Painted Devils (Little Thieves, #2)

by Margaret Owen

‘A child’s eye fears the painted devil, but an elder wields the brush.’ We fear what we’re taught to fear, not necessarily because it’s worth fearing. I see a devil on the wall. Real or not, the question that matters is who put it there.”

Little thieves tell themselves they take what they need to survive, and sometimes that’s true, and sometimes it’s a lie. Great thieves don’t fool themselves about their motives; they take things because they want them, end of story. The only lie they tell themselves is that there’s no difference between wanting something and deserving it.

‘When you want white people to stop arguing with you, make up a proverb.’

“Cults are wildly profitable. But they’re profitable because they’re infectious and compliant. Cultists don’t ask where their money is going, they don’t ask what their work is for; they just follow orders because an authority figure tells them it’s right and their community reinforces it.”

“‘You are,’” I read aloud over his shoulder, “‘my fire, the one desire—’” “IGNORE THAT.” Emeric hastily flips to a blank page, then launches another fishing expedition into the cluttered desk. “Was that one of your poems?” I demand, delighted.

The law is supposed to help people. More often than not, it doesn’t—because there are loopholes you could drive a cart through, because the powerful and privileged are held to different standards, even because of simple human mistakes.