So in the sweltering heat of a July night, I sang a Christmas carol to a room full of fae, who had been driven out of their homelands by Christians and their cold-iron swords.
Patricia BriggsHe stepped back with exaggerated courtesy. But when I walked past him, he swatted my rump. Hard enough to sting. โYou need to be more careful,โ he growled. โKeep interfering in my business and you might get hurt.โ I said sweetly as I continued to Jesse's room, โThe last man who swatted me like that is rotting in his grave.โ โI have no doubt about it.โ His voice was more satisfied then contrite.
Patricia BriggsCharles looked at her thoughtfully. "People talk to you," he said. "That could be useful.
Patricia BriggsMaybe I should go back to teaching school about crazy people instead of being one. (Jim Alvin)
Patricia BriggsWhen is the last time you were a tourist?โ she asked archly. He just looked at her. Charles, she had to agree, was not tourist material. โRight,โ Anna told him. โBuck up. You might even enjoy it.โ โYou might as well have โhapless victimโ tattooed across your forehead,โ he muttered.
Patricia Briggs