Dustfinger inspected his reddened fingers and felt the taut skin. 'He might tell me how my story ends,' he murmured. Meggie looked at him in astonishment. 'You mean you don't know?' Dustfinger smiled. Meggie still didn't particularly like his smile. It seemed to appear only to hide something else. 'What's so unusual about that, princess?' he asked quietly. 'Do you know how your story ends?' Meggie had no answer for that.
The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There where books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory. Books on the TV set and in the closet, small piles of books, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new. They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages; they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fall over them.
Meggie Folchart: Having writer's block? Maybe I can help. Fenoglio: Oh yes, that's right. You want to be a writer, don't you? Meggie Folchart: You say that as if it's a bad thing. Fenoglio: Oh no, it's just a lonely thing. Sometimes the world you create on the page seems more friendly and alive than the world you actually live in.
Mmm, ' Bree licked the ice cream scoop and tossed it into the sink. 'Let's just say that for the sake of the baby, Alessandro and I have reached a sort of... an... agreement, I guess.' 'Does that mean I can't punch him anymore? 'Cause that was fun.' 'Yes. It does. Sorry.' 'So are you two... ' 'No. Hell no. Not after him using Rebecca Malford as a scratching post, ' Bree grumbled, her stomach clenching tight at that little reminder. 'He's what? Alessandro and that... viper?' 'That's right.' Bree clenched her teeth. 'Rebecca and Alessandro? Oh my God. Mental bleach! I need mental bleach!' Meggie rubbed her temples. 'Yeah, keep doing that for another week and you might be where I am right about now.' 'Oh, he's a smooth one, that's for sure, ' Meggie said with a sudden smile. 'What's with that look?' 'You're so jealous, ' Bree snorted, turning away from her and taking a seat opposite of Will. 'That's ridiculous.' 'And so true.
Look at your daughter, ' she whispered. 'As brave as... as.." She wanted to compare Meggie to a hero in some story but all the heroes she could think of were men, and anyway none of them seemed to her brave enough for comparison to the girl standing there, perfectly straight, scrutinizing Capricorn's Black Jackets, with her chin jutting out defiantly.
Can't you imagine? Haven't you told her about the place enough?' He tried the handle again, as if that could change anything. Meggie had covered the whole door with quotations. They looked to him now like magic spells written on the white paint in childish hand. Take me to another world! Go on! I know you can do it. My father has shown me how. Odd that your heart didn't simply stop when it hurt so much.
Desperate? So what? I'm desperate, too!" Fenoglio snapped at her. "My story is foundering in misfortune, and these hands here," he said holding them out to her, "don't want to write anymore! I'm afraid of words Meggie! 'Once they were like honey, now they're poison, pure poison! But what is a writer who doesn't love words anymore? What have I come to? This story is devouring me, crushing me, and I'm it's creator!
Because by now Elinor had understood this, too: A longing for books was nothing compared with what you could feel for human beings. The books told you about that feeling. The books spoke of love, and it was wonderful to listen to them, but they were no substitute for love itself. They couldn't kiss her like Meggie, they couldn't hug her like Resa, they couldn't laugh like Mortimer. Poor books, poor Elinor.
What I don't get is how this helps me. You two get superpowers, and I get what?'Cian smiled broadly. 'You have a power, Meggie. You have a magical pussy. It was sleeping with you together that brought us into our power. That vagina of yours is pure gold, lover.' Meg gave Cian a playful shove and rolled her eyes while he and his brother had a good laugh.'Don't go expecting to use it on anyone else, ' Beck said as though the thought had suddenly occurred to him. 'That only works on the two of us.'Meg walked up to him and gave him a saucy smile. 'Yes, Beck, I was planning on opening up shop. I was going to hang a sign on the cottage door and charge for it.
So Mo began filling the silence with words. He lured them out of the pages as if they had only been waiting for his voice, words long and short, words sharp and soft, cooing, purring words. They danced through the room, painting stained glass pictures, tickling the skin. Even when Meggie nodded off she could still hear them, although Mo had closed the book long ago. Words that explained the world to her, its dark side and its light side, words that built a wall to keep out bad dreams. And not a single bad dream came over that wall for the rest of the night.