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They played tug of war with the temperature: relishing the heat that drove the chill from their cheeks as they entered the pub, already sweating and gasping for breath by the time the barman noticed them. Shedding layers, they ordered two ice cold bottles of Metz to restore the balance. Agreed without a word on the matter, the girls crossed the creaking wooden floorboards across the main room to their usual booth in the corner, thankfully free. A few of the larger tables were occupied by groups of thirsty students. Sampson frowned.I know this has to be hard for you, and I hate to ask this, but can you explain that? Everybody dies. I prefer to choose my own method.Gabriels words played through my memory. What I was about to say wasnt what Max wanted to hear. He liked happy endings. My gut told me there were no happy endings for me or Gabriel. Rowan nods and puts his hand upon her forearm, his leather gloves ludicrous: his splayed hand resting on her bare, pale skin like a chimps foot. I dont think youre the sort of person to do anything for the wrong reasons, Vicky, he says, and lowers himself onto the arm of the sofa. “You strike me as one of the decent people. Eve feels the tick start up in her cheek. Shes thinking ahead. Jeren, I... Violet, says Rowan, quietly. He locks eyes with Sumaira. Explain it to me like Im an idiot. Explain like you would to a six-year-old child off his tits on Calpol. Daz turns back to face him and Rowan lunges out of his chair like a spring. His forehead slams into the bridge of Dazs nose and he hears the crunch of displaced cartilage and a spray of hot sticky wetness on his face. Daz crumples back like a collapsing building, knocking over glasses, tangling his feet in the chairs. Beside him, Robins mouth opens in absolute shock and Rowan turns on him, blood on his forehead, hair hanging loose across his face, eyes wide around pin-prick pupils. Jerens eyes stung as she thought of that sudden coldness he raised between them like a shield, whenever it looked like, just for a moment, he felt as she felt. But he always found a way to make ice clamp around her heart, to remind her that she was different from him in every way—human, magic user,weak and useless. She drew the blanket further around her body, cold now despite the fire, as night closed in around her. The only reason he didnt kick her aside was the child in her womb. Jeren saw that in his insane eyes as well. How big was it? Oh shush, says Rowan, rearranging his position. Hed like a cigarette and another glass of something warming for the road. A glance out of the window showed that the woman had ventured closer still to Samaras family. She had wandered down onto the pebbles. I think so, and more importantly, I think the voices she heard were real. It was her fault. Sheought to be blamed. Contact the author at d.i.russellauthor@gmail.com, and sign up for the monthly newsletter right here. In Brightlings Dale of all god-forsaken places. He shook his head, his braids whispering against one another.I came back because you told me to. He doesnt know his own strength, stammers Catherine. And I was losing my mind. I should never have written that story, let alone handed it in. Violet said not to. But why does she get to have it all, eh? Its her out there looking for Freya. Her whos remembering all this stuff and putting horrible pictures in my head that I don’t want to see again... The table bore an art history more personal than any textbook. Stained with the dark, rich smell of oils, wearing slips of paint that refused to shift and cuts that ran too deep, it had housed the creation of hundreds of projects. How many stood in this exact spot, Samara wondered. How many stared through this very window to study the grey world beyond, with its grimy aluminium sky. Ashen buildings, blemished by smoke and stained by soot, lined the quiet road leading past the college. Each piece of unique architecture shared a palette that smothered them into a single dreary entity..