Heir of Uncertain Magic (Whimbrel House, #2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Communion, wardship, chaocracy. Those were the magics tied up in Merritt’s blood. He’d love to get rid of the first. He’d still seen no sign of the last.

Even when you’re gone, it’s less . . . lonely, like this. My heartbeat keeps me company.

Why should I be sad when so much is good?

God had made her out of steel and concrete and laced her together with thick whale-boned corsets.

“But . . . well, you’ve always had an old soul, but the older you get, the more, I don’t know, afraid you become of being human. Your emotions are in a cage stiffer than that corset.” She poked Hulda’s middle. “If they were horticulture, they would die from lack of sunlight.”

Let in the sunshine. Humans are emotional creatures, even you. You’ve got to crack the shell on the egg and let him see the soft flesh underneath.”

“Danielle pointed out to me that I have these walls of stoicism—she referred to them more poetically—and while I know I can’t empathize with you, I can sympathize, and I don’t mean to be an iron rod in a dress, it’s just how I’ve always dealt with these things. But I don’t want you to have to deal with them alone. I’m . . . I’m learning how to bend.”

“A statue made of softer clay than you realize, I think.”

“Sugar makes sad things better.”

Life’s better sweet than sour,