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HAPA was like mint. You could rip it up, and six months later, it was back, healthier than ever. Mint smelled better, though, and you could make juleps out of it. I don’t know what I could make out of HAPA. Compost, maybe.

Kim Harrison

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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Make
Six
Like
Later
Months
Maybe
Compost
Though
Smelled
Back
Mint
Better
Healthier
Ever
Rip

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She was only a year old, but elves grew up fast. Not like witches, who Jenks swore were not able to be on their own until they were thirty. Ahem.
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What are you doing now?” Al questioned, listing heavily as he tucked another one of those bottles under his arm and staggered for the cot half hidden behind a curtain. “Seeing if your circumcision is gone? It is.
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I'll wait for you under the bluebells. I'll be there always.
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Hey, ah, does anyone want a cookie or something? Oh yeah. A cookie. That would make everything better. Dunked in a shot of tequila , maybe? Or better yet, just the bottle? Yeah, that ought to do it.
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Al was cruel, vindictive, angry, elegant, powerful. He gave me strength, he gave me wisdom, not only about magic, but about myself. He was a lot like Trent, only harsher around the edges.
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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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I am black,” she said, and a shudder rippled through me. “I am foul with a thousand years of demon curses. Don’t cross me or I will bring you and your house down. Rachel is the only clean thing I have, and you won’t sully her to further your high ideas.
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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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I want one thing I can point to and say, 'that is good, and it's a part of me.'
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I ought to file charges of uncommon stupidity against you for letting her try this alone. ~ Newt, Black Magic Sanction, Kim Harrison
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You can trust me to keep my word. I always keep my word, promises or threats.
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I'd say she's get us both fired, but the I.S. doesn't let anyone go. Alive.
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A demon was asking me what I wanted. My eyes flicked to Al, and he shrugged. “What do you want?” he said softly.
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You should be dead, he said, his voice full of wonder. How is it that you're still alive? Jaw clenched, I worked at his grip on me, trying to get my fingers between him and my wrist. I work hard at it.
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Happy endings were never handed out. You had to fight for them, earn them with bruised hearts and sacrifices.
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Okay, I like him,” I admitted. “But it takes more than a nice body, Jenks. Jeez, I do have a little depth. You’ve got a great body, and you don’t see me trying to get into your Fruit of the Looms.
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