And did you have to hack his arms off?” “Yes, I did. He wouldn’t go through the door.” “You say it like you’re proud of it." I was proud of it. It was an example of quick thinking in a difficult situation.

Somewhere in that database my name sat in its own little niche, the name of a reject, undisciplined and worthless. Just the way I liked it.

One look at Rebecca and Aunt B would have an instant apoplexy. Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed. “My mother’s approval isn’t necessary.” Aha. “Does she know that?

Too much excitement, Your Majesty?” I asked. “He was standing too close.” “He was asking about Andrea.” “Too close. I didn’t like it.” Curran wrapped his arm around my shoulders and started walking, steering me away from the group. His Possessive Majesty in all of his glory.

Our stares connected and we were quiet for a long minute, united by our misery. At least he understood me and I understood him. "A fine pair we make,” he said. "Yeah.

Unfortunately, the Best Lord had condemned both vehicles as unsafe and instead I now leased a Pack Jeep I called Hector. Equipped with dual engines, Hector worked during magic or tech. He didn't go very fast, especially during magic, but so far he hadn't stalled on me either. As long as our high-speed chases stayed under forty-five miles an hour, we would be all set.

Her imagination painted Georgie twenty years later, sitting in leg irons before some Broken psychiatrist. "Well, you see, it all started with bubbles.