If only there was someone who could tell her something about her past. For all she knew, she could be the Crown Princess of Mongolia, the daughter of a rich and magnificent king. Or maybe a hair-covered parent just like her. Perhaps then she wouldn’t feel so desperately different.
Just to be somebody’s daughter would be nice. (p. 3)
“A weird wave of electricity surged through my fingers where they touched him. I snatched my hand back, staring at the digits. The charged feeling dissipated within me, but increased in the air around us, swirling and darkening. I tentatively touched his arm again, and the energy shot into me once more. It was like focused euphoria.”
“How long have you been able to move potency?”
Pellini exhaled. “Since my senior year in high school.”
“What happened then? Did someone start teaching you?”
He cleared his throat. “Never talked to anyone about this stuff before,” he confessed, then added, “I mean, no people.”
Idris and I both tensed. “What non-people have you talked to about this?” I asked, doing my best to remain outwardly composed.
Pellini licked his lips before speaking. “Shit. I had an imaginary friend when I was little.” A flush darkened his face. “I called him …” He hesitated then took a deep breath and plunged on. “I called him Mr. Sparkly because that’s what he looked like. For as long as I can remember, until I was in second grade, he’d find me when I was in the sandpit in my backyard and take med away.”
“Wait. Away?” I asked. “Where to?” Maybe Mr. Sparkly was just an ordinary creeper?
He chewed his lower lip. “The place I saw him wasn’t like Earth,” he said. “It was like that.” To my shock he gestured toward the nexus. “Energy and colors and light.”
Throughout Nyx’s exile, she didn’t think much about all the men and women she’d beheaded, or the mullahs she’d pissed off, or the mines she’d planted, or the battles she’d lost. She thought about the ring. A bad left hook. Poor footwork. Blood in her eyes. Hornets on the mat. Because everything that happens after you climb out of a boxing ring, one-half of your face ballooning into a waxy blue-black parody of death while you spit bile and blood and some fleshy bit of somebody’s ear on the mat, slowly losing sight in one leaky eye, dragging your shattered, roach-bitten leg behind you … is easy. Routine. Just another day breathing. (p. 2)
Definitely recommended! Freaking amazing trilogy!
My reviews of:
Cover art by David Palumbo
“Talbon!” said Lord Eotrus. “Dispel the mist. Now!”
At his liege’s command, the sorcerer uttered forgotten words of eldritch power; secret words lost to all but the chosen few. The ancient sorcery he called up crushed the unnatural mist back against the night, though the darkness lingered beyond the limits of the soldiers’ torchlight.
“For glory and honor,” shouted Lord Eotrus. “For Odin! For Lomion!”
“For Lomion,” shouted the men.
… “Hey, you! Dinnertime! I’m over here, you scabby rats! Come and get me!”
The Hyundai is rocking with hellions as they pile on. I’m about to screech out of the lot – or at least make donuts until all the hellions head my way and leave the rest of the people alone – when I feel a thump. The car drops on one side. Then I see the shredded rubber of a tire being flung over the hood.
That was the front tire.
I stare dumbly at the ripped-up tire as it flops and wobbles to a standstill in the parking lot.
Then so many hellions pile onto my car that I can’t see the tire anymore.
I stroke the fur of my teddy bear. It’s all I can think to do.
Pooky Bear can’t help me in a vehicle. Not a lot of room to slice and dice.
That means I need to exit the car if I want a chance at getting out of this.
I sit in the car.
I wonder how long a person can stay in a vehicle.
But then, of course, the hellions begin pounding on the windshield. (p. 105)
“What do you do?” she asked.
“Well, it’s funny that you should ask. I do a little proofreading, sort of a family thing. My father did it before me, so I decided to carry on the tradition. Editing. Marking up manuscripts with red pen. Hence all the books.”
“I just had a marvelous thought. You can proofread my book.”
“Hang on,” he said, startled, “I wouldn’t want to presume on your acquaintance.”
“Don’t think of it,” she said. “I’m not at all offended by your asking.”
“Not at all offended …?” stuttered Peter.