She can’t help it. She loves the con.
I tell myself I’m not like her, but I have to admit I love it too.
Memory is slippery. It bends to our understanding of the world, twists to accommodate our prejudices. It is unreliable. Witnesses seldom remember the same things. They identify the wrong people. They give us the details of events that never happened. Memory is slippery, but my memories suddenly feel slipperier.
Holly BlackYour mother doesn’t make mistakes.” I hear her blow out the smoke. “Baby, I know what I’m doing.
Holly BlackHe’s quiet then. We lie next to each other, twin corpses waiting for burial.
Holly BlackShe sat in the dew-damp grass and ripped up clumps of it, tossing them in the air and feeling vaguely guilty about it. Some gnome ought to pop out of the tree and scold her for torturing the lawn.
Holly BlackIt's starting to sink in," Corny said. "I can almost look at you without wanting to bang my head against the wall.
Holly BlackNevermore," Lolli said. "That's what Luis calls it, because there are three rules: Never more than once a day, never more than a pinch at a time, and never more than two days in a row.
Holly BlackIt's not that I want you to be a certain way--don't you want a boyfriend?"
"Why bother with that? Let's find incubi."
"Incubi?"
"Demons. Plural. Like octopi. And we're much more likely to find them"--her voice dropped conspiratorially--"while swimming naked in the Atlantic a week before Halloween than practically anywhere else I can think of.
Kaye took another drag on her cigarette and dropped it into her mother's beer bottle. She figured that would be a good test for how drunk Ellen was--see if she would swallow a butt whole
Holly BlackEveryone danced -- sweaty bodies packed tight, drunk with sound.
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