He knows what I'm thinking. Always. We're connected. The atoms between us ferry messages back and forth.

The inspector ate only two of my tiny sandwiches: the first because he hadnt expected it to taste so awful; the second, I think, because hed thought surely the first must have been a mistake.

It's often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all.

Nuns? They'd take one look at Barrons and decide the devil himself had come knockng. He not only looked dangerous, he emanated something that made even me feel like crossing myself sometimes, and I'm not religious.

I can't help but see myself in them. The Seelie are who I was before my sister died. Pink, pretty, frivolous Mac. The Unseelie are who I've become, carved by loss and despair. Black, grungy, driven Mac.

My breathing was shallow and my hands were fists. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to have to kill you Barrons.' I said coolly, Partly because, for the most miniscule sliver of an instant, while looking at those handcuffs, I'd imagined myself climbing back into bed and pretending I wasn't cured yet.

And when he did that, my hands curled into fists because I thought about touching his face like maybe I could catch joy in my hands and hold it.