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The gentle sound of her words became the shushing of my blood in my head, and I listened, hovering on the edge of consciousness, bathed in the oblivion of whatever drug they had given me.
Kim Harrison
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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Head
Listened
Whatever
Edge
Sound
Gentle
Words
Edges
Given
Became
Drug
Bathed
Consciousness
Hovering
Blood
Oblivion
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Trent looked me up and down. “Is that all you’re going to do?” My pulse quickened, and I gazed at the front of the basilica where the scratching was coming from. “I might have a snack later if nothing comes through those doors.
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Rachel knew what she was doing. And when she didn't, she could improvise on the fly, coming up with options that left a lot of collateral damage but usually only hurt herself, not the people around her. It was one of the things he would never admit that he admired about her.
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I’d given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.
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Listen before you draw your battle lines, lest you alienate your allies.
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Do you have a sleeping bag?” I stared at him. “No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of ’06.
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Pierce jerked his hand from Trent and pushed himself straight. “Kalamack Industries,” he said, expression twisted as he wiped his hand on his pants. “I knew your father.” “I do not freaking believe this,” I said, shifting to stand where I could see both of them. Al beamed. “Amazing who you can meet in an elevator.
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I'd never seen a man who could outshop me, but Jenks was a master.
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Coffee. I could smell coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
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Trent and Ellasbeth did the nasty? Ewwww!
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No, you just keep crashing my life. Look— I said, and Al grunted. Here it comes, the demon muttered. Listen. Listen to this, runt. She's going to have a list.
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Elves apparently had a short childhood. Not like witches, who seemed to take forever to grow up, according to Jenks.
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A witch, a vampire, and a pixy walk into a bar, I thought as I led the way into the Squirrel’s End. It was early, and the sun had yet to set when the door swung shut behind Jenks, sealing us in the warm air smelling faintly of smoke. Immediately Nick yanked it open to come in behind us. And there’s the punch line.
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I’m your worst nightmare come to walk this side of the lines. I’m an elf, Trent something you’re forgotten how to be. You’re scared of black magic. I can see fear shimmering under your aura like sweat. I live and breathe black magic. I’m so tainted with it that I will use it without thought, without guilt and without hesitation.
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Okay, you drive, she said. I'll sit with m head hanging out of the window like a golden retriever.
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And if he is lying and he double-crosses you, I’ll kill him for you.” From anyone else, it would have been an idle threat, and I smiled, feeling loved. (Ivy and Rachel)
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I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.
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Lately I’d begun carrying pain amulets in my bag, like some people have breath mints.
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Breaking rules isn't bad when what you're doing is more important than the rule itself
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Married pixy, I told myself, forcing my eyes back to the shelf of ceramic animals. Fifty-four kids. Beautiful wife, sweet as sugar, who would kill me in my sleep while apologizing for it.
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Confused, I asked, The coven's what? Plumber, Ivy said, looking pale as she leaned on Glenn. You know. Stops leaks? Oh goodie. I'm a leak.
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