“Rachel, my itchy witch," Al said as he tugged the lace at his cuffs. "We've talked about this. You simply must stop collecting nasty little men. How many do you really need, love?”

“Al was standing a bare three feet away, his mood almost jovial as he took the paper and it vanished in a wash of black sparkles. “Thank you, Rachel,” he said, carefully reaching for my hand as Trent stiffened. “Welcome back, my itchy witch.”

“You need a new hobby, Rachel. Something other than nasty little men with visions of world domination.”

“I gotta go,” I wheezed. “This is shitty, you know? How do you live like this?” “Rachel!” he cried, but it was too late,(Rachel and Al)”

“Sometimes I think I'll never really belong anywhere, or trust anyone. I think I need to learn how to stop caring about that.""You can't decide not to care," Sean said. "You can only control your response.""Is that really possible?" I asked."It really is," he said. "It even starts to get a little bit easier.""Really?" My voice sounded like a stranger's. "When?”

“In my time,” he said, “they believed in witches. Are you a witch, Honor, that you make me say these things to you?” Causing him to rip open wounds that had stayed safely scabbed over for so long that, most of the time, he managed to forget they existed. Her hands, so very, very gentle, continued to hold his face as she tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “I’m no witch, Dmitri. If I was, I’d know how to fix you.”