it.
We don’t have much blood family left in the world, but we make up for it by acquiring honorary family everywhere we go.
Being an untrained magic-user in the process of manifesting her powers is fun, and by “fun” I mean “only slightly better than being covered in wasps, like, all the goddamn time.”
Apparently, Carew genes are dominant, although Alex looks more like a Healy, taller and browner-haired and with slightly worse eyesight.
Fern is a sylph, a humanoid cryptid capable of controlling her personal density. She’s always short, skinny, and colored like a porcelain Bo Peep figure, all milky skin, golden hair, and vast blue eyes.
In a way, I guess I wanted what Verity wanted: I wanted a stage.
I was the first member of our family to be without a piece of our institutional memory since Elizabeth Matheson had discovered a colony of Aeslin mice worshipping a chicken in her yard.
There are days when I want to punch absolutely everyone around me, and keep punching until they’re no longer capable of fighting back. I’m told those desires are antisocial. Sometimes, I really don’t care.
Having most of my potential futures come straight out of Stephen King books is not reassuring.
“Thanks for the vote of murder-confidence,” I said. She flashed me a bright, toothy smile. “I always have faith in you when it comes to murder.”
“People keep asking me not to be mad.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s starting to piss me off.”
I always feel better about walking toward my certain death when I do it with good posture.
“No one is getting murdered.” I hesitated before amending, “Right now. Murder is always on the table for later.”
“Jinks see luck. It’s everywhere, on everything. It . . . accretes like dust, sticking to whatever it touches until it rubs off, or gets used up, or blows away. Luck isn’t a thing you earn. It’s a thing you have.”
“Distance is potential, and potential is power,” said Rose. “If you walk a hundred miles, that’s a hundred miles of power slathered all over your skin. A good routewitch can peel that away from you. It’s the basic driving force of the snake cults, only less scaly, and less stupid.”
“Meaning I get flesh from the loan of a coat, and a phantom rider gets freedom from the length of a road, and everything balances.
can you just promise me that you’ll be careful?” “Nope,” I said. “When a Price promises to be careful, that’s when we get dead.”
“Your grandfather sold his future for your grandmother’s breath, you know,” it said. “People have probably been telling you how much you remind them of him your whole life. How surprised they’d be, to see you here! Or maybe not surprised at all.
Mary turned back to the shape. “Antimony Price will accept your offer of her life, and the life of Samuel Taylor, in exchange for her magic to be held as collateral against a future task to be set by the crossroads and communicated through me, as her advocate and representative. Once the task is performed, her magic will be returned. Should she fail the task, her magic may be withheld indefinitely. Her life, however, cannot be revoked, nor can the life of Samuel Taylor.
“I’m the Final Girl, you fuckers,”
Total darkness was terrifying: near darkness was exhilarating.
