Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.

Jailbait," he declared, leaping up. "You're a saint. A goddess, even.

Besides, I could hardly complain to the administration that I was being forced to learn magic.

In an undertone, I murmured, "This isn't over. I won't give up on you." "I've given up on you," he said back, voice also soft. "Love fades. Mine has.

Sydney! Stop. Think of something else. Conjugate Latin verbs. Recite the periodic table.

For once, you're going to hear something that doesn't fit into your neat, compartmentalized world of order and logic and reason.

Plus, I was about to spend six weeks with Christian Ozera. He was sarcastic, difficult, and made jokes about everything. Actually, he was a lot like me. It was going to be a long six weeks.