Devon Monk

“Do you know the Guardians?” I asked Zay. “Is there some kind of club or yearly get-together where Guardians get drunk, wear funny hats, and compare war stories?”

“Hallelujah might be putting itself on the map, but that mark would be made in blood, as well as iron.”

“Don't know about my knives, but my gun's made of pain.”

“Looks like it’s game time,” Shame said. “Beautiful day for some ass kicking, don’t you think?”

“For a brief, weird minute I felt like Dorothy in Oz, walking down the street with Terric the doubtful, Shame the brainless, and heartless Zay.”

“Stone and blocks, like butter and bread.”

“Let’s use our heads,” he said, giving Shame a hard look. Shame just grinned. “That’s my favorite thing to use.”

“Horseshit,” Shame said cheerfully. “He can dispossess you and die. Pretty easy, really. Most people die the right way the first time. You’d think a genius like him wouldn’t screw it up so badly.”

“If you need us, for anything, never forget we are here for you. All of us. You have done amazing things to make this world a better place.” That was really sweet. And sincere. And if I didn’t look away from his kind expression, I was just going to cry like a little girl. “Wait until you see my encore,” I said.”

“But it is clear to me that our survival—both yours and mine—will be dictated by how well you and I can work together.” “So we’re screwed?”

“I think you’re possessed.” “Old news.” “Huh. Anyone I know?” “My dad. It’s a family issue I’m working on.”

“I needed sleep. Big squishy bunches of it. Soon.”

“And you thought that rock was just ugly,” Shame said. “It’s ugly and powerful.” “No wonder you like it so much. Birds of a feather . . . ” Terric mumbled”

“He was like an undead boomerang. A zomberang.”

“What’s the matter, suddenly develop a fashion sense?”

“The last void stone I’d worn was a beautiful black stone caught in vines of copper and silver. It looked like a necklace, a piece of art, really. This thing was spud-ugly.”

“Gotta say you Portland people take weird to a new level.”

“The pillow was heaven feathers in six-hundred-count cotton joy.”

“Oh, I was so not a wilting flower. I’d let a man pick me up and carry me because I couldn’t handle the price of using magic when I was dead. Again.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you. You used to be such a nice girl. Now you’ve gone all stabby and whatnot.”

“Mouth in gear, brain stuck in neutral.”

“I’m okay. I’ve finally made a few new friends.” “I know,” she sighed. “It makes me miss you more,...”

“Hey, rock dude, are you destroying the house? Causing mayhem? Who’s a ferocious gargoyle? Stoney’s a ferocious gargoyle.”

“That’s crazy-rare.” “And now it’s extinct.”

“Right. Conversation. I might want to try some of that.”

“If this was what Mikhail called opening the gate close to Zayvion’s body, I was going to kill a compass and a slide rule and send them through the gates of death to him.”

“The watercolor people hadn’t moved, hadn’t seen us, were still busy being dead and artistic. Good.”

“Still, I held my right hand ready to cast a spell in case arts-and-craft hour suddenly ended and they went back to Killing 101.”

“Then they both smiled the exact same smile. Narcissism times two. Oh, get a room already.”

“The Focal must hold magic, light and dark, together long enough for it to mend.” “How long does it take to mend?” “No one’s survived long enough for us to know.” I could see why people weren’t rushing to volunteer.”

“My dad told me he knew where to find Zay. Which meant I had to cooperate with him...."Do you see what we have accomplished together? The healing of souls with the magic you carry. We have healed souls in death. With light and dark magic."“We? No, you stuck your hands in my chest and stole my magic and threw it at them. If you try that again, you won’t have hands. Where’s Zayvion?” Okay, maybe I was a little rusty on the whole cooperation thing.”

“He made it sound like he was teaching me the ABC’s and knew there was no way I’d ever make it to Q.”

“If you are to survive, you need to put your stubbornness aside and listen to me.” “Oh, I just love that idea.”

“What part of you is dead, my daughter?”I didn’t know—my sense of humor maybe?”

“Dad hit lecture mode from word one.”

“Stone growled and stepped toward Dad, fangs bared. That’s a good gargoyle. Take a bite out of Daddy for me.”

“And wonders of wonders, they both shut up and did as I said. If I'd had time I would have pulled out my journal and made a note: Shame and Terric actually listened to me for once. Warn Hell. There's a freeze coming.”

“Everything quiet?""You mean Shame""I mean your Pooh News. Any rumblies in the tumblies?" I gave him a grin.He shook his head. "You just can't let that go, can you?...”

“He shoved at me, tried to take control, but I was nothing if not made of stubborn.”

“I was now officially Beckstrom the storm rod. And I hated it.”

“Meditate, he’d said. Jingo Jingo was such a joker.”

“I was about to meditate like no one had ever meditated before.”

“So if my ability to meditate was what was going to save the world, or at least save Portland, then I was pretty sure we should all think about moving to Seattle.”

“Keep digging, Flynn. Six feet makes a grave.”

“You coming in here?” I asked. “Afraid I’ll gnaw on your stepmother?”

“Fucking hell.” He sighed dramatically. “I hate you, Beckstrom.” “Hold on to that,” I said. “You know, because anger will get you there.”

“Shame scowled. “How about I just make you angry again? That coat makes you look fat.” “Even more reason to take the stairs.”

“I thought you people had a manual for this kind of thing.” He laughed. “We have a manual. Magic doesn’t.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Terric said. “You were unconscious less than ten minutes ago.” “And you were a dick. One of us got better.”

“Fucking fuck fuck of a fuck.” Shame dug in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. His hands shook as he lit up. “Eloquence, thy name is Flynn,” Terric said”