“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?”

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

“You’re a good kid. If you’d work on your pain-in-the-ass tendencies, you’d be real nice.” “Too bad that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” he muttered. “Real nice doesn’t get you very far.” “Real nice can keep you from getting beat up,” I said. He smiled. “Right. Maybe we should both work on it, then.”

“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.”

“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.”

“He'd been working for my father and following me around for I didn't know how long. He probably knew a lot of things about me. Probably even knew what kind of underwear I wore. Which begged the question. Was he a boxer or brief kind of guy?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” “Try words. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to interpretive dance.”