Se Souvenir du passe, et qu’il ya un avenir: Remember the past, and that there is a future.
I wanted to know how humans came up with a view of the world that had so little magic in it. I needed to understand how they convinced themselves that magic wasn’t important.
His full name is Matthew Gabriel Philippe Bertrand Sebastien de Clermont. He was also a very good Sebastien, and a passable Gabriel. He hates Bertrand and will not answer to Philippe.
It begins with absence and desire. It begins with blood and fear. It begins with a discovery of witches.
My ideas about vampires may by romantic, but your attitudes toward women need a major overhaul.
English vampires may not be as well behaved around witches as the American ones are.
Sorry, we’ve got ghosts.
Within days they’d formed an unholy alliance with a foppish young French vampire in the Garden District who had implausibly golden hair and a streak of ruthlessness as wide as the Mississippi.
Be yourself – Matthew Clairmont. Complete with your sharp vampire teeth and your scary mother, your test tubes full of blood and your DNA, your infuriating bossiness and your maddening sense of smell.
We kissed each other, long and deep, while my legs opened like the covers of a book.
Gallowglass returned to Sporrengasse with two vampires and a pretzel.
With knot of one, the spell’s begun. With knot of two, the spell be true. With knot of three, the spell is free. With knot of four, the power is stored. With knot of five, the spell with thrive. With knot of six, this spell I fix.
I’d studied 16th century science and magic. I thought it was strange that people were interested in the same kinds of things my research was about. The more I thought about it, the more intriguing it became and pretty soon I was writing a novel about a reluctant witch and a 1500-year-old vampire.
Remember the past – and await the future.
My experiences thus far had me planning to throttle the first Tudor historian I met upon my return for gross dereliction of duty.
Wordlessly I looked back at him, astonished that a kiss on the palm could be so intimate.
Her bark is worse than her bite.
That evening, rowing on the quiet river as sunset turned to dusk, I saw an occasional smoky smudge on the towpath, always slightly ahead of me, like a dark star guiding me home.
The king just sits there, moving one square at a time. The queen can move so freely. I suppose I’d rather lose the game than forfeit her freedom.
You do angry. I just saw it. And you left at least one hole in my carpet to prove it.
The plain truth is that the period I study is the 16th century, and they were absolutely obsessed with witches and spiritual beings.