She knew nothing of Ren except his name, his aptitude with vocabulary, the fact that he wasn’t in college, and the way his hair narrowed to a curling point at the nape of his neck. And she hadn’t even realized she knew that last thing until now.
She re-read his email four times, feeling offended and breathless, like he had casually grabbed her head and stuffed it into a pile of wet leaves.
..."There’s really no way I can explain it to her without *still* sounding like scum," I complained to Sinter. "The 'sympathy shack-up' doesn’t score many points," he agreed. *
I had an absurd desire to go down to her and make sure she was all right, and stay with her until dawn. I also had a fierce wish to bludgeon the two frat boys to death with a shovel.
College isn't half as much fun as they told us it was going to be." "It's not one-hundredth as much fun.
And I got out of there without punching anyone, kicking anyone, or breaking down in tears. Some days the small victories are all you achieve.
I've given her signs! I've given her plenty of signs. What does she want me to do? Slap him across the face with my glove, and challenge him to pistols at dawn?
Hermes visited him in the Underworld a few days before the spring equinox festival, cajoling Hades to come to it. Hades wandered across the fields with him, Kerberos limping along at his side. “No one wants the god of death at their fertility festi...
Eventually the real world intruded again, and Sophie had to return to campus—woefully behind on homework, but incandescently in love.
And he had a dog, a nice dog. He couldn’t be too evil or dangerous if he had such a great dog.
So we came to say hello. To the world’s grouchiest person. Because that’s such fun.
Did I mention really, really jealous.
It had to unleash some invisible magic, he thought; Hades and Persephone, joining together again within these black and holy stone walls, for the first time in millennia. As they indulged in enjoying one another, how could they not be reactivating so...
Niko popped a spare slice of bacon in his mouth, chewing it up contentedly. “I hate being a soul, being dead. You know what I hate most about it?” “No sex?” Sophie guessed. “That’s what I hate second most about it. No, what I hate most is...
But the thought of New Zealand instantly sent her mind to Watson, the possibly-Australian, possibly-Kiwi, definitely paranormal young fellow with videos of dead guys on his phone.
That was how people got through life, he supposed: by acknowledging death and telling it, “Not today.
Being around her now was nine parts bliss and one part torment. And he wanted it to last as long as possible.
You’re being nicer to me than I've been to you lately," I said. "Yes, I am. But then, Hitler was nicer to Poland than you've been to me lately.
Another lesson to file away about Scotland: insulting other people in a childish manner was the national pastime.
