1
" My mom believed that you make your own luck. Over the stove she had hung these old, maroon painted letters that spell out, “MANIFEST.” The idea being if you thought and dreamed about the way you wanted your life to be -- if you just envisioned it long enough, it would come into being.
But as hard as I had manifested Astrid Heyman with her hand in mine, her blue eyes gazing into mine, her lips whispering something wild and funny and outrageous in my ear, she had remained totally unaware of my existence. Truly, to even dream of dreaming about Astrid, for a guy like me, in my relatively low position on the social ladder of Cheyenne Mountain High, was idiotic. And with her a senior and me a junior? Forget it.
Astrid was just lit up with beauty: shining blonde ringlets, June sky blue eyes, slightly furrowed brow, always biting back a smile, champion diver on the swim team. Olympic level.
Hell, Astrid was Olympic level in every possible way. "
― Emmy Laybourne
3
" That afternoon, long after the stool has been put away and the waltzes have stopped, while Werner sits with his transceiver listening to nothing, a little redheaded girl in a maroon cape emerges from a doorway, maybe six or seven years old, small for her age, with big clear eyes that remind him of Jutta’s. She runs across the street to the park and plays there alone, beneath the budding trees, while her mother stands on the corner and bites the tips of her fingers. The girl climbs into the swing and pendulums back and forth, pumping her legs, and watching her opens some valve in Werner’s soul. This is life, he thinks, this is why we live, to play like this on a day when winter is finally releasing its grip. "
8
" Her feet moved into the vast space, but all she couldsee was Cyrus. He strode through the room the way acaptain commands his ship. Was it possible his maroon bruise made him more dashing? He was a fine sight in a black broadcloth coat. Hersalacious gaze dropped to a brass button lower on hiswaistcoat. The metal glimmered, winking at her withflirtatious intent very near the tuft of hair she rememberedso well at his navel. The corner of Cyrus’s mouth crooked. If shelooked ready to devour him, he read the message onher face, no words required. “Claire.” He said her name like a treasured sound. Then, herlandlord bent low over her hand, kissing her knucklesand keeping her fingers in a tender hold.Her flesh sung a merry tune recalling how she’dgripped those broad shoulders of his in a fit of passion.Was that only two nights ago? Her cheeks turned hotat the memory. Cyrus rose to his full height, holding her hand. Heplanted a kiss on her forehead. “Mmmm…” he hummed approvingly. “You smellof almonds.” His lips lingered on her hairline, givingher another soft kiss. “And vanilla, I think. Somethingyou cooked?” He breathed in her scent, standing close yet notintimidating in the least. His own smell was cleanand starched with a hint of coffee. She reached high,touching his face like a woman with every right topartake of the feast he offered. “It’s face powder.” One finger stroked the smoothsquare of his jaw, her voice curving with amusement. “Today I join the ranks of ladies who meet for luncheon,and I can’t be sure if I’ve been lured here orgoaded by one very challenging man put on earth toharass my senses.” She caressed his jaw, the grain of his skin smoothto the touch. He must’ve shaved in the last hour. Hismouth quirked sideways, pressing the maroon bruisehigher up his cheek. “Something tells me you’re the perfect woman tosoothe such a man or put him in his place.” His pewterstare flicked over her exposed skin, settling on hercleavage. “As to your senses, I shall treat them withthe utmost care. "
9
" As we strolled into the hospital, I couldn’t help thinking about Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe” because I was having a difficult time staying calm. I had been kidnapped and beaten senseless by an agent of Lucifer, and yet the white coats the doctors wore scared me just as badly. The men who had taken me from my mother wore those same damned lab coats. Every time I saw one, it awakened a dormant fear inside me—fear that I’d be dragged away from someone I loved again, fear that I’d be placed into the waiting hands of another horrible person. It would never truly go away.
Michael’s shoulder bumped mine, which shook me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. “What?”
“You’re frowning.”
“Am I supposed to be smiling right now?”
He faced forward, looking at our reflection in the elevator doors. “No, but you look like you’re about to bolt at any second.”
I watched the digital numbers change one by one as we rose up to the right floor, fiddling with the rosary in the pocket of my leather jacket. Somehow, the beads had a calming effect on me. “I’m fine.”
“Hard ass.”
A tiny smirk touched my lips. “Stop thinking about my butt. You’re an archangel.”
He grinned, but didn’t reply. "
― Kyoko M. , The Black Parade (The Black Parade, #1)
10
" The river was glossy, narrow, and quick, a beautiful green color, with the white and maroon striped college punts strung along the near bank. .... The sun, westering, heavy, and hazy, was in those great final throes of energy before the sky whitens and clears, and evening comes. I stood and watched it. That immense body, dying trillions of feet away from me, still warming my face with its steady insensate chemistries. "
― Charles Finch , The Last Enchantments