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Screw this. He’d blown his shot at nice-and-easy, which only left quick-and-brutal—my favorite way to play.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
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Harmony glanced to her left, and my gaze followed hers to the living room, where my aunt had died, my cousin had been restored, and I'd whacked a psychotic grim reaper with a cast-iron skillet. Weirdest. Tuesday. Ever.
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Maybe I won't look so bad when you're not standing next to me.
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Well that's too bad, because this is an assassination. No, this is an execution. The difference would be...? Assassination is murder. Execution is justice.
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He went down like a cheerleader after prom.
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Tod's pale brows arched halfway up his forehead, and he looked suddenly, achingly wistful. She knows not what she says... Maybe not. But I was starting to get a pretty good idea.
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Wow, Liv said, when I dropped the mallet back into the drawer. That looked like fun. I call dibs on the next over-the-top destruction of evidence.
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I wanted a do over. A time machine. That magic wand. But real life didn't have any easy outs, and very few happily-ever-afters. The real world was more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with most of the choices ripped out before you even opened the cover.
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Had I just begged for an audience with Death?
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The worst memories stick with us, while the nice ones always seem to slip through our fingers.
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You think I need to be rescued? I think it doesn't hurt to let someone else do the rescuing every now and then, when your own armor starts to get banged up.
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Regret couldn't fix what he's broken. Apologies couldn't bring back what he's lost. What we'd lost.
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I laughed and it almost felt good. Is that a dig at my liquor cabinet? Cam smiled. That wasn't liquor, it was swill. And that wasn't a cabinet, it was a drawer.
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The queen was my favorite chess piece. Unlike the women I knew in real life, she was powerful. Her job was to defend her husband at all costs, because while he was weak and practically defenseless—only allowed to move one square at a time—she was the strongest player on the board, hindered by no restrictions at all.
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When he finally stopped calling, the hush felt strange. It felt like the whole world went silent when Marc did, as if I could see peoples mouths moving, but I couldnt hear what they were saying. Like I'd gone deaf.
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It was an addiction. A pointless, self-destructive addiction. But really, is there any other kind?
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