Don't talk to the crazy kids. I longed to shout back that we weren't crazy. I'd mistaken her kid for a ghost, that's all. I wondered whether they had books about his sort of thing. Fifty Ways to Tell the Living from the Dead Before You Wind Up in a Padded Room. Yep, I'm sure the library carried that one.
Kelley ArmstrongI 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.
Kelley ArmstrongKids who don't eavesdrop on adult conversations are doomed to a childhood of ignorance.
Kelley ArmstrongI'd been staring at the search term for at least five minutes. One word. Necromancer.
Kelley ArmstrongIt was completely fifth garde and completely silly and I loved it, because he wasn't afraid to be silly. It was like kissing him first - I could do whatever I wanted and not have to worry what he'd think of me.
Kelley ArmstrongI like Daniel. He takes care of you." I blinked. "Oh my God. Did you really just say that? He takes care of me?" Dad flushed. "I didn't mean it like-" "Takes care of me? Did I go to sleep and wake up in the nineteenth century?" I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt. "Ack! I can't go to school like this. Where's my corset? My bonnet?" Dad sighed as Mom walked in with her empty teacup. "What did I miss?" She said. "Dad's trying to marry me off to Daniel." I looked at him. "You know, if you offer him a new truck for a dowry, he might go for it.
Kelley Armstrong