Rysa Walker Quotes

The manager rolls his eyes. "Sorry, miss, already picked my dozen - "
"So make it a baker's dozen," someone yells from the back.
"Bet she can't hit the bloody nail anyway. Give us somethin' to laugh at." That voice is clearly Kiernan's, and most of the men chuckle.
-
Kiernan comes back about ten minutes later and takes his seat. "Good work."
I snort. "Don't give me that. I heard you back there."
"Just seeding the crowd. A time-honored practice among showmen and politicians alike.

He said he doesn' have it. Pick on someone your own size." You could really hear the Irish in Kiernan's voice back then. I mean, you can still hear it, but it's more of a lilt when he's older. Back then, it was a full-on brogue.

And then the light turns into a snake, and I turn into a snake, although I'm pretty sure those last two are due more to my choice of bedtime reading than to Molly's memories.

Well, I'm expecting great things from you, young man!"
"Th-thank you, Brother Cyrus." As soon as he released my shoulders, I hurried over to the glass wall where Kiernan was sitting, frowning out at the ocean like it had done something to piss him off.

Storytelling requires two minds. The writer draws the basic outlines and adds some detail. It's never complete, however, until the reader fills in that outline with the colors and experiences of his or her own life.

But if the coast is clear and we go check out the cabin in the back, do not - "
"Touch anything," Taylor says, tugging on the boots she kicked off during the drive. "Even if most of my freakin' family weren't cops, I've seen enough NCIS to know that.

Each kid got a small allowance for helping with the harvests, and Kiernan would always head straight to the tobacco shop. Not for cigarettes. At first, he even threw the cigarettes away, but later he'd save them and sell them to the older kids to get enough money for another pack.
Kiernan didn't want the smokes. He wanted the baseball cards.
When we got back to the Farm, Kiernan would sketch out a baseball diamond in the dirt and we'd stage games with the players from the cards he collected.

For the past year, food of some sort has been a permanent appendage to Deo's hand. Sometimes both hands at once. At first, I teased that he was going to get fat, but then he shot upward - six full inches since last summer. Now I have to look up at him, not the other way around. This amuses him. I don't really care as long as he doesn't call me "Short Stuff.

How much time is wasted today training children to perform a variety of skills that they not only will never use but would never even consider using?

Timebound is her debut novel.

And don't get all pissy if they laugh at you."
"Why should I take it personally? I didn't pick this costume, so they'll be laughing at you, not me."
A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears almost immediately.

All major religions have rules against murder. If they didn't, there would be few converts. Well, at least few converts that you'd want to be in the same room with. But that doesn't mean that there aren't plenty of people willing to kill in the name of their faith - that's true of most religions.

I think it's important to know you're wanted, maybe even needed, don't you? Gives you somethin' to hold on to when you're off in a strange place.

Golden Rule - whoever has the gold makes the rules.

Abel was arrested. So was the guy with me. Help me get Delia out of the trunk."
His expression borders on horror.
"Well, you knew you'd have to let her out eventually when you put her in there, didn't you?

An annoyed huff when he sees Trey suggests Max considers him an add-on rather than true Fifth Column. But he probably thinks the same about me. Too bad we can't just step aside and let Max save the day.

So I sat at the kitchen table chopping the "holy trinity" of Creole cuisine - bell peppers, celery, and onions -

I nearly miss it, given Tate's need for speed, but as we zip by the guy in the alley, I catch a brief glimpse of his face.
It's Kiernan. How did he get out before we did when he was behind us?
A few seconds after we pass, Kiernan darts out of the alley, but he can't keep up. Usain Bolt couldn't keep up with Tate.

Kiernan, the less you know, the better. You're always telling me to just trust you and do what you're asking, and I do - "
He snorts. "When it suits you."
"Okay, but I do when it seems important. And this is really, really important.

Don't even think it. Move all the way back. Both of you. On your stomachs, hands behind your heads. Now!"
Yeah, it's straight out of NCIS. I guess Mom's crush on that Gibbs guy came in handy.

Someone dropped her off in a shopping mall food court just before her third birthday. Pinned to her dress was a note with the name Anna, a date of birth, and the words, This child is possessed.

You ever heard that bit about don't look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"I've heard it. Although the Trojans would have fared better with Athens if they had ignored that advice."
I had to look up that reference when I got back to Saul's.

Amelia hides a soft heart behind a shrew's tongue.

That surprised me. Not that it wasn't a damn good game. We saw it again, in fact, after he took up with Kate. Not that either of them paid much attention to what was going on down on the field. That was actually the day I had to accept that things had gone too far between the two of them. Otherwise, she never could have taken his mind off baseball.

Kiernan leans forward. "I'm guessing that's because you can make it work, Mr. Houdini. Maybe that's how you manage . . ." He pauses when my kick lands on his shin, but finishes the sentence anyway. ". . . some of your more elaborate escapes.

History is sacred - like a nature hike. 'Leave only footprints, take only memories.

After a few miles, I push play and the audiobook starts. It might be nice to ride through the night, believing in magic for a while, magic of either the Hogwarts variety or the Muggle sort that will keep Daniel alive.
But Aaron and Taylor must have been in the car a lot over the last few days, because they're way past the point where we left off. And I'd forgotten how dark this one is at the end. They're past the Ministry of Magic and back at Hogwarts now, where Dumbledore and Harry are arguing about Voldemort. About Voldemort crawling inside Harry's head and trying to control him.
Way too close to what happened in the lab for comfort.
Deo and I both reach to turn it off at the same time.

having the wisdom to tell what you can't change from what you can?

It's a hard lesson in life, but you have to accept that some things are out of your hands. Otherwise, you'll never know a single minute of peace. You mend what you can, and you let the rest go. You just let it go.

I darted across the hallway and took a left at the next intersection, hoping that the doctor would assume that I'd taken the quicker, easier turn to the right.

holy trinity" of Creole cuisine - bell peppers, celery, and onions - while

I fake an annoyed look at his interruption. "As I was saying, your ego doesn't need to be inflated."
But as I say the words, I realize that I don't think they're true. Every now and then I catch him watching me at an unguarded moment, and his eyes are so vulnerable I almost feel like I'm looking at his eight-year-old self. He clearly enjoys the banter back and forth, however, and we seem to drop into that routine naturally.

Things that are different, things that don't fit into our own typical surroundings, do tend to set off some sort of subliminal trigger in most people. Your pulse beats faster, you become more aware of your environment, more in touch with your fight-or-flight response.

Do you have a lot of books?" I asked. Dad snorted as he slathered some cream cheese on his bagel. "Katherine's collection puts Amazon to shame.

Where's Kiernan?" I asked.
"He's with Brother Cyrus. Your turn."
The blood drained from my face and I stepped back, toward the wall. One of the older women, Glory, had died from a heart attack the year before. At the burial, all of the adults patted each other on the back and said she was with Brother Cyrus now.
The key suddenly felt like a lit coal in my hand, and I dropped it to the floor.
Patrick must have realized what I was thinking from my expression. "No, stupid," he said, as he bent down to pick up the key. "He's not dead. He's with Cyrus. In the future. He's fine. You'll be fine.

Not bad," he said. "Chewy and sweet, too. They sell these in New York?"
I nodded, washing it down with lemonade. That wasn't where Connor had bought it, but I was pretty sure they sold them in New York and pretty much anywhere else in the country, although definitely not in 1893. I wondered how much Kiernan knew about the CHRONOS key from his time on the Cyrist farm, and what his reaction would be if I told him he was eating something purchased by his great-grandson.

And with that, he began walking at a rapid clip toward the Sixtieth Street station. Several members of the crowd I'd just pushed my way through came over to help me up, and one rather gallant gentleman, who was eighty if he was a day, tottered a few steps after Simon, shouting and shaking a fist in the air.

As I'm reading Katherine's historical diaries, every now and then I'll see a question that Katherine asked, like, 'Who is the Infanta?' or 'What is a simoleon?'" "In SimCity, a simoleon is money," Trey interjected.

Waiting politely won't get you across the street in Boston," he informs me, "at least not in 1905. There aren't any of those blinking idiot signs that show a hand and count down the seconds for you.

Before you start what?"
He shakes his head. "Not telling. You have to come and see."
There's a mischievous light in his eyes, and in that moment he looks so very much like his eight-year-old self, waiting for my decision to hire him as a guide at the Expo. Who could say no to those big, dark puppy-dog eyes?
I laugh. "Okay, okay. You win."
And even though I don't want to give him false hope, I can tell from his smile that I have.

I miss, but I do hit the board, and all eight cans tumble to the ground as a result.
"I win," I tell him. "The goal was to knock down the cans, right? I knocked down all eight with one bullet. Can't beat that."
"I'm afraid that's not how it works, love.

Will, Oksana, and two other women. Only four. ONLY four?

I'm not following any of this, you know. Beecher who?"
"Henry Ward Beecher." Another slug from the bottle. "He's a preacher. Hey, that rhymes."
Well, that answers any questions about whether the alcohol is working.

If you look back through history, most visionaries are one step away from madmen." I

But then he rolls his eyes and gives me a half smile. "Fine. But if you must give me the Mark of the Beast, at least put it where I don't have to see it constantly."
"Such as?"
"If we want to be in keeping with what I think of the damned symbol, I'll drop trou and you can stamp it on my ass. But in the interest of propriety . . ." He rolls up his left sleeve, and I stamp the inside of his arm.

Victoria Woodhull and her sister were the 1870s equivalent of the Kardashian sisters.

Whenever a stray thought about Aaron, Taylor, or their relationship with Molly wanders into view, I push it into the folder near the back wall so that I can quickly shove them away from Dacia's prying eyes. I visualize that inner wall as an impenetrable fortress, surrounded by a force field, encased in a Cone of Silence, and covered by a Cloak of Invisibility.

The Kiernan kid was there when it happened, near the back of the barn. He'd been hanging out earlier with a younger version of Simon and this electrical engineer we recruited. Kiernan helped them set up the lighting so that I'd look all ethereal and otherworldly.
I saw Kiernan's face after those people slit their throats to show their devotion to Cyrus. The boy's mouth hung open and he just stared at the bodies, as huge tears rolled down his cheeks. Seeing him there, seeing someone else looking the way I felt - I think that's the only reason I was able to hold it together until I got out of there.

You see, I've read Mr. Grumbine's treatise on auras, and while it does depend on the shade, a green aura can be a mark of deception or dishonesty."
I shoot Kiernan a smug glance. While I'm certain this aura stuff is total bunk, he and Prudence both see the light as green. "Does this Mr. Grumbine say anything about blue auras?"
"Again, it depends on the shade. But it's usually associated with truth.

It's like saving up that perfect comeback you read in a book or heard on TV - it always sounds good in your head, but it never quite fits in real life.

Some people feel they're being oppressed or held back, even if they have everything they need or everything that a reasonable person could want. Some people always want more.

The mistakes of one generation build upon the mistakes of the next and you get a society that no one really wanted.

Things settled into a lazy pattern. School, chores, and long hours down by the river. Kiernan talked about the books he read sometimes, even loaned me a few. But I liked it better when he read to me or just told me the stories. The words were more real that way, more exciting. Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Ragged Dick, and all the others seemed flat and dull on the page, but Kiernan was good at making them come alive.

I toss the formal dress from 1905 onto the chair next to him. He glances up, removing the headphones.
"Did you decide to do a bit of shopping in London?"
I give him a wry smile. "Does this look like something I'd buy? Your great-grandfather picked it out.

He'll sit stock still for hours if there's something to occupy his mind - something loud and blaring, like a computer game or an action movie. But sit still and read a book? Or just look at the stars? I've known him since he was nine and I've never seen that happen for more than five minutes straight.

Kiernan gives him a suspicious look. "You performed at the Expo?"
"Yes," Bess answers. "Along with his brother, Dash. They headlined as The Brothers Houdini on the Midway Plaisance."
"Really?" Kiernan shakes his head. "I was there as well. For the entire run. I knew every headliner on the Midway."
Houdini eyes shift slightly. "Well, we weren't exactly headliners, but yes, we did perform at the Fair.

A few seconds later, I heard Katherine's voice from below.
"Kate, you have a gentleman caller."
I rolled my eyes. "How is it that a grandmother from the twenty-fourth century sounds like she's from a Charles Dickens novel?"
Connor shrugged. "Maybe both eras seem like ancient history to her. Could you tell me the difference between what they called a boyfriend in 1620 and in 1820?"
This time I gave in to the temptation to stick out my tongue, and Connor surprised me by actually laughing.

He recorded me once, so I know exactly how I look when I'm engaged in one of these internal dialogues - and that makes me determined to avoid them in public. My eyes go blank, unfocused, like no one's home - which is ironic if you think about it, since the problem isn't that nobody's there, but rather that we've exceeded the maximum occupancy of one.

Verse after verse follows, her voice rising to a crescendo and then falling, only to rise again with a new passage, each echoing the same refrain. I never realized how many verses of the Bible boil down to, I tried to tell you idiots, but no - you wouldn't listen.

...religions that believe they have a lock on divine wisdom and a reserved seat in the VIP section of the hereafter.

Some things, however, should happen in the correct order. Shoes go on after socks. Peanut butter is applied after the bread comes out of the toaster, not before. And grandchildren are born after their grandparents.

Do you still have the tux you wore as Boudini?"
"It's in the loft at the cabin. Why?"
"You'll need it in order to pose as a server. Unless you'd rather be a male companion?"
"No thanks."
An evil little part of me is dying to say he has more experience as a companion, given his time with Prudence, but I bat it down.

Didn't anyone ever teach you why it's a bad idea to make assumptions?"
He raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Oh, dear God. Does he really think that joke is original or witty?
"It makes an ass out of you and me."
"I see you're both smart and pretty." He laughs and settles into another smile.
That's the one he thinks is sexy. The smile he practices in the mirror.

There's no shower, no paper towels. Just the sink, cold water, and hand soap.

Girl, you look like a poster for that Carrie movie.

He has a point. There's blood on my arms and neck, even in my hair. Nothing to do but start scrubbing, hopefully before someone walks in with sleepy kids in need of a bathroom break. I'd probably give them nightmares for a week.

I'm not sure why he's flustered until I realize there are now five of us and the table is set for four.
Pru waves her hand dismissively. "Don't bother. The dark-haired one is just my bodyguard. He can stand."
Kiernan seems entirely unfazed by the comment, but her tone pisses me off.

And I'm just thinking he doesn't have the right to guilt-trip me about this when he says, "I'm not out to make you feel bad. You were upset, and it's only natural you'd seek out comfort. It's just . . ."
"You needed comfort, too."
"Yeah. I'm not asking you to hold my hand and tuck me into bed at night, not that I'll argue if you find yourself so inclined. But we're partners until this is over, and I'd like to think that you at least consider me a friend - oh, Kate, don't cry, okay? You look like a shamed pup, and I never want to make you feel that way. If you cry, I'll end up crying, too.

I pull my T-shirt over my face and am about to plunge in when it occurs to me that I'm approaching this, as Kiernan would say, far too linearly.

The heel of my white kidskin boot ripped a six-inch gash in the hem of my skirt as I whipped around the corner.

Maybe it's just the fact that this has been one bitch of a day. Either way, his question annoys me. I kind of want to reach across the coffee table and smack him.

Kiernan doesn't answer. He just turns toward the door and walks out, limping. He bangs both the cabin door and the porch door on his way out. Pretty sad for someone who seems to think he's being the adult here.

Kiernan and baseball - it's like waving a carrot in front of a mule. Put tickets to a ballgame in front of Kiernan's face and he'll follow you pretty much wherever you want to go. After that first game we attended in 1905, it didn't take much for me to convince him to see another game in 1912, and then one in 1924, and so on.

And one day, if I see your smile on her face, maybe that'll keep me from feeling I've left a piece of my heart behind.

Kiernan. I had a sudden memory of the small, scuffed-up shoe I'd seen just before I fell. He must have snatched the bracelet when the crowd gathered around me. If I managed to get out, I resolved to give him every last penny I had and cover his little face with kisses.

If your faith is so shaky that it can be undermined by books that challenge it, then something is rotten at the core.

God, would you just come here, Kate? I'll behave, I promise. It wrecks me to see you cry and not be able to hold you. Or if you can't do that, go to him and let him hold you. I'm making a bloody mess of everything.