You're dead," I repeated. "So why are you in my dream?"
He raised the bill of his olive drab ball cap with one finger. " Good question. Morbid, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Dreaming about dead peolpe. Creepy. You ever see a therapist about that?"
"I'm not -" Even in dreams, I couldn't win an argument. Even when he was dead.

Rachel Caine

Mots clés dream jonathan firestorm joanne

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I didn't bring you here," he said. "You think you're Miss Special Destiny of the year?"
"No," I shot back, furious. "And I don't damn well want to be - whatever the hell you are. But sometimes there isn't a choice. Right?"
"Careful. You might accidentally make some sense. Ruin your reputation."
"You are infuriating!"
"Yep," he agreed. "It's been said.

Rachel Caine

Mots clés dream jonathan firestorm joanne

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You went back in time,” he repeated, “and you expect his cell phone to work?”
“Well, no, I just, I mean, I came back and he hasn’t! Shouldn’t he have?”
Morrison, very steadily, said, “Were you together?”
“No! I just said he went to fight the Morrigan!”
“I see.” There was a pause. “The man is seventy-four years old, Joanie. He can take care of himself. If you were,” a great and patient pause filled the line before he went on, “time traveling. If you were time traveling and got separated, then I can’t think of any reason he would necessarily come back to the present at the same time you did.”
“Except I was the focal point, it was my fault, it --!”
“Joanne. Siobhan. Siobhan Grainne MacNamarra Walkingstick.”
I didn’t think anybody had ever said my name like that before. I gulped down a hysterical sob and whispered, “Yeah?”
Morrison, with gentle emphasis, said, “I love you. Now pull yourself together and go find the bad guy,” and hung up.

C.E. Murphy

Mots clés morrison joanne

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