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I’d been declared—over my loud and sustained protests—Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.

Karen Chance

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Karen Chance
Age: 24
Born: 2000
Born: January 1
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Orlando
Florida
Protest
Chief
Chiefs
Seer
Loud
Protests
World
Seers
Declared
Sustained
Supernatural

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You know, I've lived a long time, he told me, massaging my calf more firmly now. And I met a lot of people. But I ain't never met a woman made me want to beat her to death as often as you.
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I left it with a warmer,” he said drily. Because war mages ate their fried chicken frozen to the ground and they liked it.
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This was Dante's. Crazy was what we had for breakfast when we ran out of Corn Flakes
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Take them off!” I told him, grabbing the front of his jeans. “Take everything off!” “I’m trying!” “Try harder!
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There are things we want, and things we may have.... Sanity lies in knowing the difference.
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And then Mircea finally let me down, only to get his hands inside the coat and push me against the wall. I'm dirty, I protested. He waggled his eyebrows. Promise? Mircea! I laughed in spite of myself.
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Can we just do this?” Ray asked tightly, clinging to Zheng’s already slightly elongated arm. Because Louis-Cesare wasn’t the only one with a master power around here. “Let go,” Zheng told him. “I’m the rubber band you’re the spitball. And spitballs don’t hold on to rubber bands.” “Die in a fire,” Ray told him savagely. But he let go.
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I’d never known that anyone could kiss in English, kiss in apologies.
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You know, dulceata, there are times when I truly believe you are the most frightening person I know. Thank you?
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You will die a worse death if you do not leave my domain,” a voice thundered down from the third story of the old tenement. “I am a servant of the Sacred Fire, the wielder of the flame of Arnor—” “So I should call you Gandalf?
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I thought there was a good chance the fridge was possessed. It was subtle about it, but I had its number. I knew its ways. Oh yes.
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I was tops at the Scarlet O'Hara school of emotional distancing. I always thought about the uncomfortable stuff tomorrow, and, as everyone knows, tomorrow never comes.
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He had the look of an atheist who’d just had a visit from God: stunned, disbelieving and faintly ill.
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Then why are you getting dressed?” “Maybe I don’t like being the only naked one in the room,” I said sarcastically. And immediately regretted it. “That is easily remedied,” he told me, and pulled off his sweater.
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Fresh blood at midnight isn't red. It's a purplish black that easily blends into the shadows.
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It's about time! It's supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.
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And why not?” “You know why! This is a bad idea.” “Perhaps I like a challenge.” “Perhaps you’re a glutton for punishment!” “Perhaps I am in love.
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Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God.
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You love me? He just looked at me for a moment. And then he reared back his head and laughed, a rich, mellow sound, unreserved and unashamed. No, not at all. I regularly battle gods for women I dislike!
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I stared at him, unable to believe this was happening. That he could just disappear, along with everything rich and strange he’d brought into my life. Vanished, like magic.
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