Grin Related Quotes

You overestimate my interest in you," Loki grinned broadly. "I prefer my Princesses in unsoiled pajamas." My clothes would've been relatively clean if it weren't for the blood on my sweater and some dirt on my knees. I was sure I was a mess, but it wasn't my fault. "I'm sorry. I usually look much nicer after I take a beating," I said, and his smile faltered.

And then he grins back, and I’m giddy and breathless and kind of unraveled. And I didn’t sleep at all last night. Not even for a second. I’ve basically been picturing this moment for ten hours, and now that it’s here, I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to say. Probably something awesome and witty and not school-related. Probably not: “Did you finish the chapter?

Chance stifled a grin, and all I could think was that this girl had to be related to me. Only women who were related to me annoyed me this much.

We could stay. You could sleep it off and we can still go to Disney with everyone tomorrow. Don’t you want to go to Fantasyland?” I batted my eyelashes. Jackson ran his thumb and forefinger over his lip, catching his grin and a speck of dried blood at once. The second that grin appeared, it was as if the entire evening’s events evaporated. “Why, Emma Pierce, do you want me to take you to Fantasyland and make all of your dreams come true?” He winked with his good eye. It was painfully adorable.

This sadness lies at the heart of every merely positivistic, agnostic, or naturalistic scheme of philosophy. Let sanguine healthy-mindedness do its best with its strange power of living in the moment and ignoring and forgetting, still the evil background is really there to be thought of, and the skull will grin in at the banquet. In the practical life of the individual, we know how his whole gloom or glee about any present fact depends on the remoter schemes and hopes with which it stands related. Its significance and framing give it the chief part of its value. Let it be known to lead nowhere, and however agreeable it may be in its immediacy, its glow and gilding vanish. The old man, sick with an insidious internal disease, may laugh and quaff his wine at first as well as ever, but he knows his fate now, for the doctors have revealed it; and the knowledge knocks the satisfaction out of all these functions. They are partners of death and the worm is their brother, and they turn to a mere flatness.

The fact that students passed him by in uniform and he was standing there in torn jeans and faded old concert T-shirt made me smile. The rebel in me could totally relate. I stopped in front of him. "They're not going to let you stay in school dressed like that. I got a huge lecture for wearing a black shirt the other day." He glanced my outfit, which didn't really diverge from my normal fashion, and arched an eyebrow. Black cargo pants, white tank, grey zip-up hoodie, with a blade strapped to my thigh and a dagger in my boot. "What? Pants are black. Shirt is white. Blade stays." I grinned wider. "Because I'm special.

he commences to laugh. Nobody can tell exactly why he laughs; there’s nothing funny going on. But it’s not the way that Public Relation laughs, it’s free and loud and it comes out of his wide grinning mouth and spreads in rings bigger and bigger till it’s lapping against the walls all over the ward. Not like that fat Public Relation laugh. This sounds real. I realize all of a sudden it’s the first laugh I’ve heard in years. He stands looking at us, rocking back in his boots, and he laughs and laughs. He laces his fingers

he commences to laugh. Nobody can tell exactly why he laughs; there’s nothing funny going on. But it’s not the way that Public Relation laughs, it’s free and loud and it comes out of his wide grinning mouth and spreads in rings bigger and bigger till it’s lapping against the walls all over the ward. Not like that fat Public Relation laugh. This sounds real. I realize all of a sudden it’s the first laugh I’ve heard in years.

He smiled as only the truly shy can smile. It was not the easy grin of the confident, nor the quick slashing smile of the extremely durable and the wicked. It had no relation with the poised, intently used smile of the courtesan or the politician. It was the strange, rare smile which rises from the deep, dark pit, deeper than a well, deep as a mine, that is within them.

You don't like me talking to other girls?" "I don't like you grinning at them."Teagan admitted "Then tame me with your fine Irish eyes, girl." "Humph." "You have nothing to worry about. You've had my heart since..." "When?" "I was just trying to sort it, " Fin said. "It could have been the time you explained how its cockles were related to a shellfish." he paused. "No, it was when you flat refused to kiss me-- and me thinking I'd never see you agina, risking my kife to lead the goblins away into the night. It was heroic. And sad." Teagan punched his arm. "All right." He smiled. "It was the first time I set eyes on you. My heart stopped beating, and that's a fact." "I know," Teagan said. "The first time I met you, it made me throw up." Finn knit his brows. "I'll never get over how romantic you are. It's like you've stepped right out of one of those fairy movies Aiden's making Roisin watch.

Ian gave a sigh of exaggerated patience and glanced at Bones. "Being related to her through you is a real trial." This time, Bones didn't attempt to conceal his grin. "That's why you can pick your friends but not your family, cousin." An emotion flashed across Ian's face before he covered it with his usual I'm-a-pain-in-the-ass-and-proud-of-it smirk. If it were anyone else, I'd swear it was childlike joy at hearing Bones call him "cousin". Recent events had revealed their long-lost human connection, making Ian both Bones's vampire sire and his only living blood relative. That meant I was never getting rid of him. Then again, considering what my blood relatives had done, Ian was almost a saint by comparison.

At first glance, it seems hard to believe these two men are even related let alone brothers. Tom is content if there happens to be a game on and a soft place from which to watch it. Navidson works out every day, devours volumes of esoteric criticism, and constantly attaches the world around him to one thing: photography. Tom gets by, Navidson succeeds. Tom just wants to be, Navidson must become. And yet despite such obvious differences, anyone who looks past Tom's wide grin and considers his eyes will find surprisingly deep pools of sorrow. Which is how we know they are brothers, because like Tom, Navidson's eyes share the same water.

Saw you with my brother." His gaze moves over me. "Guess that explains your attraction to me-he looks just like me." His cocky grin fading when I roll my eyes in reponse. "Well,you sure spend a lot of time thinking about me-searching for me-don't you,Santos?" he says,determined to make me admit the ridiculous. "Don't flatter yourself,Coyote. It's an occupational hazard.Purely job related.

But... the truth is... I want you to have my baby. I didn't know how much, until the thought that I would never have the opportunity. I thought-" He broke off, a self-mocking smile touching his lips. "Damn it. I dont know how to be a husband, or a father. But since your standards in both areas seem to be relatively low, I may have a half a change at pleasing you." He grinned at her mock frown.

I extended my hand to Chase, "Eveline Sophia Fallon, daughter of Brennan and Mina, sister of Gaurdian and supposedly the One." His chuckle was low and sexy and caused a tremor to course through me. I fought to keep my hand steady so he wouldn't see the way he affected me. Liam stiffened beside me but for once said nothing. Chase inclined his head haughtily, playing along. "Chase Andrew Alexander err...Smith, at least for now. Son of Gabriel, elder brother of Guardian and Jennavieve. No relation to the, 'supposed' One. Thank goodness," he grinned wickedly then bowed slightly.

Sir Henry fixed him with a keen eye. 'Odd name, Tom Skatt - eh?' 'Thats right' 'You don't think we could be related?' Tom looked up at his great-great-great-uncle and smiled. 'I don't think so' 'No,' grinned Sir Henry "no, of course not

How do you feel, Georgie?’ whispered Mrs Weasley. George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. ‘Saint-like,’ he murmured. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ croaked Fred, looking terrified. ‘Is his mind affected?’ ‘Saint-like,’ repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. ‘You see … I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?’ Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred’s pale face. ‘Pathetic,’ he told George. ‘Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?’ ‘Ah well,’ said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. ‘You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.’ He looked round. ‘Hi Harry – you are Harry, right?’ ‘Yeah, I am,’ said Harry, moving closer to the sofa. ‘Well, at least we got you back OK,’ said George. ‘Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?

A teasing smirk flitted across his face, as he completed his thought, “I’ll try not to take it too hard if I fail miserably, because you can be the world’s greatest skeptic…” “Nah…” I coughed out a little chuckle, “not when you’re involved. I’m your number one fan…You couldn’t shake me if you tried.” I gave him a playful wink, adding musingly, “Though I might stop short of hanging out in the bushes with binoculars…” “Well, then,” he grinned, “clearly you’re not my number one fan.

It was sort of amazing seeing men who weren't particularly attractive but who believed, more or less correctly, that they could have and do whatever they wanted. I was always calculating with scientific precision the relative beauty of the people I wanted to be with, and would steer clear of the ones who exceeded me too greatly. But then you'd see guys like this one trundling around the world, reaching out, cheerily thoughtless, for whatever shiny thing passed. They didn't feel the need to strike an equitable bargain, they just advanced towards you, grinning a little sheepishly maybe, and their entitlement was so alien and enviable that it was something like charming.

Just how many fully-fledged members do you have in this club?” “No members, just passengers in my wild youth.” He bracketed her head with his arms and grinned down at her pouting expression. “Jealous, sweetheart?” “Do I have a cause to be jealous?” She cupped his chin. “Never.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “There is one thing I am religious about—I never cheat.” His expression turned from playful to serious. “You should know something. My dad used to tell me, ‘Respect women, Domenico.’” He did his best imitation of his father’s baritone. “Make sure you treat them well. Cheating is a despicable act. Always put your mother or your female relatives in place of the woman you cheat on and imagine how hurt they would feel.’ It affected me to the point of imbibing it as a rule.

His mouth stroked over her face, his breath rushing across her skin in hot drifts that made her quiver. “Evie…during the past few days I’ve had nothing to do but lie in this bed and think about things that I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid. I once told you that I wasn’t meant for a wife and family. That I wouldn’t have any interest in a child, if you…” He hesitated for a long moment. “But…the truth is…I want you to have my baby. I didn’t know how much, until I thought that I would never have the opportunity. I thought—” He broke off, a self-mocking smile touching his lips. “Damn it. I don’t know how to be a husband, or a father. But since your standards in both areas seem to be relatively low, I may have half a chance at pleasing you.” He grinned at her mock frown, then sobered. “There are many ways I can prevent you from conceiving. But if or when you ever decide that you’re ready, I want you to tell me—” Evie stopped him with her mouth. In the blazing minutes that followed, no further words were possible.

Hello,Dad." "Well,well,well, so you're still alive." The booming, full-bodied voice was not so subtly laced with sarcasm. "Your mother and I thought you'd met with some fatal accident." Alan managed to keep the grin out of his voice. "I nicked myself shaving last week.How are you?" "He asks how I am!" Daniel heaved a sigh that should have been patended for long-suffering fathers everywhere. "I wonder you even remember who I am. But that's all right-it doesn't matter about me.Your mother, now, she's been expecting her son to call. Her firstborn." Alan leaned back.How often had he cursed fate for making him the eldest and giving his father that neat little phrase to needle him with? Of course, he remembered philosophically, Daniel had phrases for Rena and Caine as well-the only daughter,the youngest son.It was all relative.

The Uncle Tom, the grinning nigger, the house nigger who is to blame for her debased place in this world. Pompey gave them a blueprint for colored folk. How they acted. How they pleased white folks. How eager they would be for a piece of the dream that they would do anything for massa.

Oh, you're right. I'm just a human with thick skin, purple eyes, and hard bones. Which means you can go home. Tell Galen I said hi." Toraf opens and shuts his mouth twice. Both times it seems like he wants to say something, but his expression tells me his brain isn't cooperating. When his mouth snaps shut a third time, I splash water in his face. "Are you going to say something, or are you trying to catch wind and sail? A grin the size of the horizon spreads across his face. "He likes that, you know. Your temper." Yeahfreakingright. Galen's a classic type A personality-and type A's hate smartass-ism. Just ask my mom. "No offense, but you're not exactly an expert at judging people's emotions." "I'm not sure what you mean by that." "Sure you do." "If you're talking about Rayna, then you're wrong. She loves me. She just won't admit it." I roll my eyes. "Right. She's playing hard to get, is that it? Bashing your head with a rock, splitting your lip, calling you squid breath all the time." "What does that mean? Hard to get?" "It means she's trying to make you think she doesn't like you, so that you end up liking her more. So you work harder to get her attention." He nods. "Exactly. That's exactly what she's doing." Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, "I don't think so. As we speak, she's getting your mating seal dissolved. That's not playing hard to get. That's playing impossible to get." "Even if she does get it dissolved, it's not because she doesn't care about me. She just likes to play games." The pain in Toraf's voice guts me like the catch of the day. She might like playing games, but his feelings are real. And can't I relate to that? "There's only one way to find out," I say softly. "Find out?" "If all she wants is games." "How?" "You play hard to get. You know how they say. 'If you love someone, set them free. If they return to you, it was meant to be?'" "I've never heard that." "Right. No, you wouldn't have." I sigh. "Basically, what I'm trying to say is, you need to stop giving Rayna attention. Push her away. Treat her like she treats you." He shakes his head. "I don't think I can do that." "You'll get your answer that way," I say, shrugging. "But it sounds like you don't really want to know." "I do want to know. But what if the answer isn't good?" His face scrunches as if the words taste like lemon juice. "You've got to be ready to deal with it, no matter what." Toraf nods, his jaw tight. The choices he has to consider will make this night long enough for him. I decide not to intrude on his time anymore. "I'm pretty tired, so I'm heading back. I'll meet you at Galen's in the morning. Maybe I can break thirty minutes tomorrow, huh?" I nudge his shoulder with my fist, but a weak smile is all I get in return. I'm surprised when he grabs my hand and starts pulling me through the water. At least it's better than dragging me by the ankle. I can't but think how Galen could have done the same thing. Why does he wrap his arms around me instead?

I thought black people superior people. Not simply superior to white people, because even without thinking about it much, I assumed almost everyone was superior to them; but to everyone. Only white people, after all, would blow up a Sunday school class and grin for television over their "victory," i.e., the death of four small black girls.

Hungry?” he asks. “The wager?” I remind him. “I’m getting there—it’s related to my question.” He lifts his chin to the meat locker. “They have good steaks here.” And just like that, I’m interested in whatever he’s suggesting. “They do. What’re you thinking?” “They have a porterhouse for two, three, or four.” I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and the idea of a big juicy steak has me salivating. “Yeah?” “So, I say we split the one for three, and whoever eats more wins.” “I’m going to guess their porterhouse for three could feed us both for a week.” “I’m betting you’re right.” His adorable grin should be accompanied by the sound of a silvery ding. “And your dinner is on me.” For not the first time, it occurs to me to ask him how he makes ends meet, but I can’t—not here, and maybe not when we’re alone, either. “You don’t have to do that.” “I think I can handle treating my wife to dinner on our wedding night.” Our wedding night. My heart thuds heavily. “That’s a lot of meat. No pun intended.” He grins enthusiastically. “I’d sure like to see how you handle it.” “You’re betting Holland can’t finish a steak?” Lulu chimes in from behind me. “Oh, you sweet summer child.” *** As we get up, I groan, clutching my stomach. “Is this what pregnancy feels like? Not interested.” “I could carry you,” Calvin offers sweetly, helping me with my coat. Lulu pushes between us, giddy from wine as she throws her arms around our shoulders. “You’re supposed to carry the bride across the threshold to be romantic, not because she’s broken from eating her weight in beef.” I stifle a belch. “The way to impress a man is to show him how much meat you can handle, don’t you know this, Lu?” Calvin laughs. “It was a close battle.” “Not that close,” Mark says, beside him. We went so far as to have the waiter split the cooked steak into two equal portions, much to the amused fascination of our tablemates. I ate roughly three-quarters of mine. Calvin was two ounces short. “Calvin Bakker has a pretty solid ring to it,” I say. He laugh-groans. “What did I get myself into?” “A marriage to a farm girl,” I say. “It’s best you learn on day one that I take my eating very seriously.

Feeling the tremor, St. Vincent tightened his arm around her as they reached the last step. “Are you cold?” he asked, “or is it nerves?” “I w-want to be away from London,” she replied, “before my relations find me.” “Is there any reason for them to suspect that you’ve come to me?” “Oh n-no,” she said. “No one would ever believe I could be so demented.” Had she not already been somewhat light-headed, his brilliant grin would have made her so. “It’s a good thing my vanity is so well developed. Otherwise you’d have demolished it by now.

Hey kitten. We talked about meeting up more than once during your fertile window—would tonight work? There. Businesslike, friendly, all about the baby. But I can’t help but add, I still haven’t forgotten that you owe me ;) and I press send before I can think too much about whether it’s a dick thing to say or not. But hey, she seemed into it last night, and I am still very into the idea of sliding into her sweet, wet mouth. My phone buzzes a second later. Yes. We should meet again tonight...and maybe it will be more efficient if we meet at my place? I’ve decided you probably aren’t a serial killer. I smile to myself as I walk out of the station, typing to her as I walk. Maybe we can move past the wall she threw up between us last night after all. Definitely not a serial killer. Promise. Sounds like something a serial killer would say. How can I convince you? Other than being a police officer, related to one of your closest friends, and the potential father to your child, I mean. Bring delivery food with you. I’ll be just getting off work, and the food you choose will tell me whether you’re a killer or not. 10-4, kitten. I’m full-on grinning as I walk out to my car now. 

I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!” Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured. “Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!” “How is he?” Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing. Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred. “How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley. George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. “Saintlike,” he murmured. “What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?” “Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see…I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?” Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred’s pale face. “Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?” “Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.

That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.” “They what?” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together. “Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave, I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was,” he faced them, and Harry was astonished to see that he was grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought they didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, “Dawlish is still in St. Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,” he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, “telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parents’ son, and to keep it up.” “Cool,” said Ron. “Yeah,” said Neville happily. “Only thing was, once they realized they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don’t know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban; either way, I knew it was time to disappear.” “But,” said Ron, looking thoroughly confused, “aren’t--aren’t we heading straight back into Hogwarts?

Blessedness is within us all It lies upon the long scaffold Patrols the vaporous hall In our pursuits, though still, we venture forth Hoping to grasp a handful of cloud and return Unscathed, cloud in hand. We encounter Space, fist, violin, or this — an immaculate face Of a boy, somewhat wild, smiling in the sun. He raises his hand, as if in carefree salute Shading eyes that contain the thread of God. Soon they will gather power, disenchantment They will reflect enlightenment, agony They will reveal the process of love They will, in an hour alone, shed tears. His mouth a circlet, a baptismal font Opening wide as the lips of a damsel Sounding the dizzying extremes. The relativity of vein, the hip of unrest For the sake of wing there is shoulder. For symmetry there is blade. He kneels, humiliates, he pierces her side. Offering spleen to the wolves of the forest. He races across the tiles, the human board. Virility, coquetry all a game — well played. Immersed in luminous disgrace, he lifts As a slave, a nymph, a fabulous hood As a rose, a thief of life, he will parade Nude crowned with leaves, immortal. He will sing of the body, his truth He will increase the shining neck Pluck airs toward our delight Of the waning The blossoming The violent charade But who will sing of him? Who will sing of his blessedness? The blameless eye, the radiant grin For he, his own messenger, is gone He has leapt through the orphic glass To wander eternally In search of perfection His blue ankles tattooed with stars.

A Kiss Before Dying is a gritty suspense story told with great élan—rarity enough, but what is even more rare is that the book (written while Levin was in his early twenties) contains surprises which really surprise . . . and it is relatively impervious to that awful, dreadful goblin of a reader, he or she WHO TURNS TO THE LAST THREE PAGES TO SEE HOW IT CAME OUT. Do you do this nasty, unworthy trick? Yes, you! I’m talking to you! Don’t slink away and grin into your hand! Own up to it! Have you ever stood in a bookshop, glanced furtively around, and turned to the end of an Agatha Christie to see who did it, and how? Have you ever turned to the end of a horror novel to see if the hero made it out of the darkness and into the light? If you have ever done this, I have three simple words which I feel it is my duty to convey: SHAME ON YOU! It is low to mark your place in a book by folding down the corner of the page where you left off; TURNING TO THE END TO SEE HOW IT CAME OUT is even lower. If you have this habit, I urge you to break it . . . break it at once!

What are we doing for supper tonight?” Avery asked, turning around in my desk chair and separating me from my memories. I grunted and tossed a package of ramen over my shoulder. She groaned. “Not again. Please. You need real food, Summer.” “Noodles are real food. They’re a relative to real pasta, which came from Italy and we know how kick-ass Italian food is. Boom. They’re gourmet badassness.” She tossed them to the corner. “They’re not, and I’m pulling my friendship card.” No way. She couldn’t. I rotated around in my chair to stare at her. “Not the friendship card.” “Totally the friendship card.” I pretended to gasp and shudder. Okay, I really did shudder. I’d never admit it, but the ramen wasn’t doing it for me either... "I was thinking we could go to a restaurant or something.” “What is this you speak of? A dwelling where they serve many varieties of solids?” Her lip twitched in a grin. “Yeah, that. You and me, we’re going to dress up, and we’re going to dine like queens.” “Can I wear a tiara?” “Without a doubt.” She winked at me as she got up and went to the door. “Thirty minutes, then we’re leaving.

Your brother is the most ridiculous, hardheaded, stupid man I know!” Rose half expected Archer to chastise her. Instead, he took a second glass of champagne from the footman passing with the tray and offered it to her. “And you are surprised by this?” “Astonishingly, yes.” She took a long, unladylike swallow of the crisp, bubbly liquid. “I’m astounded. Ah, here are two scoundrels you should know to avoid.” His grin told her he considered them quite the opposite. They were good-looking men, one tall and dark, the other almost as tall with brown hair and blue eyes and enough of the Kane countenance that she picked him for Grey's relation instantly. They met Archer enthusiastically, and then turned polite curiosity in her direction. "Lady Rose Danvers," Archer said jovially. "May I present the Earl of Autley." The dark man bowed over her offered hand. "And my cousin, Mr. Aiden Kane?" The man who looked a bit like Grey smiled and took her hand next. "It's lovely to meet you, Lady Rose," the earl said smoothly. "I hope you are enjoying your time in London?" "Oh, yes," she replied. "Lord Archer has been a very entertaining companion." "I don't doubt it," Aiden said with a grin as he clapped Archer on the shoulder.

Do you do that on purpose? The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?” “I don’t know if I can explain it right.” “Please try.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re claiming I don’t bore you and you aren’t thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon.” She nodded, fighting a grin. “But last night… it was like…” She was anxious now. The rest came out in a rush. “Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye.” “Perceptive,” she whispered. And there was the anguish again, leaving. Well, they are related, but inversely.” The necessity of leaving. My stomach plunged. “I don’t understand.” She stared into my eyes again, and hers burned, mesmerizing. Her voice was barely audible. “The more I care about you, the more crucial it is that I find a way to… keep you safe. From me. Leaving would be the right thing to do.” I shook my head. “No.” She took a deep breath, and her eyes seemed to darken in an odd way. “Well, I wasn’t very good at leaving you alone when I tried. I don’t know how to do it.” “Will you do me a favor? Stop trying to figure that one out.” She half-smiled. “I suppose, given the frequency of your near-death experiences, it’s actually safer for me to stay close.” “True story. You never know when another rogue van might attack.

A few minutes later Elizabeth watched Lucinda emerge from the cottage with Ian, but there was no way to guess from their closed expressions what they’d discussed. In fact, the only person betraying any emotion at all was Jake Wiley as he led two horses into the yard. And his face, Elizabeth noted with confusion-which had been stormy when he went off to saddle the horses-was now wreathed in a smile of unrestrained glee. With a sweep of his arm and a bow he gestured toward a swaybacked black horse with an old sidesaddle upon its back. “Here’s your mount, ma’am,” he told Lucinda, grinning. “His name’s Attila.” Lucinda cast a disdainful eye over the beast as she transferred her umbrella to her right hand and pulled on her black gloves. “Have you nothing better?” “No, ma’am. Ian’s horse has a hurt foot.” “Oh, very well,” said Lucinda, walking briskly forward, but as she came within reach the black suddenly bared his teeth and lunged. Lucinda struck him between the ears with her umbrella without so much as a pause in her step. “Cease!” she commanded, and, ignoring the animal’s startled grunt of pain, she continued around to his other side to mount. “You brought it on yourself,” she told the horse as Jake held Attila’s head, and Ian Thornton helped her into the sidesaddle. The whites of Attila’s eyes showed as he warily watched her land in his saddle and settle herself. The moment Jake handed Lucinda the reins Attila began to leap sideways and twist around in restless annoyance. “I do not countenance ill-tempered animals,” she warned the horse in her severest tone, and when he refused to heed her and continued his threatening antics she hauled up sharply on his reins and simultaneously gave him a sharp jab in the flank with her umbrella. Attila let out a yelping complaint, broke into a quick, animated trot, and headed obediently down the drive. “If that don’t beat all!” Jake said furiously, glowering after the pair, and then at Ian. “That animal doesn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty!” Without waiting for a reply Jake swung into his saddle and cantered down the lane after them. Absolutely baffled over everyone’s behavior this morning, Elizabeth cast a puzzled, sideways glance at the silent man beside her, then gaped at him in amazement. The unpredictable man was staring after Lucinda, his hands shoved into his pockets, a cigar clamped between his white teeth, his face transformed by a sweeping grin. Drawing the obvious conclusion that these odd reactions from the men were somehow related to Lucinda’s skillful handling of an obstinate horse, Elizabeth commented, “Lucinda’s uncle raised horses, I believe.” Almost reluctantly, Ian transferred his admiring gaze from Lucinda’s rigid back to Elizabeth. His brows rose. “An amazing woman,” he stated. “Is there any situation of which she can’t take charge?” “None that I’ve ever seen,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle; then she felt self-conscious because his smile faded abruptly, and his manner became detached and cool.

In her eyes, he could see the fear, but also the love. The need. Time to show her, that to him, she meant everything. “Before you shower me with kisses for saving you –” “I think it could be argued that I played a part.” “Not when I retell the story you won’t. But we can argue about that later, naked. As I was saying, I have something for you.” Remy pulled the sheet of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it. Initially he’d worried about it being too short. But as Lucifer assured him when he made the contract and binding, the less clauses he put in, the more his promise would stick out. Handing it to her, he waited. Fidgeted when she didn’t say a word. Almost tore it from her grasp. Then stumbled back as she threw herself at him. I, Remy, the most awesome demon in Hell, do declare to love the witch Ysabel, fiery temper and all, for an eternity. I will never stray. Never betray her trust. Never do anything to cause her pain upon penalty of permanent death. This I do swear in blood, Remy A simple contract, which in its very lack of clauses and sub items, awed her. “You love me that much?” He peered at her with incredulity on his face. “Of course I love you that much. Would I have done all the things I did if I didn’t?” “Well, you are related to a mad woman.” “Yes, and maybe it’s madness for me to love you, but I do. Do you think just any woman would inspire me enough to take on a bloody painful curse. Or put up with the fact you have a giant, demon eating cat. I know you have trust issues, and that I might not have led the kind of life that inspires confidence, but I will show you that you can believe in me. I want you to love me.” “I know you do. And I do love you. Only for you would I come to the rescue wearing nothing to cover my bottom.” His eyebrows shot up. “You came to battle in a skirt without any underwear?” A slow nod was her answer. He grinned, then scowled. “You will not do that again. Do you know how many demons live in the sewer and could have looked up your skirt? I won’t have them looking at what’s mine. On second thought. Throw out all your underwear. I’ll lead the purge on the sewers myself so you can stroll around with your girl parts unencumbered for my enjoyment.” “You’re insane,” she laughed. “Crazy in love with you,” he agreed. “But I do warn you, we’ll have to have dinner with my crazy mother at least once a month.” “Or more often. I quite like your mom. She’s got a refreshing way of viewing the world.” “Oh fuck. Don’t tell me she’s already rubbing off,” he groaned, as he pulled her into his arms. She snuggled against him. This was where she belonged. But she did have a question. “As my new… what should I call you anyway? Boyfriend? Demon I sleep with?” “The following terms are acceptable to me. Yours. Mate. Husband. Divine taster of your –” She slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’ll stick to mate.” “And I’m going with my super, sexy, touch her and die, fabulous cougar, ass kicking witch.” “I dare you shout that five times in a row without stumbling.” He did to her eye popping disbelief. “I told you, I have a very agile tongue.” “I remember.

Is it hard for you to be in an Abnegation house again? I meant to ask before. We can go somewhere else, if it is.” I finish my second piece of bread. All Abnegation houses are the same, so this living room is exactly the same as my own, and it does bring back memories, if I look at it carefully. Light glowing through the blinds every morning, enough for my father to read by. The click of my mother’s knitting needles every evening. But I don’t feel like I’m choking. It’s a start. “Yes,” I say. “But not as hard as you might think.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really. The simulations in Erudite headquarters…helped me, somehow. To hold on, maybe.” I frown. “Or maybe not. Maybe they helped me to stop holding on so tightly.” That sounds right. “Someday I’ll tell you about it.” My voice sounds far away. He touches my cheek and, even though we’re in a room full of people, crowded by laughter and conversation, slowly kisses me. “Whoa there, Tobias,” says the man to my left. “Weren’t you raised a Stiff? I thought the most you people did was…graze hands or something.” “Then how do you explain all the Abnegation children?” Tobias raises his eyebrows. “They’re brought into being by sheer force of will,” the woman on the arm of the chair interjects. “Didn’t you know that, Tobias?” “No, I wasn’t aware.” He grins. “My apologies.” They all laugh. We all laugh. And it occurs to me that I might be meeting Tobias’s true faction. They are not characterized by a particular virtue. They claim all colors, all activities, all virtues, and all flaws as their own. I don’t know what binds them together. The only common ground they have, as far as I know, is failure. Whatever it is, it seems to be enough. I feel, as I look at him, that I am finally seeing him as he is, instead of how he is in relation to me. So how well do I really know him, if I have not seen this before?

A few hours later, Jane came out of her boudoir to find her husband in his dressing gown, stretched out across the bed reading the newspaper and idly petting their spaniel Little Archer, a pup from Mrs. Patch’s brood. Seizing the moment, Little Archer leapt off the bed and into her dressing room, where he could chew up slippers to his heart’s content. Dom, however, didn’t even look up as she entered. “They’re calling this the most elegant coronation in history.” He snorted. “I noticed there’s no mention of its being the most interminable.” “Dom,” she purred as she closed the dog into the dressing room for the moment. “All that pomp and circumstance is so tedious.” Still reading, he turned the page of the newspaper. “Ravenswood told me that King William is determined to make sure that parliamentary reform is enacted.” She walked languidly forward. “Dom.” He snapped the paper to straighten it. “It’s about bloody time. I should think--” “Dom!” she practically shouted. “Hmm?” He glanced up, then frowned. “Why are you wearing your coronation robe?” “I was cold,” she said with a teasing smile. She let the robe fall open. “Since I have nothing on underneath.” Dom stared, then gulped. Unsurprisingly, his staff jerked instantly to attention. “If you’re trying to torture me,” he said hoarsely, “you’re doing a good job of it.” She sashayed toward the bed, letting the velvet and ermine robe swing about her. “No torture intended.” She put one knee on the bed. “Dr. Worth said I may resume relations with my husband whenever I am ready.” He blinked, then rose to his knees and seized her about the waist. “May I assume that you’re ready?” he rasped as he brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You have no idea.” She met his mouth with hers. They kissed a long moment, a hot, heavenly kiss that reminded her of how very talented her husband was at this aspect of marriage. She untied his dressing gown and shoved it off his shoulders. He had just finished tearing off his drawers when she shoved him down onto the bed. His eyes lit up as she hovered over him. “Ah, so it’s to be like that, my wicked little seductress?” “Oh, yes.” She grinned at him. “I do so enjoy having a viscount fall before me.” She started to remove her robe, but he stayed her with his hand. “Don’t.” He raked her with a heated glance. “Next session of parliament, I’ll endure the boredom of the endless speeches by imagining you seducing me in all your pomp and circumstance.” “My pomp is nothing to yours, my love,” she murmured as she caught his rampant flesh in her hand. “Yours is quite…er…pompous.” “That’s what happens if the viscount falls.” He thrust against her hand. “His pomp always rises.” And as she laughed, they created a pomp and circumstance all their own.

Isn’t this the weekend of Xander Eckhart’s party?” “Yes.” Jordan held her breath in a silent plea. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. “So are you bringing anyone?” Melinda asked. Foiled. Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. “Oh, there’s this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just go by myself, who knows.” Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. “What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we’re hearing of him?” “Because I just met him a few days ago.” Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. “So? Tell us. How’d you meet him?” “What does he do?” Melinda asked. “Nice, Melinda. You’re so shallow.” Corinne turned back to Jordan. “Is he hot?” Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected to give up the goods in similar circumstances. But she also knew that she really didn’t want to lie to her friends. With that in mind, she’d come up with a backup plan in the event the conversation went this way. Having no choice, she resorted to the strategy she had used in sticky situations ever since she was five years old, when she’d set her Western Barbie’s hair on fire while trying to give her a suntan on the family-room lamp. Blame it on Kyle. I’d like to thank the Academy . . . “Sure, I’ll tell you all about this new guy. We met the other day and he’s . . . um . . .” She paused, then ran her hands through her hair and exhaled dramatically. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk about this later? After seeing Kyle today with the bruise on his face, I feel guilty rattling on about Xander’s party. Like I’m not taking my brother’s incarceration seriously enough.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty about the lie. So sorry, girls. But this has to stay my secret for now. Her diversion worked like a charm. Perhaps one of the few benefits of having a convicted felon of a brother known as the Twitter Terrorist was that she would never lack for non sequiturs in extracting herself from unwanted conversation. Corinne reached out and squeezed her hand. “No one has stood by Kyle’s side more than you, Jordan. But we understand. We can talk about this some other time. And try not to worry—Kyle can handle himself. He’s a big boy.” “Oh, he definitely is that,” Melinda said with a gleam in her eye. Jordan smiled. “Thanks, Corinne.” She turned to Melinda, thoroughly skeeved out. “And, eww—Kyle?” Melinda shrugged matter-of-factly. “To you, he’s your brother. But to the rest of the female population, he has a certain appeal. I’ll leave it at that.” “He used to fart in our Mr. Turtle pool and call it a ‘Jacuzzi.’ How’s that for appeal?” “Ah . . . the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” Corinne said with a grin. “And on that note, my secret fantasies about Kyle Rhodes now thoroughly destroyed, I move that we put a temporary hold on any further discussions related to the less fair of the sexes,” Melinda said. “I second that,” Jordan said, and the three women clinked their glasses in agreement

Why can’t we make her a visiting member, just for tonight?” “Technically speaking, the club’s charter dictates that no females are allowed in the club, visiting or otherwise,” Q told him. “Okay, okay. But it’s like Katie said, she’s not just a girl. She’s a relative. That should count for something,” Hooter pointed out. “None of you guys have a little sister, and believe me you don’t know what pains they can be,” Matt tried to explain. “I sort of know how she feels,” Tony said. “It’s not much fun always being the littlest and the one that always gets left out.” “Come on, Matt, just for tonight. She can’t be that bad.” Hooter laughed, opening the tent. “Okay.” Matt sighed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” As Hooter held open the tent flap, the newest temporary member of the Adventure Club stumbled out. In the light of the campfire her head was a blaze of red curls. Over her shoulder was a toy bow, with the arrows in a pouch on her back. She held a water gun in one hand and a plastic Heroic Hero sword in the other. She took a step toward the group and shot Hooter in the nose with her squirt gun. “I’m ready for the adventure, Chief,” she said with a dimpled grin.

Did you know that Shane is moving in with Cheyenne?” she asked, her head tipped to one side. “Why’s that?” Liv pretended innocence. “Because his aunt is married to my dad, and he needs a place to stay.” Cheyenne said with a shrug. “It’ll be pretty tight at our place, but we’ll manage to squeeze him in somewhere.” “Don’t worry,” Liv told her. “You won’t have to squeeze him in. He’s staying in the bunkhouse at the Lucky Star. He’s working at our place this week, anyway.” “Oh!” Cheyenne gulped. “But maybe he’d rather stay with relatives--family.” “Maybe,” Liv agreed. “He’s old enough to make up his own mind where he wants to live.” She took a deep breath. “There’s my mom. Looks like we’d better get going--got to get back to the ranch and make that bunkhouse nice and cozy--for Shane.” She wished Sophie was there to see the disappointed frown on Cheyenne’s face. “Drop by and see us sometime.” Liv waved goodbye. “If you’re out near the Lucky Star ranch.” “Uh…sure.” Cheyenne gave a fake little wave back. She looked as though she’d just bitten into a lemon, Liv thought to herself, grinning.

Are those the girls you met at Dayna Regis’s spa?” Jess asked as she and Liv left the store. “The dark one’s Cheyenne and the blonde one is Hailey. They’re both fifteen.” Liv nodded. “I don’t think I exactly warmed up our friendship but at least I didn’t let them walk all over me.” “Liv!” Her mother stopped walking and stared at her. “What did you say?” “Not much.” Liv grinned again. “I just told them Shane was probably going to stay with us this week and then I invited them to come visit.” “I see.” Jess frowned. “But it seems to me Shane has enough troubles right now without a bunch of girls fighting over him.” “I know, Mom, but I couldn’t help it,” Liv shrugged. “Those girls act like they own him--especially Cheyenne. She claims to be some kind of cousin, but she’s not really related to Shane.” “Seriously, Liv. Shane’s our friend. I wouldn’t want to see him embarrassed.” “Don’t worry.” Liv shrugged. “I don’t think Shane will even notice. He’s got more important things to worry about.

I knew that once I was sworn in, I would be a Midshipman in the United States Naval Reserve and a Cadet in the United States Maritime Service. That meant that I would be a low life “plebe” or “mugg” to the upperclassmen. Everyone on the bus had a good idea of what we were in for as muggs, and it was not good. The bus rolled through Bucksport and then passed through Orland, which could hardly be called a town, onto even narrower, bumpier roads, to what seemed to be the end of the Earth. By now, it was getting late and the shadows were getting longer, as the bus ground up a long incline and then turned right, past a small golf course on a barren hill. Finally, I saw the “Maine Maritime Academy” sign, indicating that we had arrived. I don’t know what I expected, but the few buildings on the side of this windblown hill wasn’t it! The buildings that I was looking at would be my home for the next three years. The bus took a final left hand turn and pulled up alongside a relatively large red brick building. I could see the upperclassmen through large windows, anxiously awaiting our arrival. Seeing us, they finally knew that they had graduated to the exalted position of “Lord and Master.” For the first time, I got that sickening feeling of total helplessness, mixed with apprehension and anxiety. There was nowhere to hide and I refused to show my feelings, so I compensated by getting off the bus with a swagger and a smug grin that would soon get me into trouble and be wiped from my face. If I wanted to survive, I had better be ready to play their game and put up with the countless acts of immaturity that would be bestowed upon poor me….

My Blue Orchid A fragment of dust grow to a droplet All alone... awaiting my turn... Looking from far... Looking at you... My Blue Orchid... As kinship relation of an offspring with earth concluded Not so long clanship, leaving little tuft of grass behind With seven elements, firmed by wild, Outgrow Deeply rooted inside, seeking freedom outside Blossom with the benediction of nature As beautiful as Grundarfjordur sunset Flourish flawless and voluptuous Signatured breeze, merited aroma Charismatic grin in gesture of friendship Reminded my affection for gravity Eternal journey to reach you, To see you smile... My Blue Orchid...

Did you keep the boys out of trouble, Julie?” Dad asked. “What can you do with Eddie? He was chasing girls all over the place. He’s not even fussy. Anybody between ten and twenty-five. He kept sliding up next to them and talking about his place on the lake.” “Public relations,” I said. Dad grinned at me. “Did you go straight to the boat show, or did you stop somewhere else?” I didn’t have an answer for that, but Julie sailed right in. “Are you kidding? That would be too easy. We had to drive around a little, get lost a few times, drive the wrong way up one-way streets.

You said to get involved with people, that I can’t learn about connections in a vacuum.” I agreed. “So what’s not working?” She pulled a long list from her purse. “This,” Linda said, “is a list I put together of all the involvements I’ve had in the past few months. And nothing’s happening.” I read the list, which looked something like this: Dancing lessons: ballroom, disco, and line Sports: sailing, rollerblading, golf, and tennis Music: opera, modern, and piano lessons Art: ceramics and museums Spiritual: Bible study, worship, and missions Career: Ongoing training, night school to earn an MBA “What are you grinning at?” Linda asked me. I wasn’t even aware I was smiling. I told her, “This is a proud moment for me. I’ve never met a real live renaissance woman.” “Now I’m really confused,” Linda said. I explained, “Linda, this is the most well-rounded, comprehensive, and exhausting list I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine how you can even get up in the mornings. But it’s not solving your problem. “These are all great activities, designed to develop you and help you in your life. But each of them is primarily functional, rather than relational. Their goal is competence in some skill, or recreation, or learning more about God’s creation. But relationship isn’t the goal. These are ‘doing’ things, not ‘connecting’ things.” Linda started to get it. “You know, I’ve noticed that I am talking to people at these activities. But all the talk is about tennis or management theories. I’ve wondered when someone in the classroom was going to ask me about my emotional and spiritual life.” “Don’t hold your breath,” I said.

company is making a lot of money. Second, and more important, it would take a lot of the focus off of our company, and considering what we’ll be doing behind the scenes, we don’t need a lot of attention. The fact that Wally has found a hidden basement to put his real R&D lab in means we are less likely to be exposed, but the last thing we need is a lot of reporters trying to learn our secrets, and even worse would be the problem of industrial espionage. If we make it clear that we will license the technology, there’s not really going to be any point in anyone trying to steal it from us.” Allison nodded. “Okay, I see your points. What about patents? All of the stuff is patentable, right?” “It is, and I’ve already worked with one of the best patent attorneys in the world to get them filed on a global basis. It cost almost two million dollars altogether, but our corporation now holds patents on these designs and functions in every country. That was actually a little tricky, because some of the other appliance manufacturers have been working on some similar devices for a while, but we found loopholes that let us claim many of the functions entirely as our own. We did have to refer to some prior art, so there will be a relatively small amount of royalties to pay out each year.” “As long as we are protected,” Allison said. “Now, fill me in on my job here. What am I supposed to be doing?” “As COO, your job is to oversee our business operations, which includes reporting back to Noah on any issues or developments. I’ll actually handle most of that for you, but I want to brief you at least a couple times a week on what’s happening with the business. That way, if you find yourself in a position of having to answer questions, you’ll know what to say.” Allison grinned and looked at Noah. “Sounds like you have it all figured out,” she said. “This is actually a brilliant idea, Noah. Setting up a business like this to cover activities is very smart. It will also give us a way to receive payments for our services.” “Payments?” Noah asked. “I set this up so that we wouldn’t have to worry about getting a budget from the government.” Allison’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t think we’re going to work for free, do you? Every time we handle a mission, there will be a payment of half a million dollars. That’s the deal I worked out with

I've a feeling there's more to you under the surface." And he would try to find out? No, thank you. Cleo shook her head. "I'm just me." "Who doesn't care to find regular employment and fill out the required tax documents." His lopsided grin matched his haphazard dark curls. "It's okay!" Seeing her anxiety spiking, he held up a hand. "I'm not going to dissect you." Deacon moved the chair back to the corner where he'd found it, muttering under his breath, "I know what being under a microscope feels like.

Years ago, I represented a client, a firefighter/paramedic, in an administrative trial after he had been terminated for allegedly providing patient care that was below the department’s established standards. One central issue was the ongoing, on-the-job training firefighters/paramedics receive. Throughout the trial, senior officers of the department, including the Chief himself, preached and bloviated on and on about how the department is committed to providing only the best patient care and how their paramedics are held to a higher standard; how they are committed to serving the community with the highest level of blah, blah, blah. On cross examination, however, I asked each of them about how many hours a day each provider spends drilling or practicing firefighting technique and equipment. Each of them answered proudly that every firefighter/EMT and firefighter/paramedic, regardless of assignment, spends at least three hours each day practicing firefighting skills and/or rehearsing the use of various firefighting equipment; hoses, ladders, saws, and other firefighter equipment. Ok, that’s great. Through testimony, we determined that, based on a 10-shift work month, each firefighter/paramedic, regardless of assignment, spends at least 30 hours per month drilling, practicing, and/or rehearsing firefighting skills & equipment. That’s at a minimum of 360 hours per year of ongoing, on-the-job firefighter training. Outstanding. When the smoke is showing and the flames are roiling, they will be ready. They all displayed the same proud grin at how well trained their people are. For each of them, however, that smug grin quickly turned when I then asked about the number of hours per day each firefighter/paramedic spends drilling on or practicing patient care related techniques, skills, and tools. Every one of them squirmed as they responded with the truth that the department only offers three hours of patient care related education per month. That’s roughly a maximum of 36 hours of paramedic training for the entire year. It got worse when further testimony showed that patient care related calls account for more than 80 percent of their call volume and fire related calls less than 20 percent, I could see each of them deflate on the witness stand when I asked how they could truthfully say they were committed to providing the best patient care when barely 10 percent of their training addresses patient care, which constitutes over 80 percent of your department’s calls. The answers were more disjointed and nonsensical than a White House press briefing. Of course, across America the 10:1 ratio of ongoing firefighting training to EMS training is pretty consistent, which begs the question: Don’t they get it? Excellence is the product of practice. How can any rational person look at a 10:1 training ratio and declare themselves committed to the highest level of care? How can an agency neglect training on the most significant aspect of the business and then be surprised when issues of negligence and liability arise? Once again, it seems that old-school culture leaves EMS stuck in the mud and the law is not going to wait for agencies to figure out that living in the past compromises the future.

Much like the relationship of light and time, for example. Some believe the concept of time occurs in a linear fashion, with past, present, and future tense.” His grin was still present while he was speaking, but returned to its full width when he paused. “But when one realizes that an event occurring here couldn’t possibly be witnessed at the same… ‘time’ in another solar system, no matter how powerful the telescope, hypothetically… well, then it all becomes relative, doesn’t it?

Once they were all finally gone, I turned around and noticed Adeena and Elena looking like the "Jessica Fletcher eating popcorn" gif as they shared a bucket of popcorn while enjoying the drama. "OK, I get that we're at a corn festival, but how did you get the popcorn so fast? Do you travel with props for moments like this?" Adeena winked. "You know how dedicated I am when it comes to a bit. But no, your sweet boyfriend left when things started getting heated and returned with snacks for us." Jae turned red as he held out a cone full of cornick from my aunt, a disk of corn tempura from our friend Yuki's booth, and other yummy corn-related snacks. "It was getting uncomfortable, and I figured I might as well make myself useful. I know what happens when you all get hungry, so I figured I'd grab food for you before it gets too crowded." "He's a keeper, all right," Elena said, grinning at him as she dipped the corn tempura disk into the accompanying sauce.

Busy in the business of day— my storming blood has just met a pair of eyes rainswept sand…. That face, again, that face like sunken sand— the sand, sunken, of a face that ancient…. More worn than my face unborn— contours I have known in the bones of her cheeks a recognition— a pair of orphans unmasked at morn…. Because only, only a girl borne of remembering could wear that countenance of mourning…. Across the wash pale soft of dawn float close weighty blossoms on thresholds unknown— for the fragile, delicate tenderness of her composure just-holding, achingly, on the edge of things…. A world of raindrops floating in her eyes— in her eyes sand grains softly settle…. Although to one another we are only a presence in the room and all's silence between us— still, hers is a presence I’ve known: of age more somehow than the day I was born a relation there remains nose kissed to nose…. Slaving in the sweat of the sun I’m back at it in the beds— as, over all the grounds, waxing with the sun personalities of sheds, tines, the animals, define themselves…. Heading now to the meal hall to eat and talk, after digging— when my momentum stalled: by hedges of the wall's the visage of her in the sunny landscape a teardrop of midnight…. Tearing's the flesh of my heart on my cheeks in tears— for her fragile chin and the wrinkles of her eyes when she smiles so glassy I could cry…. Commotion of knives and forks— today the commons are aloud with cups and conversation: a wisp here, a leap of voices there the day’s news bounces its way through the crowd…. Splashing up a laughter of glasses the guys devour their stories about girls at the party— and when we eat our fill glad in our stomachs there’s lots of chin in it we raise each other’s grins sitting in satisfaction and stimulating to the sun…. Tense in the laughter of friends and companions— lines of my age un-wrinkle: by portals of the door her expression there's more sober than smiling: for guile am I un-abled…. Not the friction of sticks, no, nor some feverish itch that must until exhaustion consume— but a long blue flame, slow and fluidly moving will our relation be: a translucent vein loose in the midnight river…. Now— into the doings of day: but to approach her my eyes can't meet my walkingʻs fallen dead at the knees and thoughts of my head now drown in blood— blackness and oblivion...

Adam inclined his head toward Owen. “Two questions. Was I Fabio in that scenario? And who is Fabio?” Brown eyes rolled. “Yes, and Google that shit.” And he did. “Ho! My nose is way smaller!” Cam grabbed the smartphone out of Adam’s hand. “Look at those baby blues, though. Piercing. Erotic, even. You could totally be related.” A grin tipped Adam’s mouth. “Really?” Cam slapped the phone against Adam’s chest. “Dude. No. Not really.

Pathetic,’ he told George. ‘Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?’ ‘Ah well,’ said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. ‘You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.

Nick lounged on his side as he watched her descend from the bed. “That’s going to be at least twelve hours from now. I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of you for that long.” “Then you’ll have to devise some means of—” Lottie broke off and inhaled sharply as she stood upright. “What is it?” he asked alertly. Lottie blushed from her head to her toes. “I’m sore. In… in places that I’m not usually sore.” Nick understood immediately. An abashed grin touched his lips, and he hung his head in an unconvincing effort at penitence. “I’m sorry. An aftereffect of Tantric lovemaking.” “Is that what it was?” Lottie hobbled to a chair near the hearth, where she had left her robe. Hastily she wrapped it around herself. “An ancient Indian art form,” he explained. “Ritualized methods designed to prolong intercourse.” Lottie’s high color persisted as she recalled the things he had done to her in the night. “Well, it certainly was prolonged.” “Not really. Tantric experts often have sexual relations for nine or ten hours at a time.” She gave him an appalled glance. “Could you do that, if you wished?” Standing from the bed, Nick walked over to her, completely unself-conscious in his nakedness. He took her into his arms and nuzzled her soft blond hair, playing with the loose braid that hung down her back. “With you, I wouldn’t mind trying,” he said, smiling against her temple. “No, thank you. I can barely walk as it is.” She searched through the tantalizing hair on his chest, finding the point of his nipple. “I’m afraid I’m not going to encourage any of your Tantric practices.” “That’s all right,” he replied amiably. “There are other things we can do.” His voice lowered seductively. “I haven’t begun to show you the things I know.” “I was afraid of that,” she said, and he laughed. -Nick & Lottie

And then it actually becomes the most interesting thing in the world. A single word is embossed in fancy calligraphy letters. A single word that makes it feel like the whole room is spinning. Harksbury. What in God’s name? “What is this?” I point at it and shout in Mindy’s ear. She scrunches her eyebrows. “A coaster?” I groan. “No, I mean, the name. Harksbury.” “Oh. It’s the name of the club. I don’t know what it means, though.” I do. It’s the name of a dukedom. I wonder if that means some relative of Alex’s invested in this place or something. Or if someone borrowed their name. Or what. But it has to mean Harksbury is real, that it existed. I stare down at the word again. If the shoes weren’t enough…It has to be real. And seeing it like this reminds me of how I felt there. How it felt to be Rebecca. I tuck the coaster into my back pocket and try to ignore the stare Angela is giving me. She probably thinks I’m totally nuts, stealing a paper coaster. But it’s the closest I’ll get to a souvenir of my time-bending trip. And having it on me makes me feel stronger, somehow, like I can always be that girl at the ball. I look up when the boys file in and sit down on a bright orange couch shaped like a slug. “Ladies. This is Grant, Tim, and Alex,” door-boy says. He doesn’t even introduce himself. I guess I’m supposed to know who he is. I smile at Grant and nod at Tim, but when I get to Alex, I only stare. Alex. The Alex. No, no it can’t be. His hair is shorter, his skin smooth and shaven. He’s got on a green button-up, left open at the collar, which brings out the intense emerald shade of his eyes. There’s something different. The contour of his lips, the line of his nose. It’s almost him, but not quite. And he’s staring back at me. Does he know who I am? No, that’s silly. It’s not really him. Not Alex Thorton-Hawke, the Duke of Harksbury. Just Alex, the twenty-first-century guy standing in front of me. In a nightclub. In real life. Mindy jabs me with her elbow. “This is--” “Callie,” I say, standing and reaching my hand out. “My name is Callie.” It feels so good to say that. To be me. I grin involuntarily at the realization. He smiles and shakes it. “Hey.” For a second neither of us says anything else. We just keep shaking hands and staring at each other. My heart hammers out of control. I feel sweaty already. But it’s adrenaline. Excitement. I’m not terrified anymore. Not of Angela, not of Alex. I can do this. “Do you want to dance?” I ask. Did I really just say that out loud? That couldn’t have been me. That was someone else. “Huh?” He can’t hear me over the music. “Do you want to dance?” I say, louder this time, with a little more conviction. For emphasis, I nod my head toward the floor. I’m really doing this. “Yeah.” I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly, but then he grabs my hand and leads me away, and I risk a glance back at the group. They’re just staring. For once in my life, I’ve upstaged them. I grin back and then turn my attention to Alex. I’ve thought about getting close to him for a month. I’m about to get my chance.

Listen up, nerd,” he said, glancing over his shoulder while I wrapped myself against his back. “Man, you feel good like that.” “Your huge brain is working at a wavelength I don’t understand. Repeat what you just said in a dumb way so I’ll understand what my being a nerd has to do with you liking this,” I said, wiggling my hips against him before raking his back with my breasts. After giving me a groan followed by a naughty grin, Cooper sighed. “I can’t even remember what the hell we were talking about,” he said, wrapping my arms tighter around him. “Oh, yeah, you being a nerd. So don’t worry about getting carded. The Kirk in Whiskey Kirk’s is my pop and he doesn’t care if you get wasted. He doesn’t believe in laws.” “I’m not drinking.” “Farah, you need to relax and enjoy life.” “I come from a long line of drunks and addicts, so I’m not relaxing and enjoying life if it means I become like my loser relatives.” Cooper glanced back at me and smiled. “Did you take a shower before I showed up because you’re hella feisty?” “Do they have good food at this bar?” I asked, ignoring his question. “Burgers, hot wings, only the best bar food in Kentucky. You just keep holding on while I see if I can concentrate with your tits pushed up against me like that.” “I had them pushed up the other night and you concentrated fine.” “That’s because you were wearing your uniform and I forgot you had tits. No forgetting today.” “If you ever want to be friends with them, you really need to stop calling them tits. They don’t like that.” “Yes, mam,” he said, laughing as he pushed off and drove away from the apartment.

I’ve decided to bridge out a little, explore different genres, if you will. And because you, my very good friend, are starring in a play penned by none other than the renowned—which I’m sure you know means celebrated—Mr. Grimstone, I decided to try a few of his gothic novels.” “What did you think of the Grimstone stories?” Bram asked from behind them. Turning, Lucetta found that Bram had stepped out of the carriage and was looking dashingly rumpled, with his hair standing on end and his face streaked with soot here and there. Glancing at Millie, Lucetta found her friend considering Bram closely, right before she nodded at Lucetta and arched a brow. “The mysterious grandson, I assume?” “One and the same.” Lucetta pulled Millie forward, stopping right in front of Bram. “Millie, I’d like to introduce you to Abigail’s grandson, Mr. Bram Haverstein. Bram, this is one of my very dearest friends, Millie Mulberry, formerly Millie Longfellow.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mulberry,” Bram said, bringing Millie’s hand to his lips and placing the expected kiss on it. “Lucetta and my grandmother speak most highly of you.” Millie smiled, the action causing a dimple to pop out on her cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Haverstein. I won’t embarrass you by relaying all the things your grandmother told me and Lucetta about you over the past few months. Although I will admit I thought she was exaggerating your attributes—and that means features—but . . . never mind about that.” Her smile widened. “I’m very relieved to discover that you appear to be relatively normal, and that you’re not sporting a humped back or any other peculiar deformity, something Lucetta and I were afraid your grandmother was trying to hide.” Bram quirked a brow Lucetta’s way. “You’d thought I’d be deformed?” Smiling, Lucetta shrugged. “Abigail made you out to be so mysterious, who could blame us for concluding the worst?” “She kept calling you a dish,” Millie added with a grin.

Miss Hathaway--” Christopher continued to object, but he fell silent, blinking, as she reached out and touched his chest. Her fingertips rested over his heart for the space of one heartbeat. “Let me try,” she said gently. Christopher fell back a step, his breath catching. His body responded to her touch with disconcerting swiftness. A lady never put her hand to any area of a man’s torso unless the circumstances were so extreme that…well, he couldn’t even imagine what would justify it. Perhaps if his waistcoat was on fire, and she was trying to put it out. Other than that, he couldn’t think of any defensible reason. And yet if he were to point out the breach of etiquette, the act of correcting a lady was just as graceless. Troubled and aroused, Christopher gave her a single nod. The men resumed their seats after Beatrix had left the room. “Forgive us, Captain Phelan,” Amelia murmured. “I can see that my sister startled you. Really, we’ve tried to learn better manners, but we’re Philistines, all of us. And while Beatrix is out of hearing, I would like to assure you that she doesn’t usually dress so outlandishly. However, every now and then she goes on an undertaking that makes long skirts inadvisable. Replacing a bird in a nest, for example, or training a horse, and so forth.” “A more conventional solution,” Christopher said carefully, “would be to forbid the activity that necessitated the wearing of men’s garments.” Rohan grinned. “One of my private rules for dealing with Hathaways,” he said, “is never to forbid them anything. Because that guarantees they’ll keep doing it.” “Heavens, we’re not as bad as all that,” Amelia protested. Rohan gave his wife a speaking glance, his smile lingering. “Hathaways require freedom,” he told Christopher, “Beatrix in particular. An ordinary life--being contained in parlors and drawing rooms--would be a prison for her. She relates to the world in a far more vital and natural way than any gadji I’ve ever known.” Seeing Christopher’s incomprehension, he added, “That’s the word the Rom uses for females of your kind.” “And because of Beatrix,” Amelia said, “we possess a menagerie of creatures no one else wants: a goat with an undershot jaw, a three-legged cat, a portly hedgehog, a mule with an unbalanced build, and so forth.” “A mule?” Christopher stared at her intently, but before he could ask about it, Beatrix returned with Albert on the leash.

They always seem content, don’t they?” Hadrian mentioned to Royce as they sat under the canopy of their tent watching the Vintu preparing the evening meal. “It could be blazingly hot or raining like now, and they don’t seem to care one way or the other.” “Are you now saying we should become Vintu?” Royce asked. “I don’t think you can just apply for membership into their tribe. I think you need to be born into it.” “What’s that?” Wyatt asked, coming out of the tent the three shared, wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth. “Just thinking about the Vintu and living a simple existence of quiet pleasures,” Hadrian explained. “What makes you think they’re content?” Royce asked. “I’ve found that when people smile all the time, they’re hiding something. These Vintu are probably miserable—economically forced into relative slavery, catering to wealthy foreigners. I’m sure they would smile just as much while slitting our throats to save themselves another day of hauling Dilladrum’s packs.” “I think you’ve been away from Gwen too long. You’re starting to sound like the old Royce again.” Across the camp they spotted Staul, Thranic, and Defoe. Staul waved in their direction and grinned. “See? Big grin,” Royce mentioned

Alex whispers, “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you’re confusing your emotions.” I scoot away from him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “I would.” Alex’s gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They’re probably going to ditch class. Alex grabs his books and stands. Mrs. Peterson turns around. “Alex, sit down.” “I got to piss.” The teacher’s eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. “Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don’t need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table.” Alex’s lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table. “I told you no gang-related items in my class,” Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he’s holding in front of him. She holds out her hand. “Hand it over.” He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. “What if I refuse?” “Alex, don’t test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?” She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandana over immediately or else. Scowling, he slowly places the bandana in her hand. Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers. I screech, “Ohmygod!” at the sight of the big stain on his crotch. The students, one by one, start laughing. Colin laughs the loudest. “Don’t sweat it, Fuentes. My great-grandma has the same problem. Nothing a diaper won’t fix.” Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister. Making fun of adults who can’t help themselves isn’t funny because Shelley is one of those people. Alex sports a big, cocky grin and says to Colin, “Your girlfriend couldn’t keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin’ me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa.” This time he’s gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor. “You wish,” I say. Alex is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, “Alex!” She clears her throat. “Go to the nurse and…fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you’ll be seeing Dr. Aguirre. I’ll meet you in his office with your friends Colin and Brittany.” Alex swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Carmen Sanchez. If she thinks I’m a threat to her relationship with Alex, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.

At OBSS   I didn’t have long to wait before “twinky” Kim confided his secrets to me. Out of earshot from the group, during lunch, he announced excitedly, “We did it!”               “We did what?” I asked.               He glanced towards Jules, who was chatting animatedly with a couple of the other instructors. “You know. Me and him. We did it.”               I smiled but said nothing. Kim had a gleeful grin as he uttered, “Last night in the woods.”               “What exactly did you do?”               He cast his eyes down shyly. “We made out.”               “And?”               “It was great!” he exclaimed.               “Tell all, you naughty devil,” I remarked. Like most first-timers, he was eager to relate his sexual encounter to a pair of sympathetic ears.               “After the biking accident, after you guys rode on for help, he made the move.”               “Well? What happened” I queried.               “When he was blotting the blood from my knee, he placed his hand on my thigh. I did not move away. I dared not look him in the eye, but I enjoyed the smouldering sensation of his hand, which slowly eased into my underwear.” He paused for effect. “I was afraid, so I kept my eyes shut. I had Goosebumps all over when he held my… You know…” The boy couldn’t bring himself to say the word penis.               “No, I don’t know,” I teased patiently. “What?”               “Down there…” he looked at his groin, which had grown while reliving the circumstance.

My chin lifted. It hardened and I stepped close to her. Her eyelids twitched. Oh yes. Trying to intimidate me. “What’s your name?” She frowned, but grinned. “Tiffany Chatsworth. Look me up.” “Who are you related to?” The grin slipped a notch. “None of your business.” “Who are you screwing?” Her lips were flat now. “Like I said, none of your effing business.” My eyes narrowed to slits. “Then who are you to ask about my business?

Xander whispered, “How’s it going so far?” I shrugged. “He has a lot to say and I can’t tell him to be quiet without looking nuts.” Caleb laughed. “I’m sure he knows. He’s constantly reading your mind.” My head snapped up to Raphael. “Really? Like all the time?” Xander and Caleb nodded and I slumped in my seat. “Holy crap.” Xander sat up straight. “Something I should know?” Shifting, I knotted my hands. “I…no.” Lie. Complete and utter lie. “Is it Xander related?” His voice turned to a sexy rumble. He grinned when he saw my cheeks redden. Raphael chose this time to speak. “Yes, Alexander, quite often, in fact. Her thoughts of you are usually inappropriate.

I have another idea,” Tommy said with a grin that meant it was not an idea I would enjoy. “And that would be?” Olivia asked. “I noticed you have a helicopter,” Tommy said to the LOA agent. “I’m not jumping out of a helicopter,” I told everyone. They all completely ignored me and instead started working out exactly how I was going to jump out of said helicopter. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but my friends suck. They suck hard enough that when I was getting fitted with a parachute and loaded onto a helicopter, no one listened to me as I pointedly reiterated the fact that I did not wish to jump out of the fucking thing. I watched as the second part of Tommy’s glorious plan came to fruition, namely the part where the agents stood well back and shot at the Vanguard from the relative safety of being on the ground. “You done this before?” asked an agent who was sitting in the rear of the Eurocopter with me. “Once or twice. Not in one of these, though.” “The EC145 is excellent. Loads of room back here.” Indeed there was tons of room in the back of the helicopter, plenty to put five or six people without too much trouble. He glanced out of the window and then turned back to me. “We’re just over a thousand feet high, got a bit more to climb. You’ll be jumping at fifteen hundred feet.” “Screw you, Tommy,” I whispered, which caused the agent to laugh as he heard it through my microphone. “Not a fan of heights.” “Mostly I’m not a fan of hitting the ground at speed from a great height.

How was Ambrose?” “Starving, as usual. I swear he wants to nurse every two hours.” Zoe grinned. “It’s because he’s a boy.” She pulled out some sheet music and began hunting through it for another selection. “Lisette says that Eugene nearly drove her mad. Even the wet nurse she used when she and Max came up to Winborough complained that she’d never seen a babe so lusty. But Claudine didn’t give Lisette a bit of trouble. My little Drina was never a problem, either.” “Just as I always suspected,” Jane said. “Men are insatiable from birth.” Dom’s eyes twinkled at her. “In some things, anyway.” Her stomach flipped over. Dr. Worth had only yesterday told her that they could resume marital relations, but in all the chaos of the coronation preparations she hadn’t had a chance to tell Dom.

You couldn’t have picked a better time,” I assured him warmly. “It’ll do wonders for my image. By teatime it’ll be all over town that I’m related to a vicar.” “Or that you’re having an affair with one.” Tom grinned. “Village people have terribly suspicious minds, you know.

A big, robust guy with blond hair and a relatively insolent grin, Shane was supersmart. I never had to tell him anything. He knew what to do at all times.

Well, of course," Camilo said, and grinned back at JohnRolandJoseph and his long line of bought and paid for ancestors, as friendly and unselfconscious as though all her life she had been looking for men, black men, big black men--plantation bucks (stud) look at his thighs, look at that back, look at his dingle-dangle--as though all her life she had been looking for colored men to whom she was not married, to whom she would never be married because she was already married to a nice young white man, as though all her life she had told uniformed monkeys who pulled elevators in rundown colored hotels, in Harlem, that she couldn't find, had lost, misplaced, a gentleman of color named Williams.

IN DIRE STRAITS, WE HEAD STRAIGHT TO THE OCEAN The good Lord answered Beryl’s prayer when Dorjan came home next. On the cusp of the rainy season, when porch sitting Beryl was more inclined to watch tufts of moisture hung from invisible threads in fairytale skies than her playing children, he announced, “I have a will ‘ta move ‘ta the land of Hollywood and ‘burgeoning coastal developments,” like he’d read that phrase in a magazine. Then, he pressed on the horn in case she hadn’t heard his hollering. “I want a piece o’ that action, baby,” he said. “I can run my own company. ‘Reckon I know to do just about anything related to construction. Heya baby, why not?” He grinned as he rolled out of the driver’s seat. As she came down the steps to him, he smacked his thighs in a rhythm and did a fancy two-step. “The sun’s always shining. There’s bound to be work for me till I have no more need.” She went to hug him. “Lickety split, we’ll be going west… at the childr’n’s school break,” he said. That’s just what the Hudsons did. They left their free-of-charge huge, white house to the older brothers and sisters, taking brother Dennis along in the back seat with three of the children. Coalbert, sitting up front, sighed. “We’re just gonna leave the house like that? For someone other’n us to occupy, Daddy?” His heart was lying in that big white house with the wraparound porch. “Small thing. The place is tainted. It ‘taint yours and it ‘taint mine.” “I hope we get an indoor toilet, Mama!” Laila shouted. “Your daddy’s set on getting all the new things where we’re going to.

He looked up, grinned, and tossed the rock over his shoulder. “‘You had me at hello.

Why do guys use sports metaphors for sex?” He pauses, likely to see if I’m serious. “Because we can relate to them, I guess.” Alex drops my pants off the edge of the bed and runs his rough hands up the outside of my thighs. He starts at my knee and kisses a path north. “I’m about to round third base.” He grins, closing in on the land of Beave. I’m all out of snarky commentary. I grace him with a wanton sound as he dives between my legs.

The casting away of things is symbolic, you know. Talismanic. When you cast away things, you're also casting away the self-related others that are symbolically related to those things. You start a cleaning-out process. You begin to empty the vessel." Larry shook his head slowly. "I don't follow that." "Well, take an intelligent pre-plague man. Break his TV, and what does he do at night?" "Reads a book," Ralph said. "Goes to see his friends," Stu said. "Plays the stereo," Larry said, grinning. "Sure, all those things," Glen said. "But he's also missing that TV. There's a hole in his life where that TV used to be. In the back of his mind he's still thinking, At nine o'clock I'm going to pull a few beers and watch the Sox on the tube. And when he goes in there and sees that empty cabinet, he feels as disappointed as hell. A part of his accustomed life has been poured out, is it not so?" "Yeah," Ralph said. "Our TV went on the fritz once for two weeks and I didn't feel right until it was back." "It makes a bigger hole in his life if he watched a lot of TV, a smaller hole if he only used it a little bit. But something is gone. Now take away all his books, all his friends, and his stereo. Also remove all sustenance except what he can glean along the way. It's an emptying-out process and also a diminishing of the ego. Your selves, gentlemen--they are turning into a window-glass. Or better yet, empty tumblers." "But what's the point?" Ralph asked. "Why go through all the rigmarole?" Glen said, "If you read your Bible, you'll see that it was pretty traditional for these prophets to go out into the wilderness from time to time--Old Testament Magical Mystery Tours. The timespan given for these jaunts was usually forty days and forty nights, a Hebraic idiom that really means 'no one knows exactly how long he was gone, but it was quite a while.' Does that remind you of anyone?" "Sure. Mother," Ralph said. "Now think of yourself as a battery. You really are, you know. Your brain runs on chemically converted electrical current. For that matter, your muscles run on tiny charges, too--a chemical called acetylcholine allows the charge to pass when you need to move, and when you want to stop, another chemical, cholinesterase, is manufactured. Cholinesterase destroys acetylcholine, so your nerves become poor conductors again. Good thing, too. Otherwise, once you started scratching your nose, you'd never be able to stop. Okay, the point is this: Everything you think, everything you do, it all has to run off the battery. Like the accessories in a car." They were all listening closely. "Watching TV, reading books, talking with friends, eating a big dinner ... all of it runs off the battery. A normal life--at least in what used to be Western civilization--was like running a car with power windows, power brakes, power seats, all the goodies. But the more goodies you have, the less the battery can charge. True?" "Yeah," Ralph said. "Even a big Delco won't ever overcharge when it's sitting in a Cadillac." "Well, what we've done is to strip off the accessories. We're on charge." Ralph said uneasily: "If you put a car battery on charge for too long, she'll explode." "Yes," Glen agreed. "Same with people. The Bible tells us about Isaiah and Job and the others, but it doesn't say how many prophets came back from the wilderness with visions that had crisped their brains. I imagine there were some. But I have a healthy respect for human intelligence and the human psyche, in spite of an occasional throwback like East Texas here--" "Off my case, baldy," Stu growled. "Anyhow, the capacity of the human mind is a lot bigger than the biggest Delco battery. I think it can take a charge almost to infinity. In certain cases, perhaps beyond infinity." They walked in silence for a while, thinking this over. "Are we changing?" Stu asked quietly. "Yes," Glen answered. "Yes, I think we are.

You’re strangely prepared.” “Not for this, no. I just heard condoms were really good for opening a stuck jar. You just pop it on top and instant hand grip. That’s the only reason I’ve been carrying one around.” “You… often come across bottles you can’t open?” “Far too much. And the lube was for greasing up… stuff, obviously. I didn’t at all plan to have you take me to an amusement park and fuck me in the car or something weird,” I say as I tear open the packet of lube. After I squirt some onto my hand, he takes it from me. “I’m surprised you weren’t planning for something R-rated on the carousel or something after dark.” “Ooh, that’s a good one. Especially with that music they play, it’d be the best sex jam ever.” “Would it?” he asks suspiciously. “Of course,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. “If I had my phone, I’d play it and you could fuck me to the beat.” “I don’t think carousel songs have a ‘fucking beat,’ but I could be wrong.

Then, in his quiet way that always disarmed me, he said, “I missed you today.” I sighed again, this time because his sweet words chased the breath out of me. I grinned like a content cat—which didn’t make any sense, because no other animals but humans smile in order to demonstrate pleasure. I pressed my lips together to keep from relating this as a fact. Quinn’s gaze narrowed on mine. He must’ve perceived that I was suppressing a tangent, because he said, “Say it.” “What?” He lifted his eyebrows, dipped his chin, and issued me a very effective glare that said, You know what. I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” “Tell me.” “It’s completely unnecessary information.” “I want to know.” He dropped his voice nearly an octave and held me against him as though to emphasize his point. This only served to make me more deliciously agitated. “Quinn...” I whispered. I didn’t know why I whispered. “Janie, everything you say is fascinating.” He whispered too. “No, it’s not. And the fact that you think I’ll believe that you believe that I’ll believe a statement so patently false is somewhat concerning to me.” He took a moment to sort through the tangled web of my words before he responded. “I’m not really sure what that means. However, the fact that you think I’d say something patently false to you is very concerning to me.” We held each other’s eyes, a showdown of manufactured guilt. He won. “Fine. You want to know? I was just thinking that I was smiling like a contented cat, which troubled me as an analogy because no animals other than humans smile as a demonstration of pleasure. Some people think animals do, especially cats and dogs, but those people are mistaken. The mouth curve is incidental. Cats purr to demonstrate pleasure, and dogs wag their tails.

Funny thing about this world,” Adams said carefully. “Legally, a sovereign government can protect its interests pretty well as long as it doesn’t start open war and involve the big powers. Certainly a sovereign government can arm merchant ships and protect them against harassment by international gangsters. But there are a lot of sovereigns in name who haven’t the means to protect themselves and have to rely on someone else…” “You mean Tonga,” the prince said. He frowned, then shrugged. “But I must agree. We wish the British were still protecting us. But they’re not, and we see no one else we’d like to have as partners.” Adams nodded. “Now also in this world are big companies—like, say, Nuclear General—who have more than enough power to protect their interests but have no legal right to do it because they aren’t sovereign. The United States is supposed to look after our interests, but we don’t see them doing much of it. Delicate state of relations, world opinion—” Adams broke off, his jaw set. “Mostly lack of ability, of course. With welfare payments where they are the U.S. can’t even do proper research, much less—well. If Tonga were to nationalize some of Nuclear General’s ships, you’d have the right to arm them, declare them protected by your sovereignty…” “You’re asking us to expropriate your property?” Toki asked. “Well, we’d expect to be paid for it.” “But we don’t have the money to pay you… This is silly.” “You’d have enough money if you leased the ships to us. We’d pay very well for their use. At least as much, say, as we’d have to ask for if you nationalized them.” A slow grin spread across Toki’s bronze face.

How do you feel' Georgie?" whispered Mrs Weasley. George's fingers groped for the side of his head. "Saint-like," he murmured. "What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?" "Saint-like," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "you see ... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?" Miss Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred's pale face. "Pathetic," he told George. "pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?" "Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-socked mother. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway mum.

Forgive us, Captain Phelan," Amelia murmured. "I can see that my sister startled you. Really, we've tried to learn better manners, but we're Philistines, all of us. And while Beatrix is out of hearing, I would like to assure you that she doesn't usually dress so outlandishly. However, every now and then she goes on an undertaking that makes long skirts inadvisable. Replacing a bird in a nest, for example, or training a horse, and so forth." "A more conventional solution," Christopher said carefully, "would be to forbid the activity that necessitated the wearing of men's garments." Rohan grinned. "One of my private rules for dealing with Hathaways," he said, "is never to forbid them anything. Because that guarantees they'll keep doing it." "Heavens, we're not as bad as all that," Amelia protested. Rohan gave his wife a speaking glance, his smile lingering. "Hathaways require freedom," he told Christopher, "Beatrix in particular. An ordinary life- being contained in parlors and drawing rooms- would be a prison for her. She relates to the world in a far more vital and natural way than any gadji I've ever known.

When she headed for the front door, Jacques shook his head and crooked his finger at her. “He wants you to drink some juice.” “Oh, give it a rest. I didn’t say I would.” “We can stay here all night.” He shrugged broad shoulders and flashed a quick, lopsided grin. “I would not mind. Mikhail’s house is comfortable.” She scowled at him, tried to look fierce when something in her was beginning to find the entire lot of them comical. Males thought they were so logical. “You’re just like him. And don’t take it as a compliment either,” she added, when he looked pleased. He grinned again, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin that must break hearts everywhere he went. “You’re related to him, aren’t you?” Raven guessed, certain she was right. How could he not be? He had that same charm, the same eyes, the same good looks. “When he claims me.” He poured a glass of fresh apple juice and handed it to her. “He wouldn’t know.” It was going to kill her to drink it. “He would know. He knows everything. And where you are concerned, he can get a mite testy. So drink.

Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.” “They what?” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together. “Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave, I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was,” he faced them, and Harry was astonished to see that he was grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought they didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, “Dawlish is still in St. Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,

My dreams are disjointed. I try finding the beach and Luka, but I can’t. Instead, I end up back at the hospital. Not Pete’s, but Shady Wood, staring at rows upon rows of comatose bodies. I’m not sure if the machines are keeping them alive or keeping them from living. I want to unhook them. I want to set them free from this dark, oppressive place. But when I try, nothing is solid. It’s all vapor. When I wake up, I write everything down, then spend the rest of Sunday visiting Pete, yearning—no aching—for Luka. That night, my dreams are the same. Me, trying to get to Luka but ending up at Shady Wood instead. Me, trying to free those people. Me, failing at both. I’m happy and relieved when I wake up. It’s Monday morning, which means school. While my parents will go to many lengths to keep me from Luka, robbing me of my right to an education is not one of them. I pray that Luka’s parents are the same. Mom drives. As soon as she pulls up to the front entrance, I fling open the door and hurry toward the school, brushing off the looks and the whispers. As soon as I step inside the building, Luka is there. He grabs my face between his hands and kisses me. Full on the mouth. The shock of his lips on mine turns my kneecaps to putty. Luka is kissing me. He’s kissing me, right there in the locker bay in front of everyone. And I’m so stunned by it all, so caught off guard, that my body has morphed into a ragdoll. A really hot, tingly ragdoll. When he pulls away, my head spins. My lips throb in the best possible way. Several students gape. He takes my hand and pulls me out of the locker bay, right outside the bathrooms, a space that is relatively empty. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.” I blink like an idiot, unable to get past his greeting. He pushes his hand through his hair. “I couldn’t get to you in my dreams. I could hear you calling out for help. But I couldn’t get to you.” I point toward the locker bay, dumbstruck. “You-you just kissed me.” A grin pulls at his lips—the very lips that were on mine seconds earlier. And then he does it again. He cups the side of my face and kisses me. His fingers move up into my hair. His other hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer. I grab onto his shirt front to keep myself upright. Luka is good at this. Much, much too good. But the kiss ends as abruptly as it began. He groans and leans against the wall. My head spins. I’ve never been kissed by a boy before. I don’t really know how these things work, but I have to imagine groaning is not a good reaction. I must be bad at it.

[B]y reason of its faster and faster infall [the surface of the imploding star] moves away from the [distant] observer more and more rapidly. The light is shifted to the red. It becomes dimmer millisecond by millisecond, and in less than a second is too dark to see . . . [The star,] like the Cheshire cat, fades from view. One leaves behind only its grin, the other, only its gravitational attraction. Gravitational attraction, yes; light, no. No more than light do any particles emerge. Moreover, light and particles incident from outside ... [and] going down the black hole only add to its mass and increase its gravitational attraction.” Black hole was Wheeler’s new name. Within months it was adopted enthusiastically by relativity physicists, astrophysicists, and the general public, in East as well as West—with one exception: In France, where the phrase trou noir (black hole) has obscene connotations, there was resistance for several years.

One-Eye scowled at Goblin. “Keep it up, Barf Bag. You’ll be grocery shopping with the turtles.” What the hell did that mean? Some kind of obscure shop talk? But Goblin was as croggled as the rest of us. Grinning, One-Eye resumed gabbling with his relatives.

At first glance, it seems hard to believe these two men are even related let alone brothers. Tom is content if there happens to be a game on and a soft place from which to watch it. Navidson works out every day, devours volumes of esoteric criticism, and constantly attaches the world around him to one thing: photography, Tom gets by, Navidson succeeds. Tom just wants to be, Navidson must become. And yet despite such obvious differences, anyone who looks past Tom's wide grin and considers his eyes will find surprisingly deep pools of sorrow. Which is how we know they are brothers, because like Tom, Navidson's eyes share the same water.