There was Kir, red hair combed back and That Expression on his sharp face. Even his freckles looked serious. I'd given up wondering how a freckle-faced teenager could look so much like a disapproving granny.

I should start charging uncomfortable thoughts rent. Except what would they pay me in? Probably something even worse.

And now here he was in my kitchen. Smelling like apple pies and looking at me with a direct seriousness that made him even cuter. The bruising spreading up the side of his face had halted, and under it he was very pretty. Not jock-pretty, or the hurtful kind of pretty that tells you a guy is too busy taking care of his royal self to think about you.

Death did not play favorites—He loved all equally. What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure . The god's voice—not quite words, just a thread of meaning laid in my receptive mind—

White and scrubbed, antique brass fixtures and a skylight letting in a flood of sunshine. Wow. You could get a tan standing around in the shower, for Christ's sake.

He stared at his hot chocolate like it held the secret to the universe.

Besides, the normal people here wouldn’t see it. That was what “different” meant. It’s just another word for lonely.