I was certain that I’d get this posted in the first week of the month, and here we are on the last day of the month. Organization has not been my friend in September.
Mortal Coil by Derek Landy
“They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Valkyrie said.
China glanced at her. “They’ve obviously never met me.”
“Stairs,” Valkyrie said, disappointed.
“Not just ordinary stairs,” Skulduggery told her as he led the way down. “Magic stairs.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
She followed him into the darkness. “How are they magic?”
“They just are.”
“In what way?”
“In a magicky way.”
She glared at the back of his head. “They aren’t magic at all, are they?”
“Not really.”
“So he has no head.”
“Thats usually what headless means.”
“No head at all?”
“You’re really not getting the whole headless thing are you?”
“What about you?” he asked, his words not much more than a mumble. “Regrets?”
“Many,” Skulduggery said.
Tesseract’s breath rattled in his chest. “That’s the good thing about living. You get to make up for past mistakes.”
“Or make brand-new ones.”
“Zombies were an accident–much like champagne and penicillin, but much less welcome.”
“What a burden it must have been. You’re very brave for facing it alone.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“Amazingly, astonishingly stupid, but brave.”
She cracked a smile. “Yeah.”
“Very foolish, is what I’m getting at.”
“I can see that.”
“This, basically. Just thick. Dumb as a bag of hammers. Not too bright there, Valkyrie.”
“You can really stop complimenting me now.”
“It might be a trap,” she said, speaking softly.
“Unlikely,” he whispered, traps are usually enticing.
“It might be a very rubbish trap.”
“Always a possibility.”
“I am neither a grinch nor a grouch. I like Christmas as much as the next person. So long as the next person is as unsentimental as I am.”
“I don’t want to threaten you in your own home,” Skulduggery said, “so if you’d like to step outside, I can threaten you there.”
Blood Reunion by JCM Berne
“I’m—I have no idea how to respond to that. I’m sure I’ll think of something in the shower, three days from now.”
“I will wait for that eagerly.”
Ben reached over and patted the younger man’s knee. “You’re usually the one putting your life at risk for the sake of others, aren’t you? Not used to the turnaround.”
“It’s not the same, though. I don’t usually face certain-death to help other people. At most, it’s certain-pain. Maybe even certain-discomfort.”
“A certainly-torn-shirt.”
“Can you explain to me why it’s so difficult?”
“I doubt it.”
“Can you try? Use words you might use to explain to a monkey? A well-intentioned but slightly brain-damaged monkey that is hanging around your lab, asking annoying questions?”
“So… space penicillin?”
“You do realize that just putting the word ‘space’ in front of another word doesn’t magically create a new, fancier version of the thing you’re thinking of, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I thought it did. Space ship. Space prostitute.”
“Wei Li, you sound more skeptical than usual. And your skepticism is usually sharp enough to cut through atoms or the fabric of spacetime.”
Fool Moon by Jim Butcher
I was sitting there, sipping ale and thinking dark thoughts when the door opened again. I didn’t look up, occupied as I was with brooding, a famous pasttime of wizards everywhere.
Okay, Harry, I told myself. Keep calm. Do not panic. All you have to do is to hold them here until the cops get here, and then you can bleed to death in peace. Or get to a doctor. Whichever hurts less.
There’s more magic in a baby’s first giggle than in any firestorm a wizard can conjure up, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.
Alone. It’s one of those small words that means entirely too much. Like fear. Or trust.
Bard Tidings by Paul Regnie
Stumpy Jake manned the bar, eternally filling and cleaning glasses of ale and mead. Contrary to rumors, Jake did not have a wooden leg. But for some reason he enjoyed the nickname and did nothing to dispel the myth. In fact, he attached a wooden block to his heel so he’d make a clomping sound when he walked across the floor. He thought it added character to his establishment.
Panacea by Alex Robins
War is not a game. It is a penance. A price to pay for failure. The last possible solution when there are no other options. Do not wish for it. Do not strive for it. Victory is ephemeral. Death is eternal.”
Most people believed that war was the worst of humanity’s sins, for it could never create, only destroy. But Elena knew that wasn’t quite true. War excelled in creating many things: poverty and famine. Sickness and disease. Orphans and widows.
“…as luck would have it, hair-brained plans are my forte.”
Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch
Murder investigations start with the victim because usually in the first instance that’s all you’ve got. The study of the victim 1s called victimology because everything sounds better with an ology tacked on the end. To make sure that you make a proper fist of this, the police have developed the world’s most useless mnemonic: 5 x WH & H. Otherwise known as Who? What? Where? When? Why? & How? Next time you watch a real murder investigation on the TV and you see a group of serious-looking detectives standing around talking, remember that what they’re actually dome is trying to work out what sodding order the mnemonic is supposed to go in. Once they’ve sorted that out, the exhausted officers will retire to the nearest watering hole for a drink and a bit of a breather.
Every male in the world thinks he’s an excellent driver. Every copper who’s ever had to pick an eyeball out of a puddle knows that most of them are kidding themselves.
Just about every council estate I know has a set of communal rooms. There’s something about stacking people up in egg boxes that makes architects and town planners believe that having a set of communal rooms will compensate for not having a garden or, in some designs, enough room to swing a cat. Perhaps they fondly imagine that the denizens of the estate will spontaneously gather for colorful proletarian festivals and cat-swinging contests.
For a terrifying moment I thought he was going to hug me, but fortunately we both remembered we were English just time. Still, it was a close call.
Ways and Truths and Lives by Matt Edwards
“That’s an interesting way to look at it, I guess.”
“Well, that’s the secret, James.”
“What?”
“Looking at things,” Cynthia said with her eyes momentarily fixed on James. “Looking at things differently. Looking at things under a different light Looking at things from the light.” Her eyes bounced around the room at various objects.
“But what’s it the secret to?”
Cynthia paused to take a sip of coffee before answering. “Everything.”
Zero Stars Do Not Recommend by M.J. Wassmer
He had a softness about him, like a favorite armchair come to life.
His eyes protruded from their sockets like someone was squeezing the sides of his head, and goodness, his breath was less than fresh. That was one thing they didn’t touh on in post-apocalyptic movies. Human beings turn rank in a matter of days. We don’t keep well.
They sound like wasps. That was the best way Dan could think of to describe the bullets, like wasps shooting past his ear. Pissed off wasps. Wasps on a mission to finish some wasp-related business.
Mara gasped again. She was a great gasper. If Fitzgerald wrote a book about her, it’d be titled, The Great Gaspy, because there was something very haunting about a Mara gasp, something bone-chilling.
Never underestimate the fragility of a man’s ego, especially one wearing camouflage pants.
The car ride immediately following an argument is always awkward. And it turns out that’s especially true if the argument is concluded by someone being pummeled over the head with a snow globe.
(Image by DaModernDaVinci from Pixabay)
