Simple spells were light and fun, like a good joke. This spell was as simple as a symphony and as splendid. After adding the last runes, I swirled power through the old spells ensuring they merged with the new spells. The entire castle of spells flexed with the added power, my sign to retreat and hope it worked. Watching the spells bend and move was captivating. One moment they were crawling over each other looking for structure and the next they'd formed a fortress of magic seeking targets, calling them home....'Jones?'Right behind you.' He walked around to my left. 'How'd it go?'Good. Really good.'I can tell. You're glowing.'I thought he was joking until I glanced at my hand. I had to look like a giant firefly. 'Narselfart!' He laughed. 'Don't worry about it. It's kinda' cute. Besides, those boys' - he jerked his head to indicate the younger cops - 'aren't ever going to forget this power show.

And the One will take the Sword of the Western Sun and triumph over the enemy with boldness and insight. The arm of the One is steady and heads will roll. Snow Giants will battle.

When in doubt, know your way out, I always say.'I thought you always said, 'When in doubt, blame the dark elves.''Well, yeah, that too.'I don't think those are very practical solutions to doubt,' Oberon said. 'They don't leave you feeling satisfied. 'When in doubt, eat your neighbor's lunch' is better, because then you would at least be full.

Return me safely to my home,” the princess said, “and I shall reward you with your weight in eggs.” Olorun snorted derisively. “You’re joking, right?” The woman’s eyes flitted in embarrassment. “Now wait a minute,” said Helianthus. “We’re talkin’ eggs here. What sort of eggs? Ostrich eggs?” Neferre made an impatient noise. “Hel! She doesn’t have any eggs! Unless they’re hidden in a very . . . Delicate place.” Neferre grinned at the princess. “Tell me your eggs are hidden where I think they’re hidden.

When she turned to accept her crown from Gwyndolyn, Feraan saw that her face was flushed from drink and excitement. Her pale hair cascaded over her shoulders, shining like glittering moonlight. She was warm and soft, and he knew that because he had felt her lips before. The green stems from her flower crown rested above her pointed ears, and though Caelfel was not the picture of nobility, Feraan could admit she was beautiful.

We walked the length of Jackson Square, stopping to look at the work of a couple of artists who'd set up their sidewalk shops for the day.'Look.' Eugenie stopped in front of an acrylic painting of a mustached man with curly dark hair, hooded eyes, and a big hooked nose. He looked like he'd steal the hubcaps off your grandmother's Cadillac.'It's Jean Lafitte, our most famous pirate,' the artist said. 'He was quite a character.'She had no idea. She also had badly missed the mark on his looks. His hair wasn't that curly, he'd been clean-shaven the whole time I'd known him, his nose was straight and in perfect proportion to the rest of his features, and he didn't have hooded black eyes. Still, he might find it entertaining. 'How much?' I asked.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,And ye that on the sands with printless footDo chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly himWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets thatBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastimeIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoiceTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’dThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,And ‘twixt the green sea and the azured vaultSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunderHave I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oakWith his own bolt; the strong-based promontoryHave I made shake and by the spurs pluck’d upThe pine and cedar: graves at my commandHave waked their sleepers, oped, and let ‘em forthBy my so potent art. But this rough magicI here abjure, and, when I have requiredSome heavenly music, which even now I do,To work mine end upon their senses thatThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,And deeper than did ever plummet soundI’ll drown my book.

You have a long history,' he said, when Lanya indicated her story was finished. 'Ah, Harrier, were I to tell you a long story, we should be here for a sennight, perhaps more. Long stories are best saved for deep winter, when the days are short and time grows heavy.' Lanya glanced at the sky.

All those poor elves I haven’t set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren’t enough hats!

When he wasn’t busy chasing unseen mice around the academy, Ion spent hours in the Borean Study, searching through dusty books for anything that had to do with the banshee or the Shroud. But finding this anything proved to be difficult as well, especially when the books you’re reading have everything to do with something, but certainly nothing to do with your anything. And in trying to find this anything, Ion forgot about a very important, specific thing, which would quickly ruin his Wednesday.