Gage Love Quotes

What are you thinking?" he asks. I know Gage hates it when I cry - he is completely undone by the sight of tears - so I blink hard against the sting. "I'm thinking how thankful I am for everything," I say, "even the bad stuff. Every sleepless night, every second of being lonely, every time the car broke down, every wad of gum on my shoe, every late bill and losing lottery ticket and bruise and broken dish and piece of burnt toast." His voice is soft. "Why, darlin'?" "Because it all led me here to you.

And I wonder how Gage knew this is what my soul has craved. He turns me to face him, his eyes searching. It occurs to me that no one in my life has ever concerned himself so thoroughly with my happiness.

We haven't been together very long," I reminded him. "You love me and I love you. How long does that need to be?" Knight and Anya Gage

I love you Travis. I've loved you since the day I met you. It killed me that you walked away, but it was the right thing to do. We weren't ready. We weren't ready because we weren't complete. We needed to wait for Gage to find us.

Don’t leave me, Eliza. You can’t… I need you too much. I love you too much. -Gage

I would never make you drop something you love. I’d never drop what I love—for anybody. I’d make room for the other thing I love, though. I made room for you." ~Gage

I finally figured out how hard the battle between your love for me and your love for art, your future, and your career must’ve been. It just hurts to know art won, is all." ~Gage

If one million of you give assent to the one thousand who participate in the murder of a child, then one million of you are a million times guilty.

That's because it was Gage Stevenson, the epitome of my childhood and love life. That boy is irreplaceable.

Justice is about harmony... revenge is about you making yourself feel better.

That's what friends are for. The people who aren't in your life 'cause they're related, or hot for you. They just love you.

The harder you search the more troubled you become.

No crime is a means to an end. No crime can be rationalized.

I’d be happy to show you that I’m the only man who knows exactly how deep, high and rough you like it, love.” - Gage

O Love, divine Love, why do You lay siege to me? In a frenzy of love for me, You find no rest. From five sides You move against me, Hearing, sight, taste, touch, and scent. To come out is to be caught; I cannot hide from You. If I come out through sight I see Love Painted in every form and color, Inviting me to come to You, to dwell in You. If I leave through the door of hearing, What I hear points only to You, Lord; I cannot escape Love through this gage. If I come out through taste, every flavor proclaims: "Love, divine Love, hungering Love! You have caught me on Your hook, for you want to reign in me." If I leave through the door of scent I sense You in all creation; You have caught me And wounded me through that fragrance. If I come out through the sense of touch I find Your lineaments in every creature; To try to flee from You is madness. Love, I flee from You, afraid to give You my heart: I see that You make me one with You, I cease to be me and can no longer find myself. If I see evil in a man or defect or temptation, You fuse me with him, and make me suffer; O Love without limits, who is it You love? It is You, O Crucified Christ, Who take possession of me, Drawing me out of the sea to the shore; There I suffer to see Your wounded heart. Why did You endure the pain? So that I might be healed.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.

If one thousand of you participate in the murder of one child, then one thousand of you are a thousand times guilty.

Christ proclaimed: "I am the good shepherd." He then further showed, and with eloquent exactness, the difference between a shepherd and a hireling herder. The one has personal interest in and love for his flock, and knows each sheep by name, the other knows them only as a flock, the value of which is gaged by number; to the hireling they are only as so many or so much. While the shepherd is ready to fight in defense of his own, and if necessary even imperil his life for his sheep, the hireling flees when the wolf approaches, leaving the way open for the ravening beast to scatter, rend, and kill.

The love Travis shared with Kylie and Gage, the pure adoration between Kaleb and Zoey, the intense heat that transpired between Zane and V, and, yes, the deep affection that Ethan and Beau had found together.

Unlike we are, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike our uses and our destinies... Thou, bethink thee, art A guest for queens to social pageantries, With gages from a hundred brighter eyes Than tears even can make mine... What hast though to do With looking from the lattice-lights at me, A poor, tired, wandering singer...

Yeah,” Joseph said. He rubbed his face over the back of Gage’s neck. “I want to smell the sweat on your skin and breathe in the scent of exhaust in your hair. I love the way you smell, Gage. My sexy, dirty bad boy.

Lifting his head to set his chin in the middle of her chest, Gage looked her in the eyes and murmured back, “Because you make me want to be more man than animal. You make me want to live and love deeply enough for one lifetime rather than live hundreds of lifetimes without you.” - Gage

You have me.” His serious eyes penetrate mine. “For the rest of your days, I will be here for you—someone to trust, to lean on—to have and to hold from this day on.” Marshall is a thing of beauty both inside and out. I reach up and touch my fingers to his lips. Somebody is going to be very lucky to love him fully one day. “Those sounded an awful lot like wedding vows,” I whisper. “You will be everything to me, Skyla. A lover…” He kisses a finger. “A friend…” He kisses the tip of another. “A spouse…” He pushes my finger into his hot mouth and I pluck it out. “Where shall we spend our honeymoon?” He goes right there without provocation. “No honeymoon—but, well…” I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m sort of not really seeing Gage, since I can’t trust him. Logan wants to wait until the end of the faction war before we see where our feelings lie, so I suppose I’m open.” “Open?” His head twitches to the side just so. “You know, for wooing—no kissing though. You’ll have to woo without lingual contact.” “No kissing.” His chest broadens under the guise of this new turn of events. “Fantastic.” He says it sharp as if this were a war and he just gained ground on the enemy. “What shall we do to commemorate our first day of coupledom?

You scare me, Gage."  Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.  "You tore me up, ripped me apart.  It took me a long time to put the pieces back together again." His thumb grazed along her cheek in a soft caress.  "I know baby, but I promise you, you have nothing to fear this time." "How do you know that?  How can you promise something like that?" "Because I would die protecting you.  I would slay dragons for you."  He fisted her hair and brought his face close.  "I would get on my knees and beg for you.

Wherefore the present age is given up as a reproach to the heathen, and for what cause the people whom thou hast loved is given over unto ungodly nations?!

Thou art sore troubled in mind for the people in the world’s sake: loves thou that people better than he that made them?

You do not love me; you love my success!

Like as thou canst do none of these things that I have spoken of, even so canst thou not find out my judgment, or in the end the love that I have promised unto my people.

Hear about the hidden time. Some think the hidden time is yet to come. The Kingdom of God does not come by Observation. It is hidden in the inner dimension.

We have the power to move mountain, if we have faith that the mountain can be moved.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not sayin' you don't love her. But love doesn't make us saints. You're gonna think of yourself first. We're flawed creatures, men. REAL love - when you strip out all the baggage - can make us better'n what we are. That's the gift and the curse. But you gotta LET it. End o'the day, if you love someone, you do what's best for 'em. Even if it's not what's best for you.

You must be desperate if you're asking Mom for adivce. Did she sit you down on the couch ?" "I'm not a patient of hers, asswipe. I'm her favorite son." Derrick ignored Gage's huff. The little snot. (...) "Favorite, my ass. She pities you. Gage is nothing more than a baby-maker. I'm the favorite." Dylan preened, pulling at the cuffs on his designer shirt. "Culture, charm, good looks and a real occupation. What's not to love

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

He holds her for an eternity. Time cascades into the void of the past. She inhales his scent. Full of man and strength and yearning. And she wonders why she ever doubted their relationship. Why she let Julian’s soothing touch coax her into loving him too. Gage is everything. Gage is hers.

My brother was standing behind some trees, waving at me. I hurried my pace. “Gage. What are you doing here?” I pushed him deeper into the trees and looked over my shoulder. The walkway was clear. My shoulders sagged in relief. I gave his chest a good whack. “First rule of Clarke Club. We don’t know each other.

I dinna expect your thanks. ’Tis not why I stole ye away from Steafan.” She rolled her eyes, but this time with affection instead of annoyance. “Duh, I know that. You’re so darned honorable you’d never do anything for something as paltry as my thanks. It’s not just about thanks. I love you, you stubborn Highlander.” She cupped her hand over her mouth. The ornery thing had just blurted that which she had yet to fully admit to herself. Considering how much it hurt to have Darcy reject her physical advances, she was in no mood to bear his inevitable rejection of her heart. Mortified, she turned to run away. But his arms went around her. He hadn’t lied when he’d claimed to be quicker. “Do ye mean that, lass?” he asked, bending over her back, holding her. “No,” she lied, trying to pry his arms away. “I’m out of my mind. Don’t listen to a thing I say. Let me go.” “No. I willna. And I think a confession spoken in ire is more trustworthy than one spoken in calm.” He turned her around and lifted her face to his. “I love you, too, lass.” He kissed her.

He smiles at her before ever opening his eyes. The innocence in his face ensnares. Wraps her heart in a cocoon. They did this to him. The Society. Constructed that smile with malicious expectations. Now she must rip it off his face. Because she doesn’t deserve his love. Or Gage’s. This madness coils around her throat, darkening every inch of her soul.

It was May of my senior year at Leighton Gage and on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons we sat in an air-conditioned hourglass and savored our own total incomprehension as an assistant professor charted the poems of Dryden, Lovelace, Fanshawe and Suckling. They were all so incomparably dead, the Penguin poets, and we loved them because their lines meant less to us than the dark side of the moon.

There's something about him that's impossible to walk away from. Like an injured boy being held captive by his abuser. But Gage isn't his abuser; he's his warrior kachina. His real-life protector made of muscle and bone and capable of inflicting damage on anyone who stands in his way. Pushing anyone who has the potential to hurt Lucas away, but also everyone who has the potential to love him.

He’d loved her when he’d wed her. And now, after being wed for more than a year, seeing her through the birth of their cherub of a daughter, and making a home for the three of them in Dornoch, he loved her more than he’d ever imagined possible. Would he love her even more in another year? Ten years from now? When their children were grown, like Wilhelm and Constance’s? Aye. He kent he would. How could he not? She was his wife, his mate.

He was the one, however, with whom no one wanted his or her picture taken, the one to whom no one wanted to introduce his son or daughter. Louis and Gage knew him; they had met him and faced him down in New England, some time ago. He was waiting to choke you on a marble, to smother you with a dry-cleaning bag, to sizzle you into eternity with a fast and lethal boggie of electricity—Available at Your Nearest Switchplate or Vacant Light Socket Right Now. There was death in a quarter bag of peanuts, an aspirated piece of steak, the next pack of cigarettes. He was around all the time, he monitored all the checkpoints between the mortal and the eternal. Dirty needles, poison beetles, downed live wires, forest fires. Whirling roller skates that shot nurdy little kids into busy intersections. When you got into the bathtub to take a shower, Oz got right in there too—Shower with a Friend. When you got on an airplane, Oz took your boarding pass. He was in the water you drank, the food you ate. Who’s out there? you howled into the dark when you were frightened and all alone, and it was his answer that came back: Don’t be afraid, it’s just me. Hi, howaya? You got cancer of the bowel, what a bummer, so solly, Cholly! Septicemia! Leukemia! Atherosclerosis! Coronary thrombosis! Encephalitis! Osteomyelitis! Hey-ho, let’s go! Junkie in a doorway with a knife. Phone call in the middle of the night. Blood cooking in battery acid on some exit ramp in North Carolina. Big handfuls of pills, munch em up. That peculiar blue cast of the fingernails following asphyxiation—in its final grim struggle to survive the brain takes all the oxygen that is left, even that in those living cells under the nails. Hi, folks, my name’s Oz the Gweat and Tewwible, but you can call me Oz if you want—hell, we’re old friends by now. Just stopped by to whop you with a little congestive heart failure or a cranial blood clot or something; can’t stay, got to see a woman about a breach birth, then I’ve got a little smoke-inhalation job to do in Omaha. And that thin voice is crying, “I love you, Tigger! I love you! I believe in you, Tigger! I will always love you and believe in you, and I will stay young, and the only Oz to ever live in my heart will be that gentle faker from Nebraska! I love you . . .” We cruise . . . my son and I . . . because the essence of it isn’t war or sex but only that sickening, noble, hopeless battle against Oz the Gweat and Tewwible. He and I, in our white van under this bright Florida sky, we cruise. And the red flasher is hooded, but it is there if we need it . . . and none need know but us because the soil of a man’s heart is stonier; a man grows what he can . . . and tends it.

With Malina in his arms, he was whole. She wasn’t only his to love and protect; she was part of him. Realization struck him with blinding force. “I canna let ye go back,” he said. “I willna. You are mine, and I willna send you away to your time.” The tightness in his chest unfurled. Malina’s eyes widened with shock. Her rose-petal lips parted to say somat, but he silenced her with a kiss. He couldn’t help himself. Let her hate him for a time. He would find a way to earn her love and forgiveness. He’d earn them every day for the rest of his life.

She expected the ornery tiger to get mad and snarl at her, instead he did something much worse. One side of his lips curled up in smug satisfaction, and the bastard smirked at her. “I may no longer live in a time period where one person can actually own another person, but make no mistake, love, I do own you. Every little inch. Every breathy moan you give me when I’m playing with your pretty pussy. Every hungry kiss you give me when I’m buried deep inside you. Every beat of that stubborn heart that you swear doesn’t still love me, and every inch of that fierce soul of yours… They all belong to one person. Me.” - Gage

Howe's first object is, partly by threats and partly by promises, to terrify or seduce the people to deliver up their arms and receive mercy. The ministry recommended the same plan to Gage, and this is what the tories call making their peace, "a peace which passeth all understanding" indeed! A peace which would be the immediate forerunner of a worse ruin than any we have yet thought of. Ye men of Pennsylvania, do reason upon these things! Were the back counties to give up their arms, they would fall an easy prey to the Indians, who are all armed: this perhaps is what some Tories would not be sorry for. Were the home counties to deliver up their arms, they would be exposed to the resentment of the back counties who would then have it in their power to chastise their defection at pleasure. And were any one state to give up its arms, that state must be garrisoned by all Howe's army of Britons and Hessians to preserve it from the anger of the rest. Mutual fear is the principal link in the chain of mutual love, and woe be to that state that breaks the compact. Howe is mercifully inviting you to barbarous destruction, and men must be either rogues or fools that will not see it. I dwell not upon the vapors of imagination; I bring reason to your ears, and, in language as plain as A, B, C, hold up truth to your eyes.

Her eyes rounded. “They don’t open until eleven.” “Unless you’re me, and you strike up a conversation with the prep cook who starts work at seven.” “Ah.” “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said, uncurling his forefinger from around his own cup to point it at her. “His name is George and he has a wife and three kids.” “My mind’s not in the gutter!” Well, not since she woke from a twenty-minute midnight doze during which she’d imagined herself stretched out on her bed, Gage standing at its foot, slowing stripping off his clothes. He grinned at her, then reached into his front pocket to pull free a slim camera. Still juggling his coffee, he managed to bring the viewfinder to his eye and snap a shot. “I’ll call it ‘Guilty as Charged.’” “That’s an invasion of privacy,” she said, frowning at him. “I think that blush indicates that you’ve been mentally invading mine.” “Gage!

His Malina was a mystery, a lovely and welcome mystery. He couldn’t resist smoothing his palm over her silky hair. Stroking her like that, over and over again filled him with peace. Concerns about his mill and Steafan and all that Wilhelm might expect from him floated away on a cloud of contentment. Until he felt warm wetness on his skin where her face nestled. “Are ye weeping?” “No,” she said, but her voice caught on a sob. “There,” he said, “now we have both told a lie to the other. We are even.” Whatever had her distraught, her heart wasn’t so heavy that she couldn’t give a small chuckle. “Maybe I’m crying just a little,” she said. “It’s fine, though. Don’t worry. Get some sleep.” “I canna. My da told me a good husband doesna lay his head down for the night if his household isna in order and his wife isna content.” “He sounds like a very responsible man. Like father, like son.” No one had given him as much to feel proud over as this woman.

He frowned down at her. “You need to settle down and listen to me.” “You need to fuck off and—” She never got the next word out because he flipped her over on her stomach. While she cursed and tried to move him he tied her hands together with something, then wrapped some silky cloth around her head, forcing it between her lips. Bound and gagged, he moved her back over so she was on her back again. Beyond pissed, she struggled against her bindings, trying to get free so she could kill him. To her disgust he just grinned and watched her writhe on her mattress until she finally lay there in a sweaty, panting heap, with her hands still bound and her mouth still gaged. “Done with your tantrum?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Fuck you,” she said, or at least tried to say. It must have come through loud and clear because he smiled at her, a predatory smile that actually made her wet. Damn her hormones had bad taste and timing. He licked his lips and her pussy throbbed. “Oh, you’ll be begging me to fuck you by the time I’m done with you.” She glared, then rolled over on her stomach so she could flip him off with both bound hands. “See, this is why I love you. I love you, Amanda. You’re it for me. All I want, the only woman I want.” He leaned down and brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle touch. “Hold still and I’ll let you up. I’m sorry if I scared you.” “Wait,” she said in a garbled voice. “You love me?” He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, revealing his magnificent body an inch at a time. “That’s right, I love you. I love how brave you are, how smart, how classy and yet at the same time you can cuss up a blue streak. I love how you take care of me, how I’m the only one who gets to see the soft, feminine side of you that comes out when you make love. I love your temper, your kindness, and how you devour me with your eyes, like you want to eat me alive. Kind of like you’re doing right now.” “I don’t love you,” she mumbled through the gag. “Liar,” he whispered into her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue.

The door was still open, so I shut it and was returning to my desk when I braked. There was a backpack resting on the other side of my desk chair. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Missy’s. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Holly’s or the cousin’s. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Huh?” she barked, her head swinging around to me. A quick glance confirmed what I already knew. She was drunk. “Nothing.” She pulled out one of her shirts, but it wasn’t her normal pajama top. She was really drunk. I picked up Shay’s bag and checked the contents to make sure it was his. It was. I saw his planner with his name scrawled at the top, so I zipped that bag and put it in the back of my closet. No one needed to go through it. I didn’t think Missy would, but I just never knew. Dropping into my chair, I picked up my phone to text Shay as Missy fell to the floor. I looked up to watch. I couldn’t not see this. I was tempted to video it, but I was being nice. For once. As Missy wrestled with her jeans and lifted them over her head to throw into her closet, I texted Shay. Me: You left your bag here. Missy let out a half-gurgled moan and a cry of frustration at the same time. She didn’t stand, instead crawling to the closet. She grabbed another pair of pants. Those weren’t her pajamas, either. As she pulled them on—or tried since her feet kept eluding the pants’ hole—my phone buzzed back. Coleman: Can I pick it up in the morning? I texted back. Me: When? Missy got one leg in. Success. I wanted to thrust my fist in the air for her. My phone buzzed again. Coleman: Early. My playbook is in there. I groaned. Me: When is early? I’m in college, Coleman. Sleeping in is mandatory. Coleman: Nine too early for you? I can come back to get it now. Nine was doable. Me: Let’s do an exchange. You bring me coffee, and I’ll meet you at the parking lot curb with your bag. Coleman: Done. Decaf okay? I glared at my phone. Me: Back to hating you. Coleman: Never stop that. The world’s equilibrium will be fucked up. I have to know what’s right and wrong. Don’t screw with my moral compass, Cute Ass. Oh, no! No way. Me: Third rule of what we don’t talk about. No nicknames unless they reconfirm our mutual dislike for each other. No Cute Ass. His response was immediate. Coleman: Cunt Ass? A second squeak from me. Me: NO! I could almost hear him laughing. Coleman: Relax. I know. Clarke’s Ass. That’s how you are in my phone. The tension left my shoulders. Me: See you in the morning. 9 sharp. Coleman: Night. I put my phone down, but then it buzzed once again. Coleman: Ass. I was struggling to wipe this stupid grin off my face. All was right again. I plugged my phone in, pulled my laptop back toward me, and sent a response to Gage’s email. I’ll sit with you, but only if we’re in the opposing team’s section. He’d be pissed, but that was the only way. I turned the computer off, and by then Missy was climbing up the ladder in a bright pink silk shirt. The buttons were left buttoned, and her pajama bottoms were a pair of corduroy khakis. I was pretty sure she didn’t brush her teeth, but before my head even hit the pillow, she was snoring

Imagination is more important than knowledge" Albert Einstein

Can you come up the back way?” Miranda asked. Etienne had dropped the others off. Now he and Miranda sat in his truck, parked in the driveway of Hayes House. The stress of the evening had eased since they’d left The Tavern, and she leaned back with her eyes closed while Etienne stared silently out the fogged-up windshield. “Can you?” she asked again. She still hadn’t told him about the attic, about Nathan’s unexpected appearance, or about the connection she’d sensed between Nathan and Hayes House. Several times during dinner, she’d wanted to bring it up, but with so many other things to talk over, she’d decided to put it on hold till a later time. And now’s that time. “Etienne?” “We gotta stop meeting like this,” he said, poker-faced. “The neighbors, they’re starting to talk.” “You’re the one who started it.” “What, you don’t want me to meet your mama?” “It’s not that--” “I promise she’ll like me. Your aunt Teeta, she likes me.” “My aunt Teeta loves you. She thinks you’re wonderful.” “See. What’d I tell you?” “She also thinks Gage is adorable.” “What can I say? Gage is adorable.” Miranda had to laugh. “Look, if we go in the front, they’ll both want to fuss over you, and we won’t have any privacy, and I can’t mention ghosts and weird things in front of them.” “You know, cher, I’ve had a lotta girls talk me into their bedrooms, but this is the first time I’ve heard that excuse.” “This is not that kind of invitation. Understand?” Etienne gave her a solemn stare. He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. Since you twisted my arm--I’ll come up the back.” Miranda thought maybe this time he might actually smile. But like all the times before, only a fleeting hint of amusement touched his lips. “Fifteen minutes,” she said, climbing out. “At least. I gotta park my truck somewhere else. And walk all the way back. And sneak all the way in. Secret rendezvous, you know…they take time.

Etienne?” “We gotta stop meeting like this,” he said, poker-faced. “The neighbors, they’re starting to talk.” “You’re the one who started it.” “What, you don’t want me to meet your mama?” “It’s not that--” “I promise she’ll like me. Your aunt Teeta, she likes me.” “My aunt Teeta loves you. She thinks you’re wonderful.” “See. What’d I tell you?” “She also thinks Gage is adorable.” “What can I say? Gage is adorable.

Mac wiped away the tears on her face. Then she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and told him the truth. “I love you.” She held her breath, waiting for him to say something. And waited…and waited…and waited. But Gage just stood there still as a statue, his face unreadable. “Um, Sarg. I’m not real familiar with this part, but I think you’re supposed to say something,” Cooper said softly.

So Travis must have been one of her informants, except he didn’t know it.” Miranda picked up the probably scenario. “And when he found out, he felt betrayed for himself and the Confederate army.” “And he wouldn’t have had a choice, really.” Gage’s expression was troubled. “He knew he’d have to turn her in. He knew she’d have to be executed…” Nodding at Gage, Ashley lowered her voice. “So he gave Ellena the choice.” “Some choice.” Parker grinned. “Either I kill you, or you kill you.” Despite Parker’s twisted attempt at humor, a heavy silence settled over the group. At last Etienne cleared his throat. “So Travis, I guess he musta loved her, yeah? To give her a way out like that?” “I can’t even imagine.” Ashley fixed Etienne with a sorrowful gaze. “The fear she would have felt…the shame and humiliation--” “But he let her die with some dignity. You gotta give him that.” “And then he burned down the opera house,” Miranda whispered. “He burned down the Rose.” Ashley’s gaze misted over. “Both Roses. He destroyed both Roses.” For a long moment, they all seemed lost in their own thoughts. Then Parker spoke up. “Yeah.” Tilting his chair back, he winked at Gage and Etienne. “That’s the way to a girl’s heart, all right. Give her poison, then burn down her house.” Roo’s stare was openly curious. “Tell us the truth, Parker. Are you really just a changeling in human form?

Very slowly, he leaned toward her. He took her face between his hands. His lips were gentle, but his kiss was firm--she melted beneath it as he pressed her tight against his chest. His lips traced a shivery path to her neck and lingered at the base of her throat. His hands slid to her shoulders and down her body, an embrace both relentless and tender--burning where it touched, but never forcing, never intrusive. He whispered to her in his secret language…their lips locked in a kiss… “Miranda?” Aunt Teeta called softly. Miranda’s cry was instantly muffled beneath Etienne’s lips. Shocked, she stared at him, even as he pulled away from her, snapped off the light, and slipped out of sight beneath the covers. After a second’s hesitation, Miranda slid in beside him and yanked the bedspread up to her chin. “What?” she called back, with what she hoped was convincing grogginess. Aunt Teeta opened the door, her bathrobe askew, her hair disheveled, and several oversize curlers bobbing on top of her head. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be asleep yet. You know, I was just thinking--since you and Etienne have been spending so much time together, why don’t you invite him over sometime? So your mama can meet him? And ask Gage over, too--he’s such a cutie.” Miranda yawned loudly. “That’s a great idea, Aunt Teeta. Thanks a lot.” “All right now, hon, you go on back to sleep. Love you.” “Love you, too.” Miranda waited till the door closed. Till Aunt Teeta’s footsteps faded down the stairs, till the house was silent once more. She waited a long time. At last the covers moved, and Etienne, after a thorough look around, threw them back and sat up. He seemed immensely amused. “Damn, that was close. Your aunt, she woulda skinned me alive if she’d caught me here.

Why are clowns so creepy?” “You’re afraid of clowns?” “I didn’t say that. I just said they’re creepy.” Miranda watched him, amused. The best defense was an even better offense. “You’re staring,” Gage mumbled. “I can’t help it.” “Why? Do I have a messy face, too?” “No.” Miranda couldn’t resist. “You have dimples.” He squirmed self-consciously. “I guess.” “I bet you get teased a lot.” “Is there some relevant point to this?” Miranda did her best to keep a straight face. “Just that they’re so cute.” “Stop it.” “Are you blushing?” “Shut up.” Oh, Gage, you have no idea…if Marge and Joanie were here right now, they’d jump all over you. Still flustered, Gage signaled the waitress. But it was someone else who walked over instead. “Private conversation?” Etienne greeted them. “No,” Gage answered, a little too quickly. “Intimate conversation?” “I was just telling him about his…” Miranda began, but Gage looked so trapped, she didn’t have the heart to bring Etienne into it. “Just telling him about--” “We were talking about the gallery,” Gage broke in. “That building she was wondering about.” Etienne glanced purposefully from Gage to Miranda and back again. “I don’t know, from where I was standing over there, you were looking a little embarrassed.” “The opera house. I was telling her what I found out.” “Okay, if you say so.” “It’s true!” “And I said okay. I believe you. You gonna eat the rest of those fries?” Gage slid his plate across the table as Etienne slid in beside Miranda. Etienne shot her a secret wink. “It’s not the thing with the dimples again, is it?” he asked innocently. “I don’t know what it is with girls, the way y’all love his--” “Why are you here?” Gage asked. Getting to his feet, he pointed toward the restrooms. “I’ll be right back. You can leave the tip.” “I was going to anyway.

It’s not the thing with the dimples again, is it?” he asked innocently. “I don’t know what it is with girls, the way y’all love his--” “Why are you here?” Gage asked. Getting to his feet, he pointed toward the restrooms. “I’ll be right back. You can leave the tip.” “I was going to anyway.” “No, I’m paying for my own.” Miranda picked up the tab, but Etienne’s hand came firmly down on hers. “Gage and me, we are nothing if not true southern gentlemen. And a lady never pays on her first date.” Now Miranda was flustered. “It’s not a date. We really were talking about that building.” “I know that.” Shrugging, he yanked a napkin from the metal holder. “I also know Beth, your waitress. She’s the one who heard you teasing Gage.” “You are so bad.” With a vague frown, Miranda settled back to watch him eat. Unlike Gage, it didn’t seem to bother him, being the object of her scrutiny. She could only marvel at his focus.

Etienne’s going to find out stuff about voodoo. Oh, and Roo and I are going to research that little boy who died at the feed store. And Miranda gets Magnolia Gallery--but of course we’ll all help her with that. And…and I guess that’s about it.” “Damn.” Parker did his best to sound disappointed. “I was hoping for a whole lot more.” Nodding sympathetically, Roo swept him with solemn eyes. “How sad. That’s exactly what Ashley always says about you.” “Oh, except for this other idea I had.” Ashley glanced hopefully around the group. “Instead of calling it Ghost Walk, why don’t we call it something else?” “Great idea.” Parker was adamant. “Why don’t we call it off?” “How about”--Ashley paused dramatically, her eyes sparkling--“Walk of the Spirits?” As everyone traded glances, Gage repeated it several times out loud. “Yeah. I like it.” “Me, too,” Miranda spoke up. “I think it’s good.” “I think it’s romantic,” Ashley sighed. “Walk of the Spirits…don’t you think it’s wonderfully romantic?” “I think it’s wonderfully…you.” Etienne patted Ashley’s shoulder. “But could we move a little faster here? I got me a lotta work to do this evening.” “That’s okay, this is just our first outline. We still have to refine it. And we still have a lot more research to do.” Gage nodded. “Then we have to write up a script for the tour. And everything has to be timed. And--” “Enough torture.” Parker glowered at each of them. “I get the idea.” “But hey, y’all.” Ashley fairly glowed with pride. “The important thing is that Miss Dupree loves our project even more now. Did you see the look on her face when she was reading our outline? I’ve never seen her that excited about any assignment before, have you?” “I’ve never seen her excited about anything.” Parker exchanged guy looks with Etienne. “She needs to get laid.” “You know, at some point, we really need to do a trial run of this thing,” Gage advised, ignoring Parker. “Seeing it in daylight is totally different than seeing it at night. If we’re gonna get the full effect, we need to walk it after dark.

Ah, yes,” Mrs. Wilmington said, apparently recognizing the picture. “All the roses. Aren’t they lovely?” With a gentle tug, Gage coaxed the paper from Miranda’s hand. She didn’t even realize she’d grabbed it away from him. “What about the roses?” gage’s tone was casual, but Miranda could hear an underlying hint of excitement. “There’s so many of them.” “And hundreds more you can’t even see here,” Parker’s mother informed him. “Red roses had a special significance at the opera house.” Miranda had begun to shiver. From some distant place, she was vaguely aware of Gage’s hand on her back. “And,” the woman added, “when red roses lined the driveway and spilled from every door and window of the opera house, it always meant that Mademoiselle DuVrey was performing that night.” “And why was that?” Roo stared pensively into Mrs. Wilmington’s enraptured face. “Did she have body odor or offensive personal habits?” Gage choked down a laugh. Ashley looked horrified. Etienne shifted from one foot to the other and mumbled under his breath. Mrs. Wilmington maintained her dignity.

Squealing, Ashley threw her arms around Miranda, while Gage ducked swiftly out of the way. “You’ll get used to her, Miranda,” Parker sighed, pulling Ashley back. But Ashley broke free at once. “Miss Dupree loved your idea! She can’t wait to see how we put it all together. She says it’s the most original and creative topic in the whole class!” “Make that the most ridiculous,” Parker mutter. Miranda tried valiantly to resist Ashley’s hug. “Hey. It wasn’t my idea--” “Don’t be so modest! Of course it was!” Giving Miranda one last squeeze, Ashley got down to business. “Okay. So we’ll all meet at the library later and start our planning. You can come, can’t you, Miranda?” “Well, I--” Parker’s loud groan cut her off. “Oh please, not the library. All that whispering gives me a headache.” “You are a headache.” Roo yawned. “Let’s just go to The Tavern. I need background music.” “Too crowded. Too noisy.” Shaking his head, Gage leaned in toward Miranda. “It’s a restaurant,” he explained. “Not much to look at, but the food’s great. Everybody hangs out there.” Roo did a thumbs-down. “Two no votes for The Tavern. It won’t get dark for a while--why don’t we just go to the Falls?” Looks passed from one to another, followed by nods all around. “Have you seen the bayou yet, Miranda?” Gage asked, while she fumbled for an excuse. “Not exactly. I mean, sort of, from a distance. But really, I don’t think I can--” “Then this’ll be a first for you!” Ashley was delighted. “We’ll be right on the bayou.” Parker nodded, deadpan. “Alligators and water moccasins, up close and personal.” “Oh, Parker, for heaven’s sake. Don’t listen to him, Miranda. I’ve never seen any nasty things around there.” “Except for Roo,” Parker added. “She can be pretty nasty.” Roo pointedly ignored him. The boys grinned, and Ashley chattered on.

Okay, y’all,” Ashley announced. “This is our dress rehearsal. Our last chance to get everything perfect before the big night tomorrow. Any questions? Ideas? Opinions?” “Yeah, I have an idea.” Slumped on the front steps of the Battlefield Inn, Parker choked down a mouthful of cough syrup and tried not to speak above a whisper. “Let’s call it off. That would really make it perfect. No more ghost tour.” “Walk of the Spirits,” Ashley corrected him, irritated. “Walk of the Spirits. And we’re not calling it off. After all this time? All this work?” “All this suffering?” Roo added. She was perched one step below Parker, and was digging through her pockets for a cigarette. Her face still bore some major bruises from the storm, and a wide gash zigzagged across her forehead, not quite healed. She’d taken great pains to highlight this zigzag with dark, red lipstick. “You like suffering,” Parker reminded her. “And, excuse me, but you’re not the one with pneumonia.” "You don’t have pneumonia. You’re just jealous because Gage was in worse shape than you, and he got more attention.” “Well, it’s almost pneumonia. It’s turning into pneumonia.” Tensing, Parker let out a gigantic sneeze. “Shit, I hate this. I feel like my brain’s ten times its normal size.” Roo gave him a bland stare. “You know, when people lose a leg or an arm, they think they still feel it, even though it’s not really there.” “Will you two behave?” Ashley scolded. “And, Parker, where’s that newspaper article your mom was going to give us?” “Somewhere.” Parker thought a moment, then shrugged. “In my car, I think.” “Well, will you please go get it? The sooner we start, the sooner we can all go home.” “She’s right.” Though unable to hold back a laugh, Miranda came loyally to Ashley’s rescue. “Let’s just walk it through, and read the script, and make sure we’ve covered all the basic information. Ashley, what about your costume?” “I’ve got the final fitting after I leave here.” Ashley’s eyes shone with excitement. “Can you believe Mrs. Wilmington went to all that trouble to make it for me?” “She didn’t.” Parker scowled. “She got her dressmaker, or designer, or whoever the hell she calls him, to make it for you.” “Parker, that doesn’t matter--it was still really nice of your mother to do that.” “You’re a southern belle--how could she resist that?” Ashley shot Miranda a grateful smile. “That was Miranda’s idea.” “It made sense,” Miranda explained. “A costume sets the mood. It’s all about southern history and heritage, so our tour guide should be a southern hostess--hoopskirt and all.” “And I’m the only one who gets to dress up! And I can’t wait to wear it! It’s like cotton candy!” Roo arched an eyebrow. “Sticky?” “No! All pink and fluffy and…sweet. I love the way I feel in it.” “I agree,” Parker said hoarsely. “I love the way you feel in it, too. And I love the way you feel out of it even better.” Roo stared at him. “Wow. You should write greeting cards.

Oooo, I love attics.” Ashley gave a little squirm of anticipation. “Maybe your grandpa has some old trunks up there, do you think? Like attics in the movies? With clothes and old hats and those dressmaker dummies?” Roo drew on her cigarette. “You’re looking for dummies? Don’t tempt me, Ash.” “Well, as tempting as it is to continue this fascinating and stimulating discussion”--Parker grimaced--“I’ve got to get home.” Standing, he pulled Ashley up with him. “I guess we’ll see y’all later?” As the others got to their feet, Ashley gave Miranda a tight hug. “We’re coming tonight. You know, to the wake.” Miranda, once more, was touched. “Look, you guys, I appreciate it--really. But you don’t have to. It’s going to be so depressing.” “We’re coming,” Roo said. “Yeah, Roo likes depressing,” Parker insisted. “She’ll feel right at home.” “Parker, that’s so rude,” Ashley scolded him. “This isn’t anything to joke about.” “Right. Sorry.” The last to leave, Gage paused on the top step to look back at her. “We’ll be there.

All your friends are welcome here, darlin’,” Aunt Teeta assured her niece. “It’ll be good to have young people in the house. It needs some laughter and enthusiasm and fresh ideas.” “You’ll love Ashley, then,” Miranda told her. “I wish I had her enthusiasm.” “I wish you had Etienne Boucher. But that Gage is awful cute, too.” Winking, Aunt Teeta picked up her mug of mint tea and started for the stairs. “I’m off to bed, dear ones. Sleep tight.” Mom gave Miranda a teasing look. “What’s all this about Etienne Boucher? Teeta seems awfully determined to get you two together.” “He’s just a guy at school. In my study group. It’s nothing.” Then, as Mom lifted an eyebrow, Miranda added, “He’s the guy who fixed our air conditioner.” “I like him already. Who’s Gage?” “His cousin. And I’m not getting together with anyone.” “You don’t have to convince me, honey.

Miranda was still trying to process the intrusion. “Just tell me one thing--how do you guys get away with sneaking out at night? My mom would have a fit!” “Right.” Parker’s grin turned scornful. “Like my mom and dad ever know if I’m there or not.” Ashley was totally unconcerned. “Oh, we just tell them we’re going to the tree house. They never check on us there.” “What’s the tree house?” Miranda wanted to know. “Well, when we were little, Gage’s daddy built a tree house for the three of us in his backyard. We used to have a secret club. And we’d play over there, and hide from people, and pretend we were knights in a castle.” “Gage and I were knights,” Roo corrected her. “You always had to be rescued.” “Well, I liked the way Gage threw me over his shoulder and carried me down from the tower.” “Gage did that?” Clasping his hands over his heart, Parker sighed. “My hero.” Gage ignored him. “We used to camp out in that tree house at night.” Ashley nibbled a potato chip. “In fact, we still like sleeping together over there.” Parker wiggled his eyebrows and gave Miranda a stage whisper. “Very kinky.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Parker--not that kind of sleeping together.” Ashley paused for a second. “It is just Gage, after all.” Gage stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Oh, nothing.” Ashley plopped down on the bed next to Miranda. “Just that we love and respect you so much, we wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you.” “Sometimes I dream of you two taking advantage of him,” Parker said seriously. “It’s one of my favorite fantasies.” Gage tried unsuccessfully not to look embarrassed. “You need a life.

Spiderman: Hey, Ms. Marvel, watch the wings! They're sharper than they -- Kid's Frozen. Probably Never Faced Anything Like This Before. Gotta Snap Her Out Of It. But How -- Ah. Got It. Spiderman: Hey! You know my "Slingshot" Maneuver? The one I've done with Captain Marvel a few times. Ms. Marvel: F-Fuh Four Times! All her fans love it! You did against the Spider-Slayer's insect army, and when you fought Terminus...that was SO cool! I made it my wallpaper! Spiderman: Great! 'Cause we're doing it now! Ms. Marvel: With ME? I-- I-- Ms. Marvel: I'm doing it! I'm totally doing the Captain Marvel Slingshot Maneuver! Ms. Marvel: This is the BEST DAY EVER!

Slogon: A Call For The Overthrow Of The World Government! 666 I, Compton Gage, CALL on world believers of righteousness to wage 'all-out war' on the World Government, the infidels... Jihad is obligatory, not only for the Muslims! All world believers of righteousness are required to pladge allegiance to Allah! World believers of righteousness must fight the enemies of Allah through uncompromising... I urge the believers to fight; if there be of you twenty steadfast, they shall overcome two hundred; and if there be of you a hundred, they shall overcome a thousand of those who disbelieve- O you who believe, fight those of the disbelievers who are near to you and let them find firmness in you. And know that Allah is with those who keep their duty. Behold, if you are in doubt as to my religion, (know that) I serve not those whom you werve besides Allah, but I serve Allah who causes you to die; and I am commanded to be of the believers- Seest thou not those who change Allah's favour for disbelief and make their people to alight in the abode of perdition- And those who flee for Allah's sake after they are oppressed, We shall certainly give them a good abode in the world; and the reward of the Hereafter is much greater... And on the day when We raise up a witness out of every nation, then permission (to offer excuse) will not be allowed to make amends. I exhort you only to one thing, that you rise up for Allah's sake by twos and simply; then ponder! There is no madness in your companion. He is only a warner to you before a severe chastisement. We have adorned the lower heaven with an adornment, the star- They cannot listen to the exalted assembly and they are reproached from every side. And whoever turns himself away from remembrance of the Beneficent, We appoint for him a devil so he is his associate. They are times appointed for men, and (for) the pilgrimage. And it is not righteousness that you enter the house by their backs but he is righteous who keeps his duty. And go into the houses by their doors; and keep your duty to Allah, that you may be successful. And fight in the way of Allah against those who fight against you but be not aggressive. Surely Allah loves not the aggressors. Fight not with them at the Sacred Mosque until they fight with you in it; So if they fight you (in it), slay them. Such is the recompense of the disbelievers. And fight them until there is no persecution, religion is only for Allah. But if they desist, then there should be no hostility except against the oppressors. Death, man must face... ... death does not bring the life of a man to an end; it only opens the door to a higher form of life. Just as from dust is evolved the man, from the deeds which he does is evolved the higher man. Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy...! I will strengthen thee; yea; I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteouness; Behold, all they that were incensed against thee shall be confounded; they shall be as nothing; and they that strive with thee shall perish... And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this! I give unto you power to tread on evil and over all the power of the devil, and nothing shall by any means hurt you. I come not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. A Call For The Overthrow Of The World Government! Kill Them All! Compton Gage

But to say that a love of democratic ideals had inspired these country people to take up arms against the regulars is to misrepresent the reality of the revolutionary movement. Freedom was for these militiamen a very relative term. As for their Puritan ancestors, it applied only to those who were just like them. Enslaved African Americans, Indians, women, Catholics, and especially British loyalists were not worthy of the same freedoms they enjoyed. It did not seem a contradiction to these men that standing among them that night was the thirty-four-year-old enslaved African American Prince Estabrook, owned by town selectman and justice of the peace Benjamin Estabrook. While Gage had honored the civil liberties of the patriots, the patriots had refused to respect the rights of

I remember what Gage had said one night when we were talking about his recovery—that nobody can force an addict to get help. He has to want to do it himself

His half brother’s passion was farming, and Kevin had tried again and again to capture Gage’s look of pride, a look that said he was proud to be an American farmer, proud of who he was and what he did. To love this man was to love the sweeping land of the prairie.

Carrington was busy spreading a thick layer of glue on the last of three strips of wood that would be joined and fastened to the top edge of the skiff as a gunnel. I had to smile at the sight of Gage crouched beside her, murmuring instructions, holding back one of the braids that threatened to drag through the glue. “. . . and then at recess,” the girl said, squeezing a huge bottle of wood glue with both hands, “Caleb wouldn’t let anyone else play with the basketball, so Katie and I went and told the teacher—” “Good for you,” Gage said. “Here, put more glue on the edge. Better to use too much than not enough.” “Like this?” “Perfect.” “And then,” Carrington continued, “the teacher said it was someone else’s turn to play with the ball, and she made Caleb write an essay about sharing and cooperation.” “Did that fix him?” Jack asked. “No,” came Carrington’s disgusted reply. “He’s still the terriblest boy you could ever meet.” “They all are, honey,” Jack said. “I told him you were going to take me fishing,” Carrington went on indignantly, “and you know what he said?” “That girls aren’t good at fishing?” Jack guessed. “How did you know?” she asked in amazement. “Because I was a terrible boy once, and that’s probably what I would have said. But I’d have been dead wrong. Girls are great at fishing.” “Are you sure about that, Uncle Jack?” “Of course I— wait a minute.” Together Jack and Gage lifted the assembled wood strips and fit them to the edge of the boat. “Sweetheart,” Gage murmured to Carrington, “bring that bucket of clamps over here.” Carefully he placed clamps along the gunnel, pausing to adjust the wood strips when necessary. “What were you saying, Uncle Jack?” Carrington pressed, handing him some paper towels to wipe up dripping glue. “I was about to ask you: Who is the fishing expert in this family?” “You.” “That’s right. And who’s the expert on women?” “Uncle Joe,” she said, giggling. “Joe?” he asked in feigned outrage. “Humor him, Carrington,” Gage said. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day.” “You’re the expert on women,” Carrington told Jack promptly. “That’s right. And I’m here to tell you, some of the best anglers in the world are women.” “How come?” “They’re more patient, and they don’t give up easy. They tend to fish an area more thoroughly. And women can always find the spot with the hidden boulders or underwater weeds where fish are hiding. Men, we just look right past those spots, but women always find ’em.” As Jack spoke, Carrington caught sight of me in the doorway, and she threw me a grin. “Are you gonna take Miss Ella fishing?” she asked Jack, who had picked up a Japanese saw and was cutting off the protruding end of the gunnel at an angle. “If she wants to,” he said. “Is she gonna catch you, Uncle Jack?” Carrington asked slyly. “She already did, darlin’.

Secret glances are shared by those on the "inside" or esoteric "inner circle", who have literally gone into many lower frequencies simultaneously. This is the "secret glance" of love, which allows the higher to operate in the lower; to "save" those worlds in order to correct the impending takeover of the "Devil and his demons", a metaphor for light and dark "battles" raging today.

The "inner circle of humanity" recognizes others through frequency, regardless of walk of life or "positioning in the astral". This is an operation run invisibly from Outside the astral. Going Home represents the final shift to one's true spiritual families of light, in all dimensions of harmonics; higher vibrations/love in unity consciousness, above, below and literally "everywhere and everynow".

Set as higher dimensional beings walking the earth today, who must INcarnate (there is no REincarnation if there is no time. Exception: descending spirals which crystallize in lower frequencies) to live in the various dream worlds (this one included) with the final "kick"/baptism by water, pulling up ALL the densities/dimensions through LOVE.

Malina’s hands kneaded his neck and shoulders with surprising strength. The mound where her bairn grew cushioned his wet head. He tilted his chin to gaze up at her. So lovely she was, watching him with smiling eyes, her hair loose about her face, her breasts rising and falling with the tide of contented breaths.

Wilhelm!” he called again. “Show yourself!” Wilhelm and a pair of his guards rounded the keep at a run. He reigned in Gil’s horse. “Where is she? Where is my wife?” “Right behind me. What happened, man? Are ye wounded?” Malina came running around the keep with Constance. Relief surged through him to see her blessedly unharmed, though her face was drawn with concern. She was worrit for him. He flew from the saddle and dashed to her. His ripped thigh protested, but he didn’t falter in his steps. Pain was nothing compared to the need to hold his sweet wife in his arms. Sweeping her up, he pinned her to his chest. Their hearts reached for each other with every beat. She clung to him as fiercely as he clung to her, and some of the horror of the last hour lifted from him. “Christ, lass, I thought…I thought—” He buried his face in her hair. She smelled of herbs and flowers, and underneath was her own scent of sugared custard. She wore a lovely kirtle of sapphire blue and an apron smudged with dirt as if she’d been doing chores in the garden. Her hair flowed like silk through his fingers as he ran his hand over her head and face, assuring himself she was hale, all except for the purple marks around her left eye from Hamish’s hand. Passing over her cheeks, his fingers came away wet with her tears. “Dinna weep, Malina mine. All is well.” “You’re hurt,” she cried. “Let me see. There’s so much blood.” “What happened?” Wilhelm demanded. “How much of the blood is yours?” Constance asked. He ignored all but Malina. “I’m all right, lass. I’m all right. Just a few scrapes.” He permitted himself a relieved breath as her face smoothed somewhat, but he refused to let her go. He couldn’t even bring himself to lower her feet to the ground. With Malina in his arms, he was whole. She wasn’t only his to love and protect; she was part of him. Realization struck him with blinding force. “I canna let ye go back,” he said. “I willna. You are mine, and I willna send you away to your time.” The tightness in his chest unfurled. Malina’s eyes widened with shock. Her rose-petal lips parted to say somat, but he silenced her with a kiss. He couldn’t help himself. Let her hate him for a time. He would find a way to earn her love and forgiveness. He’d earn them every day for the rest of his life.

With Malina in his arms, he was whole. She wasn’t only his to love and protect; she was part of him. Realization struck him with blinding force. “I canna let ye go back,” he said. “I willna. You are mine, and I willna send you away to your time.” The tightness in his chest unfurled. Malina’s eyes widened with shock. Her rose-petal lips parted to say somat, but he silenced her with a kiss.

I love you, lass,” he said quietly. She looked up to see him watching her from under his arm. “More than I thought a man could love.” Her stone tumbled off its precipice. Tears heated her eyes and moistened her cheeks as she pulled off the other boot and let it fall to the floor. Happiness infused her, making her body warm and heavy with longing. “I love you too.” “Enough to forsake your home?” He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, waiting for her response. His face wore a much more jaded version of the vulnerability she had grown used to. She went to him and undid his belt, shaking her head. “I’ll never forsake my home.” When he closed his eyes to shield her from his disappointment, she let the undone belt fall to the blankets and framed his face with her hands. “My home is where you are. I will stay with you. Forever.” He opened his eyes and searched her gaze with shocked wonder. “I would have told you as much if you’d bothered to ask before leaving for Inverness.” She softened the rebuke with a smile. “But I understand why you went, I think. You were trying to keep your word to me.

Darcy had been punched in the gut plenty, but never had he been nearly doubled over by the sight of a woman. Malina came out of Edmund and Fran’s bedroom dressed in his mother’s finest gown, which he’d plucked from the wardrobe up at Fraineach after deciding with no small amount of self-flagellation that he’d go through with Aodhan’s plan. The gown draped her from shoulder to floor in forest-green velvet. Gold ribbon wrapped her just below her bosom in a high waistline that hid the gentle swell of her belly. Ivory silk covered her arms and graced her neckline, which was low and so tight her creamy bosom pressed at the silk as if impatient to burst free. She cleared her throat and he realized he’d been staring at that low neckline and the bounty it tried in vain to conceal. He snapped his eyes up to hers. They blazed with emerald humor. “I see I’m about the same height as your mother,” she said, poking the toe of her borrowed slipper from under the hem. Fran bustled around her, frowning at the poor gown’s straining neckline. “Aye, though ye’re a bit more—” She pressed her lips and made a motion with her hands in the general vicinity of her own bosom. “As am I, dear, as am I. ’Tis tight, but ’twill have to do. By the look on poor Darcy’s face, I dinna think he minds.” He scowled at his sister-in-law before giving Malina his full attention. “You are lovely,” he told her, his eyes catching on the heather crown perched amidst her silvery hair. “So lovely.

We’ll dial for you, ’cause we’re helpful that way,” Horse said. “People don’t always give us full credit for our warm, fuzzy side, but it’s definitely there. We just love to help.” “Fuckin’ Mother Teresa of the MC world, Horse,” Ruger chimed in. “Brings a tear to my eye.” Gage snorted and tossed me the man’s phone.

I’ve been in bed for weeks,” he argued. “Much as I love to do as ye ask where our bed is concerned, I willna go back to it while the sun is up unless you come with me.” He waggled his brows. She harrumphed Scottish-style, a habit she’d picked up from Darcy. “Well then, make yourself useful and go check on Janine.

She ran a loving hand over Janine’s soft hair, kissed Darcy on the check, and went to answer the door, calling sweetly over her shoulder, “If I come back and find one piece of that pie missing, there’ll be hell to pay, mister.” Behind her, she heard him conspiring with their daughter. “One piece, your mama says. Then two must be okay.” She grinned at his modern slang and the high-pitched giggle that meant he and Janine were availing themselves of her morning’s labor.

A bonny name,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, coming to her and planting a kiss on her lips. “And have I told ye how lovely ye look pregnant?” “Only every day for the last eight months,” she answered, resting a hand on her enormous belly. Hooking her other hand around his neck, she pulled him down for a slower kiss. He only broke it off when Janine started squirming and saying, “Up-down! Up-down!” “Put me down, please, Daddy,” she corrected as he set their daughter on the floor.

Since he’d met her, Malina had felt like a wee, delicate flower to Darcy. Oafish as he was, he’d been afraid of hurting her merely by being near her. But holding her like this, in a big, soft bed in the peaceful dark, she didn’t feel so wee. The vast difference in their heights didn’t seem to matter so much when they lay down together, and the darkness hid the fragile lines of her delicate face and frame. She felt solid and sure in his arms. She felt like she belonged there. Like a cog rotated into a companion wheel, Malina fit him perfectly. She moved him. The skin of her bare shoulders cooled the sensitive underside of his forearm. Her belly, rounded and firm with the bairn inside, pressed the hard muscles of his stomach, and he lamented the thin fabric of her shift between them. Her breath ruffled the hairs on his chest, and he became jealous of those hairs for being so near to that lovely rosebud mouth. Bath fragrances from her time with the Lady Murray made their bed smell like a bower lined with blooming honeysuckle. He craved her kisses like the crops craved spring rains. Would she give him those lips freely if he tilted her face up and took them?

What is it ye hope to gain from sharing my bed?” His voice stopped her. “You already have a bairn.” The creak of a stall door followed his question. Footsteps whispered on the packed-dirt floor. With her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw him as a towering shadow emerging into the broad aisle of the barn. He must have been checking on Rand. She frowned at his question. He made it sound like she had some ulterior motive besides being attracted to him. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she hedged. “You want to couple with me. Why?” She rolled her eyes; she’d understood that much of the question. It was the part where he seemed to have a problem with “sharing a bed” with her she didn’t get. Tamping down her offense was getting old. If he was going to be bold, she would be, too. “You’re easy on the eyes,” she clipped. “I’m attracted to you, and we’re married, so why not, right? Am I missing something here? Shouldn’t I be the one asking you why you don’t want to ‘couple’? Oh, wait, I did. And you wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” He moved closer, stopping a foot away, which meant his voice now came from high above her. “Are you a wanton woman?” The question had been dark. Dangerous. And it kicked her offense into full-on anger. “I’m knocked up and I want sex with my husband. If that makes a girl wanton, then I suppose I am. What of it?” She lifted her chin in challenge. “I’ll ask again. What is it ye hope to gain? The truth, Melanie.” Her heart sank to hear him call her by her given name, and this sudden edge of hostility confused her. It felt like he was accusing her of something, but what? She was also insanely aroused. Not only had her eyes adjusted to the dark well enough to see his serious and seriously handsome face, but his looming presence filled her with an irrational sense of security. Add to that his scent of leather and man, and her lips trembled for another kiss. She didn’t want to lash out any more. Anger released itself to the night like steam from a mug of cocoa. “Pleasure,” she whispered, her breasts reaching for him with her quickening breath. “That’s the truth. I want to feel your body under my hands. I want to feel you inside me as you make me your wife in more than just name. And I want pleasure for you, too. Especially for you. You’ve given up almost everything for me. Giving you pleasure is the only way I can think of to thank you.” He blinked with surprise. “I dinna expect your thanks. ’Tis not why I stole ye away from Steafan.” She rolled her eyes, but this time with affection instead of annoyance. “Duh, I know that. You’re so darned honorable you’d never do anything for something as paltry as my thanks. It’s not just about thanks. I love you, you stubborn Highlander.” She cupped her hand over her mouth. The ornery thing had just blurted that which she had yet to fully admit to herself. Considering how much it hurt to have Darcy reject her physical advances, she was in no mood to bear his inevitable rejection of her heart. Mortified, she turned to run away. But his arms went around her. He hadn’t lied when he’d claimed to be quicker. “Do ye mean that, lass?” he asked, bending over her back, holding her. “No,” she lied, trying to pry his arms away. “I’m out of my mind. Don’t listen to a thing I say. Let me go.” “No. I willna. And I think a confession spoken in ire is more trustworthy than one spoken in calm.” He turned her around and lifted her face to his. “I love you, too, lass.” He kissed her.

After long minutes of quiet in which he thought she’d gone to sleep, Malina said, “Is it because I’m pregnant? Or too short?” She was asking about earlier. His heart clenched. “Nay, lass,” he said with a sigh. He tilted her chin up then, not for the kiss he longed to take from her, but to find the moist sparkle of her gaze in the darkness. “There isna a thing wrong with you. You are lovely as a lily in the morning mist. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife.” “Are you any man?” “Aye, lass. I’m as proud of you as I can be. Never doubt that.” “I suppose I can live with that,” she said with a wee smile. “If you won’t make love to me, then I’ll take your pride.” His heart stuttered and his cock jerked at her bold words. He hoped his plaid kept the bugger from bothering her. “I can live with it,” she pressed on, “but it would be easier for me if I knew the reason. Is it because I’m planning to leave you?” She said the last words so quietly he had to strain to hear her. Guilt lashed at him; she was desperate to understand why he didn’t want to bed her. He cupped her face, his hand covering her delicate cheek and jaw. His thumb stroked the swollen skin around her eye. It was tight and hot with healing. Malina was wounded because he’d failed to hide her box well enough. Her injury was his undoing. It tugged at his heart and made him willing to do anything to make it up to her.

Honestly, dear, if you can’t tell that man is completely head over heels for you, you need your eyes checked. He’s not running from you. More likely, he’s afraid of what you make him feel. As a general rule, men don’t like to be out of control. That’s especially true for our rugged Highlanders. They are men of action.” Constance sipped her tea. “Hunt it, terrify it, dominate it, kill it. And if it can’t be hunted, terrified, dominated, or killed, than it’s best to leave it alone.” “Wilhelm didn’t leave you alone,” she said, more than a little jealous of the woman for being happily married while her husband was miles away searching for a way to get rid of her. “No, he most certainly didn’t. But he did try to terrify me. And when that didn’t work, he tried his hand at dominating me.” The defiant gleam in her eye spoke to the effectiveness of those attempts. “It wasn’t until the poor man realized he could dominate me through tenderness and that when a woman loves a man, she is innately terrified of losing him, that he finally began to trust what we had.” “You’re saying Darcy’s just trying to make sense of what he feels for me, and he’s doing it by immersing himself in action. But what if he actually finds a way to return me to my time?” “He might find your box maker. He might even learn the secret to returning you to your time. The question is, what will he do with the information?” Constance leaned forward, turning the full power of her shrewd gaze on her. “Perhaps a better question is, if he arrives at a decision you don’t like, will you roll over and accept it, or will you fight for what you really want?

A sudden insight teased him. What if she didn’t want to leave? What if she was just angry with him and acting impulsively? He left Rand to kneel at her feet. She eyed him suspiciously. He hated that he’d given her cause to look at him that way. “I will ask ye this but once. Do ye wish to forsake our bond and my offered protection? Do ye truly wish to return to your life of providing for yourself and working and raising your bairn alone? I would have ye stay here with me, and I would care for you your whole life. I would treat your bairn as my own. I have means, and I am a good man, though I ken I havena given ye cause to believe it. “Stay with me, Malina. Let me prove to you the man I am. I wouldna expect your love, and I dinna expect you to share my bed. But I wish ye to stay and be my wife. I wish to be your husband. Will you release me from the vow I made to help ye return home?” He made himself stop blathering and waited for her answer, drowning in the emerald pools of her eyes. Closing his hands around hers, around the box, he found some solace in the fact that she didn’t pull away. She appraised him with liquid eyes. Could that be tenderness he glimpsed? But it was gone too soon, replaced with suspicion. Och, he’d been so dishonest with her she likely would never be able to trust him. Mayhap it was for the best she was leaving. If she couldn’t trust him, he’d nay be able to make her happy. At last, she shook her head. “I suspect you’re a good man, even though you lied to me. I see goodness in you, and honor. Any woman would be lucky to have you as her husband.” His heart lifted with hope. “Any woman from your time,” she added gently. “I don’t belong here. I need to go back to my time. My being here is a mistake. This is all a huge mistake.” His heart crumbled as he released her hands and pulled the heavy velvet pouch from his sporran. “Then, take this. ’Tis my wedding gift to you. If I canna be with you to keep my marriage vows, I pray this will clear my name before the Lord.” She took the pouch and looked inside. Her eyes grew wide. “It’s gold. I can’t take this.” She tried to push it back into his hands, but he refused it. “You must. ’Tis the best I can do for you, Malina mine. I hope ye will remember me well when you use it. I hope this will provide for you and your bairn for many years.” Not giving her a chance to reject his gift as she’d rejected him, he rose and blew out the lantern. He led Rand from the stables, and said, “Come, Malina. ’Tis time to send you home.

The thing that had been, it is that which shall be; And that which is done is that which shall be done.

All the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled.

Purity. Serenity... Solitude: What you ought to uphold. But the important thing is whether you believe it.

Those of little understanding say the world will soon end. It is the current age that is coming to an end. The end of this age is the beginning of the next.

All the truth of God are discoverable through every day life.

Humankind must no longer permit the lie to be taught to its children.

Loneliness is your only companion.

You have strength born of years of grief and anger... The strength of a man denied revenge.

Patience! It is not how quickly you run, but how slowly.

Dedicate your life to solitude and mortify your members which are upon the earth.

You have purged your way. You are ready to lead sons of men.

You should assume the mantle of your birthright.

I thought it was just him,” she says, ignoring him. “But then I found out I had the same effect, which means the Society did something to my head too.” Gage’s eyes close, horror washing over him. “You really do love him.” “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Her cries start up again, piercing his heart. “Gage, help me.” “I love you,” he says, holding her closer. “That’s real.

You didn’t tell Summer about it, did you?” “What?” Gage scoffs. “Yeah, telling your girlfriend the Angel of Death might visit her if some switch is flipped is normal pillow talk.