Fractured (Slated #2) Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8)
Wh-what’s wrong with them? Meg stammered.
Yes, of course in South Carolina. On Sullivan’s Island. Harper loaded her mental cannon and fired. I want to buy Sea Breeze.There was a long silence on the phone.
All Played Out (Rusk University #3)
Hello? Harper asked into the quiet.Georgiana’s voice was low and lethal. Did Marietta put you up to this?What? No! Of course not. I told you she was selling the house last May. That was why she wanted all of us to come for the summer. To spend time together again before it was sold.
Transcendence (The DemonWars Saga #6)
I see what’s happening. God, that woman is unfathomable! Marietta Muir smiles so sweetly and acts so friendly with her southern-belle charms, but don’t you trust her. She’s a spider spinning a web. She used her guile to manipulate your father, and now she’s doing the same with you. It’s so obvious it’s laughable. You must see that’s why she invited you to Sea Breeze in the first place. She wanted you to buy it! To save her from financial ruin.Did she tell you that the Muirs are descended from pirates? Believe it. They’ll rob you blind if you let them.
You forget that Muir blood runs in my veins, too.
And it’s rearing its ugly head now.As you wish, I said. Let’s find Percy Jackson.
AS WE TRUDGED up Madison Avenue, my mind swirled with questions: Why hadn’t Zeus given me a winter coat? Why did Percy Jackson live so far uptown? Why did pedestrians keep staring at me?I wondered if my divine radiance was starting to return. Perhaps the New Yorkers were awed by my obvious power and unearthly good looks.
Lick (Stage Dive #1)
Meg McCaffrey set me straight.You smell, she said. You look like you’ve just been mugged.
I have just been mugged. Also enslaved by a small child.It’s not slavery. She chewed off a piece of her thumb cuticle and spit it out. It’s more like mutual cooperation.
Mutual in the sense that you give orders and I am forced to cooperate?Yep. She stopped in front of a storefront window. See? You look gross.
My reflection stared back at me, except it was not my reflection. It couldn’t be. The face was the same as on Lester Papadopoulos’s ID.I looked about sixteen. My medium-length hair was dark and curly—a style I had rocked in Athenian times, and again in the 1970s. My eyes were blue. My face was pleasing enough in a dorkish way, but it was marred by a swollen eggplant-colored nose, which had dripped a gruesome mustache of blood down my upper lip. Even worse, my cheeks were covered with some sort of rash that looked suspiciously like…My heart climbed into my throat.