Roman shook his staff at me. “This is a stupid plan!” The raven at the top of the staff opened its wooden beak and screeched at me.— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 14 listopada 2017
“Did you know that when you’re mad, your Russian accent disappears?”
Sentence that took 20 minutes: "The blades looked to be about twenty one or twenty two inches long with a swept profile, similar to the Filipino espada, a crossbreed between Spanish swords and traditional garab blades." Oy. Research.— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 15 listopada 2017
When nothing comes to mind:— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 17 listopada 2017
I turned to Julie and the sheriffs.
“Well,” Beau said, “Something witty here.”
“Parents,” Roman said. “Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them. You call, they don’t pick up. You don’t call, they get offended. Then they chew a hole in your head because you’re a bad son.”— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 17 listopada 2017
“I see you,” my voice spread through the building. Fury boiled inside me, blotting out everything else. “I see all of you. There is no escape.”— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 21 listopada 2017
That done, I sat Conlan down, got his fire truck out of storage, and chanted it into life. The truck was a gift from Jim and Dali for his first birthday. Large enough for a small child to sit in and climb on, it had a tiny enchanted water engine, which powered lights and a ladder. It must’ve cost them an arm and a leg. Conlan adored the truck. He showed no interest in riding on it, but he liked to climb on the roof, which usually took him a solid five minutes and multiple tries. Once he ascended, he would wave his arms and make strange noises. Sometimes he fell asleep on top of it. Like his dad, my son enjoyed being in high places.
Convincing him that he’d done nothing wrong wouldn’t work. He needed absolution or punishment. He wanted the In-Shinar.— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 2 listopada 2017
Something in me died a little. I would never again be just Kate.— Ilona Andrews (@ilona_andrews) 2 listopada 2017