Did you ever think she was your mate?' Lucas asked unable to help himself. Clyde tensed, seemingly caught off-guard by the question. 'I knew she wasn't mine, ' he said then exhaled. 'Angels don't mate, remember?' 'Then why did you make it so hard for her?' 'For her or for you?' 'For her. I couldn't care less how hard you made it for me.' 'Because I love her, ' Clyde responded simply. Lucas' jaw clenched then he exhaled, acknowledging that hearing another man admit he loved Jenna would never get easier. 'Not the way you do, but I love her. I wanted what was best for her. I thought you weren't it, ' Clyde added then turned to walk away. He paused and spun back around. 'One more thing. If you ever hurt her, I'll kill you.' Lucas let the fire in his heart fill his eyes. He would never hurt Jenna; they both knew it. 'I know. That's one of the reasons I haven't killed you myself.
She exhaled curtly. 'I'm a serryn. That's all you see. I'm just something to be tortured, slain or sold off as a commodity. That's hardly the most appealing of traits.' 'Tell your eyes that. Because you really shouldn't look at me the way you do. No serryn has looked at me like that.
Lindsay J. Pryor
We had to sit in this courtroom in Reno for six weeks. It was like Disneyworld. We had no idea what a subliminal message was - it was just a combination of some weird guitar sounds, and the way I exhaled between lyrics. I had to sing 'Better by You, Better Than Me' in court, a cappella. I think that was when the judge thought, 'What am I doing here? No band goes out of its way to kill its fans'.
Miles exhaled carefully, faint with rage and reminded grief. He does not know, he told himself. He cannot know... "Ivan, one of these days somebody is going to pull out a weapon and plug you, and you're going to die in bewilderment, crying, "What did I say? What did I say?" "What did I say?" asked Ivan indignantly.
Lois McMaster Bujold
Sometimes I feel like I've been waiting for someone to tell me when I can be normal again,' she said. 'I keep thinking I'll get a letter. Or a call. When does it happen?' Pete looked like he wanted to walk toward her, but then he fell back against the car. The staring contest between them for almost a minute, and finally Pete exhaled loudly. It's okay,' he said.
As a kid you always play with your siblings and your friends who can hold their breath the longest. I just held mine for six months. Literally when that last shot by (West Virginia's) Frank Young came up a little short was the first time I exhaled. I feel better about things because I think our team has earned our way to where we want to be ultimately.
The green of these mountains in my lungs smelled like an old friend, one who wouldn't tell lies to you. One who understood. One who knew pain didn't go away just because you wanted it to. And when I exhaled, only the sweet scent of smoke and s dry mouth remained. But the scent was enough to rekindle the memory.
Jason Jack Miller
I know.' The two words ghosted against the skin of her neck, sending goose bumps down her spine. 'But I want to touch you. I want to put my hands all over you. I want to kiss every inch of you and taste you as you come apart in my arms. I want to feel you wrapped around me with nothing but my name on your lips and the sheets a tangled mess beneath us. I want... ' He exhaled heavily into her ear. 'I want. I want. I want!
My gaze flew to him once more,noting the cigarette he set down even as he exhaled a long plume of white."Why are you lying there smoking while I'm chained to a wall?"I demanded.The look he gave me was a mixture of relief and cynicism."Since it seems you don't remember anything about the past two days,let me assure you,luv-I earned that smoke.
There was no air; only the dead, still night fired by the dog days of August. Not a breath. I had to suck in the same air I exhaled, cupping it in my hands before it escaped. I felt it, in and out, less each time... until it was so thin it slipped through my fingers forever. I mean, forever.
He didn't say anything. Didn't try any of the hugging bullshit, either, which was just as well. Instead, he placed a wooden case next to Tohr on the bed, exhaled some Turkish smoke, and went back for the exit like he couldn't wait to get out of the room. Except he stopped before he left, "I gotchu, my brother," he said to the door. "I know, V. You always have. ~Vishous and Tohrment Lover Reborn
Her thoughts pulsated through him, frantic, desperate, pleading for him to stay behind. 'I won't-can't, ' he murmured. 'If you're going, so am I.' She exhaled a laborious sigh and flung her arms around his neck; her warm breath fanned over his skin as she tightened her grip. 'If you die, Andrew, I'll track you across multiple dimensions just to say I warned you, ' she cautioned, voice tender.
So instead she settled on, "Did my father put you up to this?" Hale exhaled a quick laugh and shook his head. "He hasn't returned my calls since Barcelona." He leaned closer and whispered, "I think he might still be mad at me." "Yeah, well, that makes two of us." "Hey," Hale snapped. "We all agreed that that monkey seemed perfectly well trained at the time.
He reached forward to cup my cheek, the touch surprising me. "Please understand that no matter what I am or what has happened in the past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life." I exhaled after holding my breath for what felt like forever. "That's pretty heavy, Will." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of my neck. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.
Courtney Allison Moulton
The room was filled with smoke, dry worn-out smoke retaining in it like a web the insectile cadavers of dry husks of words which had been spoken and should be gone, the breaths exhaled not to be breathed again. But the words went on, and in those brief interruptions between cigarettes the exhalations were rebreathed.
He carried a pipe in his left hand, and as he examined Will at his leisure, he exhaled sending a cloud of sweet-smelling, cough-induced smoke. 'Finally broke down and admitted you're in love with me, have you?'He inquired of Will. 'I do enjoy these suprise midnight declarations.' He leaned against the doorway and waved a languid ringed hand. "Go along, have at it.
I am never alone wherever I am. The air itself supplies me with a century of love. When I breathe in, I am breathing in the laughter, tears, victories, passions, thoughts, memories, existence, joys, moments, and the hues of the sunlight on many tones of skin; I am breathing in the same air that was exhaled by many before me. The air that bore them life. And so how can I ever say that I am alone?
C. JoyBell C.
Miles jogged off, leaving her alone in the large and quiet room. Aimee stood still, waiting for her mind and heart to go back to normal, return to how she felt a week ago before seeing Miles again. But they didn't. Or wouldn't. She put both hands over her pounding heart, exhaled, and sank into a chair. Nut-burgers. Now what?
Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that.' Faole¡n exhaled. 'Creeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I'm jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat's.' 'I wasn't creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I'll creep anywhere I like, ' Colleen muttered with a petulant scowl. 'But I wasn't creeping.
There Albine lay, panting, exhausted by love, her hands clutched closer and closer to her heart, breathing her last. She parted her lips, seeking the kiss which should obliterate her, and then the hyacinths and tuberoses exhaled their incense, wrapping her in a final sigh, so profound that it drowned the chorus of roses, and in this culminating gasp of blossom, Albine was dead.
I was terrified of what might have happened to you, " I choked out. "I was terrified thinking the same about you." "The devilcraft-" I began. Patch exhaled beneath me, and my body dipped with his. His breath carried relief and raw emotion. His eyes, stripped of everything but sincerity, found mine. "My skin can be replaced. But you can't, Angel. When Dante left, I thought it was over. I thought I'd failed you. I've never prayed so hard in my life.
But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after - oh, that's love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she's gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock my the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of closed lashes on her cheeks. She's the one you can't put down.
Celaena opened her arms wide, Goldryn burning bright in one hand. 'Behold my power, Maeve. Behold what I grapple with in the deep dark, what prowls under my skin.' Celaena exhaled a breath and extinguished each and every flame in the city. The power wasn't in might or skill. It was in the control - the power lay in controlling herself.
Sarah J. Maas
My blood rose, mixing with my lingering fear of the unknown to drive her to a fever pitch. Her lips touched my lower neck and vertigo spun the room, burning tracings of desire to settle deep and low in me. I exhaled into the promise of more to come, calling it to me. I breathed it in like smoke, the rising passion starting a feeling of abandonment inside. I didn't care anymore if it was right or wrong. It just was.
My breathing slowed. I shaded her thick chestnut hair resting in a smooth curve against her face, a large bruise blazing across her cheek. I paused, looking over my shoulder to make certain I was alone. I drew her eye makeup, smudged by tears. In her watery eyes I drew the reflection of the commander, standing in front of her, his fist clenched. I continued to sketch, exhaled, and shook out my hands.
I ripped my left arm out of his hand and slammed my elbow into his solar plexus. He exhaled in a gasp. I lunged for the dagger and sat on top of him, my knees pinning his arms, my dagger on his throat. He lay still. 'I give up, ' he said and smiled. 'Your move.' Er. I was sitting atop the Beast Lord in my underwear, holding a knife to his throat. What the hell was my next move?
She died that night. Her last breath took her soul, I saw it in my dream. I saw her soul leave her body as she exhaled, and then she had no more needs, no more reason; she was released from her body, and being released, she continued her journey elsewhere, high in the firmament where soul material gathers and plays out all the dreams and joys of which we temporal beings can barely conceive, all the things that are beyond our comprehension, but even so, are not beyond our attainment if we choose to attain them, and believe that we truly can.
The crumbling castle, looming among the mists, exhaled the season, and every cold stone breathed it out. The tortured trees by the dark lake burned and dripped, their leaves snatched by the wind were whirled in wild circles through the towers. The clouds mouldered as they lay coiled, or shifted themselves uneasily upon the stone skyfield, sending up wreathes that drifted through the turrets and swarmed up hidden walls.
Richard exhaled. It was like somebody sprinkling pepper on his wound: Thousands of Biafrans were dead, and this man wanted to know if there was anything new about one dead white man. Richard would write about this, the rule of Western journalism: One hundred dead black people equal to one dead white person.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
You've got this job offer in Charlotte. I know. But if you want, that's something we can figure out together. I made a commitment to Cameron, so I need to stay in Chicago until she's back from maternity leave. But after that, I can-' 'I didn't take the job in Charlotte.' 'Oh. Right.' He exhaled, trying to catch up to speed. 'Well. You should know that I had at least two minutes left on that speech. Really quality stuff.' 'Sorry. I just thought this might be a good time to mention that I love you, too.' She made a rolling gesture. 'But, please-carry on.' He grinned. Sassy as ever.
Would you please just talk to me? Please?" Sally's voice was beginning to take on a high-pitched whine. "Oh, good grief. For the love of healthy ears everywhere, quit your belly aching, " Jen snapped, the clothes in her hands growing more wrinkled by the second. "Sally, there is nothing to talk about, okay? It is what it is." Sally threw her hands up in the air as she exhaled loudly. "No, it is not what it is, whatever the hell that means. It's a whole freaking lot more complicated than 'it is what it is'.
My parents say you're no good, Elijah.' I exhaled and killed the cigarette in the grass. Laughing, Eli's eyes went to my lips and his hands touched my bare midriff. 'Really? And what do you say?' He had brought his lips so close to mine that it became hard to think about my next words when all I wanted to do was crush my mouth to his. I wanted him to completely consume me. 'I think you're broken, ' I finally got out, and Eli arched a brow. 'But I think I'm broken too. I just don't know it yet.
To say prayers in a decent, delicate way is not heavy work. But to pray really, to pray till hell feels the ponderous stroke, to pray till the iron gates of difficulty are opened, till the mountains of obstacles are removed, till the mists are exhaled and the clouds are lifted, and the sunshine of a cloudless day brightens-this is hard work, but it is God's work, and man's best labor.
Edward McKendree Bounds
Oxford, in those days, was still a city of aquatint. In her spacious and quiet streets men walked and spoke as they had done in Newman's day; her autumnal mists, her grey springtime, and the rare glory of her summer days - such as that day - when the chestnut was in flower and the bells rang out high and clear over her gables and cupolas, exhaled the soft airs of centuries of youth. It was this cloistral hush which gave our laughter its resonance, and carried it still, joyously, over the intervening clamour.
What do you see when you look at me?' My eyes narrowed and I pressed my lips together, weighing my thoughts. All of his bimbo admirers aside, what did I see? What did my gut tell me about this man? What did it say that allowed me to wind up here with him, under such impulsive circumstances? 'You're a sad man, ' I swallowed. 'You're arrogant and set in your ways, but that creates a fortress for you. It's your safe haven. Behind the moat is someone who has lost something he loved, only I'm not sure what, or who. You're afraid of something and your loyalty is hidden away in a cell, wounded by betrayal.' I rested my head on the pillow. 'That's what I see.' 'On second thought, ' he exhaled, letting his head drop next to mine. 'You're psychic.
See the stars, Lily?" She sighed, surrendering. "Of course." "Do you think they can see the sun coming up?" "I don't know. Probably?" "Do you think they're scared?" "They're burning balls of gas, Calder." "Oh, c'mon. Where's the poet in you?" She exhaled, and I sensed her smile. "I see. Well, in that case, yes. They've finally come home. They are triumphant in their midnight kingdom. But the enemy approaches. They have the numbers on their side, but the enemy is bigger, stronger, with a history of winning that goes back to the dawn of time. They're definitvely terrified." I nodded. She understood my analogy. "But they don't run, Calder.
Anne Greenwood Brown
he was doing a breath hydrogen test. If you know the amount of hydrogen someone is exhaling orally, it's a simple matter to extrapolate the amount they're exhaling rectally. This is because a fixed percentage of hydrogen produced in the colon is absorbed into the blood and, and when it reaches the lungs, exhaled. The breath hydrogen test has given flatus researchers a simple, consistent measure of gas production that does not require the subject to fart into a balloon.
We shouldn't do this, ' he said again as he looked up into her eyes. 'But, God, I want to. I just ... ' He closed his eyes, exhaled hard. 'Pheeb. I'm a bad bet. There's no future here. I know this feels big, this thing between us, right now it feels huge-and shh, don't make a dick joke, I'm serious. But it's not going to feel as big or special tomorrow, or, shit, even later tonight. I mean, yeah, I can make you feel good. I know it. And God knows you can make me ... Jesus, you're so beautiful, I just -' She stopped him there, again, with a kiss, and just like that, it was as if something snapped.
I touched the combination lock. I concentrated so hard I felt like I was dead-lifting five hundred pounds. My pulse quickening. A line of sweat trickled down my nose. Finally I felt gears turning. Metal groaned, tumblers clicked, and the bolts popped back. Carefully avoiding the handle, I pried open the door with my fingertips and extracted an unbroken vial of green liquid. Hal exhaled. Thalia kissed me on the cheek, which she probably shouldn't haven't done while I was holding a tube of deadly poison. "You are so good," she said. Did that make the risk worth? Yeah, pretty much.
After a long while he sat upright with great effort, exhaled a sigh and reached for a clean sheet of lined paper, smoothing it out on the desk. He unscrewed the lid of his fountain pen, laid it perpendicular to his paper, and began to write. Often he compared his writing to white water. He had only to leap in to be dragged away on its rapids, thrown this way and that with his own will rendered impotent. While writing he found the words came from the muscles in his hands, the feel of the shaft of his pen, the locked joint of his elbow. the scratching noise of the nib marking paper and, underneath all that, some coordinating impulse in his guts. Certainly not from his mind.
I walked around him, champagne in hand. Great feeling. -Give me a flash, he said - just a little quick... I flashed opened the coat as I strolled by. He exhaled with a sigh- O, he said, Please Again. This time I stood squarely in front of him. He was sitting on the beautiful new over stuffed chair, and swung the coat open, all the way open. And then slowly closed it, and walked away, hips and heels swaying away from him. I could hear the groan. God, this was powerful. He came up behind me and slid his hand down over the fur, the softness, silkiness of the lining flowed over my naked body, a caress on every inch of my flesh -umm indeed. Now he was sliding his hands up my legs and under the coat. -Aah, Aah not yet, I said and pulled away from him. He moaned again - Please, he said...
He shook his head, just looking at me. - "What?" I asked. - "Nothing" he said. - "Why are you looking at me like that?" Augustus half smiled. "Because you`re beautiful. I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence." A brief awkward silence ensued. Augustus plowed through: "I mean, particularly given that, as you so deliciously pointed out, all of this will end in oblivion and everything." I kind of scoffed or sighed or exhaled in a way that was vaguely coughy and then said, "I`m not beau-" - "You are like a millennial Natalie Portman. Like V for Vendetta Natalie Portman." - "Never seen it." - "Really?" he asked. "Pixie-haired gorgeous girl dislikes authority and can`t help but fall for a boy she knows is trouble. It`s your autobiography, so far as I can tell." His every syllable flirted. Honestly, he kind of turned me on. I didn`t even know that guys could turn me on - not, like, in real life.
Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stock of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him crying: 'Stetson! You, who were with me in the ships at Mylae! That corpse you planted last year in your garden, Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable, -mon frere!
Simon?' 'Yeah?' 'Can you tell me a story?' He blinked. 'What kind of story?' 'Something where the good guys win and the bad guys lose. A nd stay dead.' 'So, like a fairy tale?' he said. He racked his brain. He knew only the Disney versions of fairy tales, and the first knew only the Disney versions of fairy tales, and the first image that came to mind was A riel in her seashell bra. He'd had a crush on her when he was eight. Not that this seemed like the time to mention it. 'No.' The word was an exhaled breath. 'We study fairy tales in school. A lot of that magic is real-but, anyway. No, I want something I haven't heard yet.' 'Okay. I've got a good one.' Simon stroked Isabelle's hair, feeling her lashes flutter against his neck as she closed her eyes. 'A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
In the country, a good he-snowstorm makes a lovely design for putting on a holiday greetings card. In the city it just makes an infernal mess for the street-cleaning department to wrestle with... By midday of next day it would be licked to a custard- molten into puddles of foggy slush where cellar furnaces exhaled their hot breath up out of sidewalk gratings, roiled and fouled and crunched down beneath the heels and the tires of the town, flung up in crumply billows by the conscripted shovel crews, and under the park trees and on the park meadows would show a stark and grayish cast like the face of a grimy pauper whose corpse the undertaker scanted. And the longer it stayed there the sootier and the dirtier and the deader-looking it would get to be. You may worry the city with your winter weathers; you cannot keep her licked for any great length of time.
Irvin S. Cobb
Zoe-" I said. "Stars, " she whispered. "I can see the stars again, my lady." A tear trickled down Artemis's cheek. "Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight." "Stars, " Zoe repeated. Her eyes fixed on the night sky. And she did not move again. Thalia lowered her head. Annabeth gulped down a sob, and her father put his hands on her shoulders. I watched as Artemis cupped her hand above Zoe's mouth and spoke a few words in Ancient Greek. A silvery wisp of smoke exhaled from Zoe's lips and was caught in the hand of the goddess. Zoe's body shimmered and disappeared. Artemis stood, said a kind of blessing, breathed into her cupped hand and released the silver dust to the sky. It flew up, sparkling, and vanished. For a moment I didn't see anything different. Then Annabeth gasped. Looking up in the sky, I saw that the stars were brighter now. They made a pattern I had never noticed before-a gleaming constellation that looked a lot like a girl's figure-a girl with a bow, running across the sky. "Let the world honor you, my Huntress, " Artemis said. "Live forever in the stars.
Rush-hour on the A rain. A blind man staggers forth, his cane tapping lightly own the aisle. He leans against the door, raises a violin to chin, and says I'm sorry to bother you, folks. But please. Just listen. And it kills me, the word sorry. As if something like music should be forgiven. He nuzzles into the wood like a lover, inhales, and at the first slow stroke, the crescendo seeps through our skin like warm water, we who have nothing but destinations, who dream of light but descend into the mouths of tunnels, searching. Beads of sweat fall from his brow, making dark roses on the instrument. His head swooning to each chord exhaled through the hollow torso. The woman beside me has put down her book, closed her eyes, the baby has stopped crying, the cop has sat down, and I know this train is too fast for dreaming, that these iron jaws will always open to swallow a smile already lost. How insufficient the memory, to fail before death. how will hear these notes when the train slides into the yard, the lights turned out, and the song lingers with breaths rising from empty seats? I know I am too human to praise what is fading. But for now, I just want to listen as the train fills completely with warm water, and we are all swimming slowly toward the man with Mozart flowing from his hands. I want nothing but to put my fingers inside his mouth, let that prayer hum through my veins. I want crawl into the hole in his violin. I want to sleep there until my flesh becomes music.
But what might a woman say about church as she? What might a woman say about the church as body and bride? Perhaps she would speak of the way a regular body moves through the world-always changing, never perfect-capable of nurturing life, not simply through the womb, but through hands, feet, eyes, voice, and brain. Every part is sacred. Every part has a function. Perhaps she would speak of impossible expectations and all the time she's wasted trying to contort herself into the shape of those amorphous silhouettes that flit from magazines and billboards into her mind. Or of this screwed-up notion of purity as a status, as something awarded by men with tests and checklists and the power to give it and take it away. Perhaps she would speak of the surprise of seeing herself-flaws and all-in the mirror on her wedding day. Or of the reality that with new life comes swollen breasts, dry heaves, dirty diapers, snotty noses, late-night arguments, and a whole army of new dangers and fears she never even considered before because life-giving isn't nearly as glamorous as it sounds, but it's a thousand times more beautiful. Perhaps she would talk about being underestimated, about surprising people and surprising herself. Or about how there are moments when her own strength startles her, and moments when her weakness-her forgetfulness, her fear, her exhaustion-unnerve her. Maybe she would tell of the time, in the mountains with bare feet on the ground, she stood tall and wise and felt every cell in her body smile in assent as she inhaled and exhaled and in one loud second realized, I'm alive! I'm enfleshed! only to forget it the next. Or maybe she would explain how none of the categories created for her sum her up or capture her essence.
Rachel Held Evans
Grace was screwed. Royally screwed. As in, her career was over. Finished. Finite. She turned on the windshield wipers and slowed the car as she drove through the rain in the mountains. With a renewed grip on the steering wheel, she sent a quick prayer that the rain would stop. A little sprinkle she could handle. A storm... well, that was another matter entirely. She puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. If only she was in Scotland for a holiday, but that wasn't the case at all. In a last-ditch effort to give her muse a good swift kick in the pants, Grace decided to travel to Scotland. All her friends thought she had lost her mind. Her editor thought it was just one more excuse in a very long line of them as to why she hadn't turned the book in. Grace wished she knew the reason the words just stopped coming. One day they were there, and the next... gone, vanished. Poof! Writing wasn't just her career. It was her life. Because within the words and pages she was able to write about heroines who had relationships she would never have. It was the sad truth, but it was the truth. Grace accepted her lot... in a way. She might realize the string of miserable dates were complete misses and admit that. However, the stories running through her head allowed her to dream as far as she could, and encounter men and adventures sitting behind a computer never would. Not being able to find the words anymore was like having someone steal her soul. She breathed a sigh of relief when the rain stopped and she was able to turn off her windshield wipers. In the two hours since she checked into the BandB, it hadn't stopped raining. Rain was a part of being in Scotland, and she was pushing herself with her fear of storms to be out in it as well. It proved how far she would go to find her soul again. She needed to write, to sink into another world where she could find happiness and a love that lasted forever. Now she was armed with her laptop and steely determination. She would find her muse again. Just as soon as she found the right place. The scenery along the highway was stunning, but the noise of the passing vehicles would be too much. Grace needed somewhere off the beaten path. Somewhere she could pretend she was the only person left in the world.
What are you doing following me around the back streets of London, you little idiot?' Will demanded, giving her arm a light shake. Cecily's eyes narrowed. 'This morning it was cariad (note: Welsh endearment, like 'darling' or 'love'), now it's idiot.' 'Oh, you're using a Glamour rune. There's one thing to declare, you are not afraid of anything when you live in the country. But this is London.' 'I'm not afraid of London, ' Cecily said defiantly. Will leaned closer, almost hissing in her ear and said something very complicated in Welsh She laughed. 'No, it wouldn't do you any good to tell me to go home. You are my brother, and I want to go with you.' Will blinked at her words. You are my brother, and I want to go with you. It was the sort of thing he was used to hearing Jem say. Although Cecily was unlike Jem in every other conceivable possible way, she did share one quality with him. Stubbornness. When Cecily said she wanted something, it did not express an idle desire, but an iron determination. 'Do you even care where I'm going?' he said. 'What if I were going to hell?' 'I've always wanted to see hell, ' Cecily said. 'Doesn't everyone?' 'Most of us spend our time trying to stay out of it, Cecily. I'm going to an ifrit den, if you must know, to purchase drugs from vile, dissolute criminals. They may clap eyes on you, and decide to sell you.' 'Wouldn't you stop them?' 'I suppose it would depend on whether they cut me a part of the profit.' She shook her head. 'Jem is your parabatai, ' she said. 'He is your brother, given to you by the Clave, but I am your sister by blood. Why would you do anything for him, but you only want me to go home?' 'How do you know the drugs are for Jem?' Will said. 'I'm not an idiot, Will.' 'No, more's the pity. Jem- Jem is like the better part of me. I would not expect you to understand. I owe him. I owe him this.' 'So what am I?' Cecily said. Will exhaled, too desperate to check himself. 'You are my weakness.' 'And Tessa is your heart, ' she said, not angrily, but thoughtfully. 'I am not fooled. As I told you, I'm not an idiot. And more's the pity for you, although I suppose we all want things we can't have.' 'Oh, ' said Will, 'and what do you want?' 'I want you to come home.' A strand of black hair was stuck to her cheek by the dampness, and Will fought the urge to pull her cloak closer about her, to make her safe as he had when she was a child. 'The Institute is my home, ' Will sighed, and leaned his head against the stone wall. 'I can't stand out her arguing with you all evening, Cecily. If you're determined to follow me into hell, I can't stop you.' 'Finally, ' she said provingly. 'You've seen sense. I knew you would, you're related to me.' Will fought the urge to shake her. 'Are you ready?' She nodded, and he raised his hand to knock on the door.