My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper. She lived.

A Seer's moon, a Siren's tears, Nineteen Mortal, Wayward fears, Incubus graves and Caster rivers, The Final Page the End delivers.

I don't know what happened. One minute, I was dreamin' about a fat piece of George Clooney and a hot date with some brown sugar pound cake, and the next thing I knew, the house was coming down on us.

I watched the way they looked at each other. Any idiot could see they were in love, even if they were the only two idiots who couldn't.

Books?" Ridley looked disgusted. "Carry?

You need help, and that's what books are for.

She didn't say a work, and I gave up trying, because you couldn't hear either one of us over the shattering noise of hearts breaking and the looming shadow of the last word, the one we refused to say.