Marsha > Recent Status Updates

Dr. Ferreira knew what Vidal needed him for the minute Garces knocked at his door. For a moment he was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard the knock. What had brought him to this outpost of hell? Ferreira wondered while following Garces into the rain: fate or his own decision? It had rained all night, and the day promised to continue under a weeping sky.
Appropriate.

Mackenzie texted me later that night with the time and the place. She'd ended the text with a smiley face, which was a very un-Mackenzie thing to do. I pondered that smiley face until I passed out at close to one in the morning.
As a general rule I didn't get up on Sunday mornings until the morning was over. And yet here I was, up and showered and dressed at 11:45, on a smelly, creaky old city bus on my way downtown.

Mackenzie had already set up a GameCube. She picked up one of the four controllers she'd laid out and handed one to me before plopping on the ground in front of the couch.
"You want in?" Mackenzie asked, waving a third controller at Lucas.
He hopped onto the couch with his phone. "I'm good."
"Cool." She sounded happy he'd declined. "Last chance to back out," she told me giddily as she booted up the game.

She zipped up the bag and hoisted it over her shoulder, but it was too heavy, and if fell to the ground, which would've been bad enough, had not the bag burst open, sending pipes clattering all over the place and making so much noise that every head in the room snapped in our direction.

Isola's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "That's right. They thought I should be thrown out like an incantu. Only worse, because if outsiders discovered what I was, they'd kill me."
Leelo didn't know what to say. Having the entire island shun her the way it had Isola was unthinkable. If they had almost exiled her for helping an incantu, then Leelo was in even more danger than she'd thought.

She looked up. Dawkins was standing above her. His coat was split down the sleeves, and his arms rippled with muscle. A healing gash dribbled blood from his forehead to his jaw, and while his face was still human, there were too many teeth in his mouth, and his eyes were pure red.
Saying sorry would have implied that this was her fault. "I'm glad you're not seriously hurt," Irene said as she stood up.

Once there were some people who lived in a little house deep in the forest. They couldn't afford to keep a servant boy, but as luck would have it, they had a clever daughter who served as both girl and boy.
One time it happened that they had to take a sack of rye to be ground at the mill. They hoisted the bag onto the back of the horse, and the girl had to lead it there.

Xing Gong faces Rend. "and to the reunion of the greatest family under heaven."
Says the uncle without the backbone to back Ren, or Xin Bao for that matter, against Miasma. Xin Gong takes no stand, champions no cause--a travesty in an era when even robbers declare themselves kind. I look to Ren and see a shadow in her eyes. The crowd doesn't notice. To them, she's ever the smiling, benevolent lordess.

Time passes. Night does not fall. The sky stays a maddening pink as I pace in my prison. I might as well be standing still.
I stop in my tracks, chest heaving.
You didn't choose Ren.
You had no say in the lordess you served.
The weakest lordess in the realm.
My hands clench. I did choose Ren. I chose the lordess with the people's support. Weakest? Only in the eyes of the ignorant, like Cicada. Miasma.

I tear my eyes away before I puke and instead focus on the variety of cheese laid out on the moth-eaten tablecloth: Gorgonzola with cracks of blue mold breaking up its milky center, Parmigiano-Regiano the pale yellow of the moon, ricotta kissed with golden honey, and canestrato with a perfect woven rind. A far cry from the disgusting toes hanging just above.
Next to the cheese display is a strega.

I jump into the truck next to Joey. "Anything on Grandpa?" I whisper under the sound of the engine.
She shakes her head. "No change," she whispers back. "They were talking about it after Grandma called."
I bite my lip and trace my finger down the cold window.
As soon as we get to the stadium, Joey and I take our places on our bench, and Dad heads down to his boys. Noah isn't here yet, though I see Jackson.

Mom tells me that when she was my age, her friends often hung out near this lake. And that's where she met Dad. He was only seventeen and he had lied about his age to get a job as a gardener on campus so he could linger by the classroom windows and listen to lectures.
It was his dream to go to college, but without a high school degree, he couldn't even apply to take the entrance exams.

PC's eyes are glistening again. "I hate goodbyes," he says, his voice garbled.
Cintia wraps her arms around him. "Group hug!" she shouts.
I notice Pedro shyly joins us, looking away to hide the tears glinting in the corners of his eyes.
"Are you crying, Chef?" PC says, excited. "Don't cry! You'll make me cry!"
"I'm not crying!" Pedro dodges him, running down the garden, past the hibiscus bushes, with PC on his heels.

Then again--and this seems more and more true the longer it lasts--to call the sound a whine or a hum is an injustice. It is the most perfect note, in a pitch so high it reaches the angels (if there are angels). It contains in itself all of creation, all yearning and hope, a vision that is far more than vision or any other commonplace sense. It lifts Thyrla out of herself, almost--

Kai blinked, eyelids flickering. "I've heard as much."
And that confirmed his nature for her. Trainees did not get told about this. Ever. Only Librarians fully sealed to the Library got even the most basic of briefings about it. Irene herself was a full Librarian, albeit a junior one, and even she had only had a few hints about it. If Kai had "heard as much," then it had been from other dragons, not from Librarians.

Before we climbed into the Jeep, Carole hesitantly stepped outside. For a second, I thought she'd come to object. But then I saw her phone in her hands.
"Do you have time for some pictures?" she called across the lawn.
Simone and I exchanged a glance. She looked like she was on the verge of happy tears. "Yes, Mama," she said, "Or course we have time."
We made our way to her. We had all the time in the world.

I discovered Mama Letty's penchant for critique extended beyond the bounds of Sweetness Lane. As I navigated through the streets of Bardell, Mama Letty happily slipped into the role of grumpy passenger seat driver.
Too slow, she barked as I eased over a speed bump. Put the blinker on, she demanded while paused at a stop sign with no one in front or behind us.

"Basically, that's the first time in a decade I've partied for fun. And I enjoyed it, and I maybe even needed it, but I also needed to be coming home to you. I mean, symbolically. Because obviously I went back to the flat and face-planted on my couch."
Oliver's fingers curled tightly around mine. "I don't want to be taking anything away from you. Or turning you into someone you're not supposed to be."

I'D AGREED TO MEET JAMES Royce-Royce--the other James Royce-Royce--during my lunch hour outside an embarrassingly middle-end jewellers in central London. He turned up exactly on time with Baby J strapped to his chest, making him look like the world's most wholesome kidnapper.
"Do you two ever put him down?" I asked.
He blinked at me exactly once. "Yes. Just not in the middle of London."

I looked round for somewhere to sit and found nowhere that wasn't a lap, and that was one step too gay best friend even for me. Eventually, I propped my coccyx against the corner of a chest of drawers, which was very much a sidegrade from just standing.
"Sooo," began Liz in a tone that seemed far too implication-laden for a woman of the cloth. "How was your evening? Was it lovely?"

Raze steps forward, untying the makeshift sling from his chest. He walks slowly, deliberately, to his aunt, holding it out. The fabric slips away, uncovering the egg. It glimmers merrily in the artificial light.
I hate this. I'm sick with guilt, knowing how badly she hurt Raze, knowing she'd do it all over again to this poor creature, as long as it gets her what she wants.
But we don't have another choice.

I bound into the wagon ahead of everyone else, running my hand appreciatively over the sleek green varnish as I slip inside.
Olani sighs, eyes flicking between us briefly before giving in with an unhappy sound of resignation. "Seelie, get us out of here, fast as you can. Come on, Raze." She practically has to drag him up the steps.
Without protest, I settle into the driver's seat.

"We had no idea you'd written a book, son."
"No one did," I said miserably.
"It's a somewhat strange thing to keep a secret, dear." The reproach in Mom's voice had nothing to do with feeling personally betrayed and everything to do with all those missed opportunities to one-up her friends. Think of the months and months she'd missed of telling them all about my book coming out!

AFTER PENELOPE AND I PERFORMED OUR dramatic public display of affection on the floor of Roth's Diner, I explained the Allison Wray situation. Penelope then explained the Paul situation, which was, obviously, a lot more serious than the Allison Wray situation. I got angry at Paul, but Penelope said I was getting mad at Paul because I felt responsible but I wasn't responsible.

When my mother saw what I was wearing to dinner, she wailed, "Penelope! Oh my, why are you wearing that! It's twenty degrees outside!"
I didn't say anything. Just stood there. I couldn't really argue with her. Yeah, it would be nice if she didn't act like I just chopped off a kitten's head, but I get it. What I was wearing wasn't appropriate at all.

AFTER SPENDING AN HOUR IN THE LIBRARY after school let out Friday, I walked out to the parking lot. It was empty, which made me imagine everyone had died in an alien attack and only I was left. This was more fun to think about than reality.
But then someone said, "Benedict," as I opened the door to my car. I said "someone" because I wanted to pretend I didn't know who it was.

Leezie was lying on her stomach in a slovenly way, dress dangerously close to the hearth, slowly turning the pages in a book Elinor had pressed flowers in and studying each page. Her hair was curled prettily all around her face from where she'd splashed water on it. Every so often she reached to take a honey-covered almond from a tray beside her, licking her fingertips after each one.

Laughter spills down from the High Line.
Built along a defunct rail, the raised park runs down the western edge of Manhattan from Thirtieth to Twelfth. It's normally a pleasant place, with food carts and gardens, tunnels and benches, winding paths and city views.
Today, it is something else entirely.
The Artifact has consumed a stretch of the elevated rail, transformed it into a dreamlike jungle of color and light.

They play until they run out of quarters and beer, until the place is too crowded for comfort, until they truly can't hear each other over the ring and clash of the games and the shouts of the other people, and then they spill out of the dark arcade. They go back through the too-bright laundromat, and then out onto the street, still bubbling with energy.

Toward the end of the play there is a scene that will press itself into the dark of Henry's mind, exposed like light on film.
Robbie, the Bowery king, rises from his throne as rain falls in a single sheet across the stage, and even though, moments earlier, it was crowded with people, now, somehow, there is only Robbie. He reaches out, a hand skimming the curtain of rain.