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I was scared. Not in that half-pleasant adrenaline-charged way, but quietly scared. Wait-on-the-results-of-medical-tests scared. It’s a rational sort of fear that puts a lawn chair down in the front of your thoughts and brings a cooler of drinks along with it.
I wanted to kick myself. Somewhere out there was a village I’d deprived of its idiot.
“Because someone up there takes a malevolent amusement in my suffering?”
to make the mistakes of youth is no crime, but not to learn from them is.
“Here’s where I ask why don’t you spend your time doing something safer and more boring. Like maybe administering suppositories to rabid gorillas.”
Monsters are born of pain and grief and loss and anger. Your heart is full of them.”
“Then I will personally make fun of you every day for the rest of your life,” I said. “I will call you a sissy girl in front of everyone you know, tie frilly aprons on your car, and lurk in the parking lot at CPD and whistle and tell you to shake it, baby. Every. Single. Day.”
The Sidhe crowd thinks you’re an interesting mortal pet of Mab’s. The vampire wanna-be crowd thinks you’re some kind of psychotic vigilante with a penchant for vengeance and mayhem. Sort of a one-man Spanish Inquisition. Most of the magical crowd thinks you’re distant, dangerous, but smart and honorable. Crooks think you’re a hit man for the outfit, or maybe one of the families back East. Straights think you’re a fraud trying to bilk people out of their hard-won cash, except for Larry Fowler, who probably wants you on the show again.”
I caught it, stuck my tongue out at Aurora, yelled, “Meep, meep!” and ran like hell.
“The only people who never hurt are dead.”
“I died,” I said. “I died and someone made a clerical error and this is heaven.”
