Blue was a fanciful, but sensible thing. Like a platypus, or one of those sandwiches that had been cut into circles for a fancy tea party.

Fate," Blue replied, glowering at her mother, "is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast.

He ordered Ronan to put on some terrible music--Ronan was always too happy to oblige in this department--and then he abused the Camaro at every stoplight on the way out of town. "Put your back into it!" Gansey shouted breathlessly. He was talking to himself, of course, or to the gearbox. "Don't let it smell fear on you!" Blue wailed each time the engine revved up, but not unhappily. Noah played the drums on the back of Ronan's headrest. Adam, for his part, was not wild, but he did his best not to appear unwild, so as not to ruin it for the others.

...sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing atthe right time to the right person, that too-raresensation of having the right thing to say and believing it.

And then I did laugh, even though the future was a dangerous place, because I loved her, and she loved me, and the world was beautiful.

I thought I heard---" Gansey broke off. His eyes dropped to where Adam held Blue's hand. Again his face was somewhat puzzled by the fact of their hand-holding. Adam's grip tightened, although she didn't think he meant for it to.

It could kill you," Maura said. Then there was the awkward moment that arrives when two thirds of the people in the room know that the other third is supposed to die in fewer than nine months, and the person who is meant to die is not one of the ones in the know.