The bus rumbled away, its gleaming yellow body disappearing around a bend in the road, consumed by veiny crimson leaves that shrouded the trees like sweaters threaded with blood

Beeswax, with its subtle undertones of smoke and honey. The smell of ink on wet paper, the sickly-sweet smell of decay. The sweat of clean bodies, the scent of burnt gloves. She loved the crackle of the fire and the clang of the tools. She loved the magic of sweat-streaked alchemists who blew down metal pipes and created bubbles within molten glass. She loved the flawless final chapter, the glistening undulations as smooth as ice.

Lexi was older now than she'd been in kindergarten. Her brain functioned with more logic and less emotion. Gabriel knew it would be harder this time. Now Lexi had to make sense of things before she believed in them.

Once upon a time, the world was quintessentially human. People took pride in normalcy; they preferred things in black and white, for salt and pepper are easier to digest than gray matter. When things were disagreeable or different, they liked to label them "otherworldly." It relieved them of accountability. "The Devil made me do it," they preferred to say. But when they looked in the mirror, they didn't notice the Devil looking back.Not at first.

Peace, so Miss Sanders could grapple with her demons. Quiet, so she could almost hear the Hellfire crackling beneath the crust of the carpeted schoolroom.

Actions have reactions, nonetheless. People rarely show up at Hell's doorstep clutching a map of bad intentions.

She was lucky enough to know little enough to fear nothing more than wasps, the dark, and the darker figments of her imagination.

It was a fleeting feeling, one there and suddenly gone, like a dove shattered to pieces during a magician's disappearing act.

The chill of the glass and the crackle of the fire were languages she could fathom and echo.