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A girl like that, Grandad said, perfumes herself with ozone and metal filings.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Metals
Girl
Filings
Like
Grandad
Perfumes
Ozone
Filing
Perfume
Metal

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The row of dolls watched her impassively from the bookshelf, their tea party propriety almost certainly offended.
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Marks forget that whenever something's too good to be true, that's because it's a con.
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I need your help, says the tiny figure. Her voice is sad and soft and sounds like Lila's, but with an odd accent that might just be how cats sound when they talk.
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If I'm not a murderer, asked Corny, how come I keep killing people?
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The more powerful you become, the more others will find ways to master you. They'll do it through those you love and those you hate. They will find the bit and the bridle that fits your mouth and will make you yield.
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They say that nameless things change constantly—that names fix them in place like pins.
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She 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.
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For me the curse is a crutch, but the con is everything.
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I thought you were her knight, but you have become only her woodsman--taking little girls into the forest to cut out their hearts.
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He’s quiet then. We lie next to each other, twin corpses waiting for burial.
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God, I hate you,” she says. “So much. Why do boys think that it will be better to lie and tell a girl how much they loved her and how they only dumped her for her own good? That they only tried to rearrange her brain for her own good? Does it make you feel better, Cassel? Does it? Because from my perspective, it really sucks.
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Greg stands up, wiping his mouth. I saw your mother's trial in the paper, Sharpe. I know you're just like her. If I was, I would make you beg to blow me, I sneer.
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It's starting to sink in, Corny said. I can almost look at you without wanting to bang my head against the wall.
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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.
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Don't be drinking the Haterade.
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We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That's why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.
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Allow me to explain how my whole life has prepared me for this moment. I am used to girls screaming, and your screams – will be sweeter than another’s cries of love.
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I'm afraid my voice is going to break. I am afraid she is going to hear how much this hurts.
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Nevermore, 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.
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You better get over here with my car,” Grandad says. “Before I call the cops and tell them you stole it.” “Sorry,” I say contritely. Then the rest of what he said sinks in and I laugh. “Wait, did you just threaten me with calling the police? Because that I’d like to see.
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