“How does the Authority usually handle storms like this?” “Not well.”

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

“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?”

“You told Detective Stotts you think a wild storm is coming.” “I thought you were puking.” “Not with my ears,” he said.”

“Instinct told me it was dangerous. I could handle dangerous. Dangerous and me went back a long way. We did lunch when dangerous was in town.”

“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.”

“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.”