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When I glanced at the chair, it started to shake. I’d like to think it was scared of me, but I rarely invoked that response in living things, let alone inanimate objects.

Kelley Armstrong

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Kelley Armstrong
Age: 56
Born: 1968
Born: December 14
Novelist
Writer
city of Sudbury
Sarah
Alone
Chair
Living
Chairs
Things
Shakes
Think
Rarely
Thinking
Scared
Invoked
Like
Response
Inanimate
Objects
Glanced
Started
Shake

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Your mother sets you up blind dates? With guys like that? The corners of his mouth twitched. She doesn't like you very much, does she?
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I understand that I may make mistakes with characters who don't share my own background, but I commit to doing my best.
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Believe me, I have better things to do than sabotage your friendships. No one else's world revolves around you, Cassandra. -Paige to Cassandra
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Antonio- Just in time, Pete. Five more minutes of reading this and she'd have been in a coma. Peter- Are we such bad company that you'd rather hide out in here reading that old thing?
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When I leaned a little too close to the doorway, my inner voice piped up, telling me not to be stupid. The guy with the bionic senses was better equipped for this.
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His gaze travelled down me, then zipped back to my face. Sorry. Focus, Rafe. I am. Just on the wrong thing.
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Using supernatural beings to build the perfect weapon? Intriguing idea. Not really, I said. They did it on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A sub-par season. I slept through half the episodes.
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As I recall, I was still dressed when I fell asleep. Just making sure you were comfortable. And making yourself equally comfortable, I see.
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Lavina led me to an abandoned warehouse. I think that at some point someone decreed that all clandestine meetings must be held in one. Woe to the criminal overlord who lives in a city thriving with commerce, with no empty warehouses to be found. He probably needs to build one, just to have a place to arrange late-night meetings. (Bewitched)
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Derek lunged. He hit me in the shoulder and knocked me to the floor, landing on top of me. His body jerked, like he'd been hit with the spell, and I let out a yelp, struggling to get up, but he held me down, whispering I'm okay, it's okay until the words penetrated.
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You want to keep looking? I asked. Yeah, maybe. I'll leave you to it, then. I started for the door. No. He said it quickly, and reached for my arm, but stopped before he touched me. I mean, if you're tired, sure, but you don't have to. Derek doesn't want her to leave ♥
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Boo, I said. He reacted as all mutts react when I confront them. He leapt from his chair and dove for the nearest exit, shaking in terror. In my dreams. He glanced at me and started looking for Clay. It never failed. Mutts only quaked when I appeared because it usually meant Clayton wasn't far behind. I was nothing but a harbinger of doom.
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A stereotype becomes a stereotype when a significant percentage of the population appears to conform to it.
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It reminded me of what Dad said after every snail’s crawl home from Albany when snow hit.“It’s New York, people. It’s winter. We get snow. If you aren’t prepared to deal with it, move to Miami.
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The secretary moved in to block Simon as I followed Thierry into the office. As the door closed, I heard her whisper, I think it's very sweet, you sticking up for your brother like that. I'm not trying to be sweet, Simon said, raising his voice so Thierry could hear. I'm trying to be fair. But apparently no one's interested in that.
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Cleavage is great, she said. Like an extra pocket.
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Oh my God. You're a witch-hunter. I'm a witch. Hate to break it to you Daniel, but if you're a witch-hunter? You're doing it wrong. He gave me a sidelong smile. Maybe it's not that kind of hunting. Then you're definitely doing it wrong.
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He was tall and scrawny with a face that could be mistaken with Keith Richards on a bad day.
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You wanna fight? I asked. He looked up at me and, for just a second, hesitated, then said, Yeah. I do. Well, I'll save you the trouble. You win.
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I hear voices. A shout. A laugh. Clay's laugh. I strained to see through the night. Fog had rolled in from Lake Ontario, but I could hear him laughing. The concrete turned to grass. The fog wasn't from the lake, but from a pond. Our pond. I was at Stonehaven, bounding through the back acres. Clay was running ahead of me.
Kelley Armstrong