He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. "Fleas?" I said.

One of the first lessons a necromancer learns is the art of playing dumb. Of course, one problem with playing dumb is that is seeps into your everyday life. ~Jaime Vegas

I remember hearing myself start to whimper, a five-year-old, crouched by the side of the road, staring into my father's eyes, whimpering because it was so dark and there was no one coming to help, whimpering because my mother was back in the crushed car, not moving, and my father was lying here in the dirt, not answering me, not holding me, not comforting me, not helping my mother get out of the car, and there was blood, so much blood, and broken glass everywhere, and it was so dark and so cold and no one was coming to help.

Tell me when you want to pick it up again." "Tell me when Satan starts a snowball fight." "I'll do that. Lunch?

You were just worried about me." An exhale, relieved that I had understood. "Yeah" I turned. "Because you think I'm worth it" He put his fingers under my chin. "I absolutely think your worth it." "But you don't think you are." His mouth opened. Shut. "That's what this is about, Derek. You won't let us worry about you because you don't think you're worth it. But I do. I absolutely do.

Reviews are great. I can read negative reviews and say, You know that point they made... they were dead on.

Dad!" he shouted, loud enough to make my ears ring. "Dad! You need to get down here!" (Derek) Chloe held open the door and whispered to me, "I could say he's not always like this, but I'd be lying.