How to Break an Undead Heart (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy, #3)

by Hailey Edwards

I’m afraid…” I bit my lip, “…that what I do recall isn’t real. Maud told me so many stories. I can’t tell them from memory anymore.”

All kids with question marks for parents longed for a link to their roots. A connection to their past. An understanding of who they came from that might shape who they became.

“You know that saying?” I said around a third slurp. “Jack of all trades, master of none?” His pleasure dimmed a few watts. “Yes.” “They never met you.”

“It’s ridiculous that you excel at everything.” “Not everything,” he murmured, his gaze colliding with the table. “Only what I can learn from books.”

appeared not five minutes later, exchanged words

“When we cut away that which hurts us most, that which remains compensates for the loss.”

it’s easier to miss what’s not in front of you.

nekomata,

in the setsuwa collection Kokon Chomonjū, in the story "Kankyō Hōin (観教法印)", an old cat raised in a villa on a mountain precipice held a secret treasure, a protective sword, in its mouth and ran away. People chased the cat, but it disguised itself. In the aforementioned Tsurezuregusa, aside from nekomata that conceal themselves in the mountains, there are descriptions of pet cats that grow old, transform, and eat and abduct people.[3] Since the Edo period, it has become generally believed that domestic cats turn into nekomata as they grow old, and mountainous nekomata have come to be interpreted as cats that have run away to live in the mountains. As a result, throughout Japan, a folk belief developed that cats should not be kept for long periods.[1] In the "Ansai Zuihitsu (安斎随筆)" the courtier Sadatake Ise stated, "A cat that is several years of age will come to have two tails, and become the yōkai called nekomata." The mid-Edo period scholar Arai Hakuseki stated, "Old cats become 'nekomata' and bewilder people." and indicated that at that time it was common to believe that cats become nekomata. Even the Edo-period Kawaraban reported this strange phenomenon.[2]

“You know the truth. Run from it if you like, deny it if you must, but remember this: There’s nothing wrong with lying until you start telling them to yourself.”

gwyllgi

The gwyllgi (Welsh pronunciation: [ˈɡwɪɬɡi]; compound noun of either gwyllt "wild" or gwyll "twilight" + ci "dog"[1]) is a mythical dog from Wales that appears as a frightful apparition of a mastiff or Black Wolf (similar to a Dire wolf) with baleful breath and blazing red eyes.[2] It is the Welsh incarnation of the black dog figure of English folklor

“I hoped you might see a different side of me,” he said softly. “Not this one.” “Don’t all those sides get confusing?” I bumped shoulders with him. “Can’t you ever just be the real you?” “Real is an abstract concept. Are we ever ourselves, our whole selves, except when we’re alone?”

massive dog-lizard thing pushing off the ruined fender of a nearby

So far I had an undead parakeet, a dybbuk-possessed bestie, and a ghost child living under my roof. The roof belonging to a sentient house. And Linus lived next door. Those things I could handle. But adding three watchmen into the mix?

Hood and Lethe embodied matehood in the same way that Neely and Cruz exemplified marriage. They personified ideals and made such lasting bonds appear as the only logical step when you couldn’t breathe without the person next to you. Maybe that apparent ease was what made their unions burn so bright from the outside looking in. Maybe that kind of love wasn’t simple. Maybe it was a goal you strove toward every single day for the rest of your lives. A peak you never reached, but that was okay as long as you kept climbing.

“He’s going to regret you for the rest of his life.” The urge to wish that miserable future on him was too strong, so I kept my mouth shut.