She’d loved Mada Vittora once. A twisted, misunderstood love, but even the cruelest forms of love were never lost without heartache.

Hate the part of him that gave in to madness. But don’t hate your father, not all of him. There was a time when he loved you very much, and that’s what you should remember.

She stayed up late most nights, dressed in a housecoat in the library until all hours, wearing reading glasses not unlike the professor’s wire spectacles, drinking licorice tea laced with gin – she didn’t know that I knew – and staring out the window at the city lights.

The dark thing inside her wasn’t timid and plain, wasn’t the type to skitter around the edges of a room, fearful of every footsetep.

I can’t stop midnight.

Don’t say it,” I said, almost a plea. “I love Montgomery.” But deep inside, my God, I wanted him to say it. To kiss me feverishly and end this terrible pull between us.

All men like him ever see are aprons. I could be Mada Vittora risen from the dead, but if I had a mop in my hand he’s still just ask for tea.

Breahe, my dearie. You look on the verge of shattering. You are each so strong in your own way. Beau has a steady strength, like a tree. Cricket is a bright strength, like lighting. But your strength, ah, yours is quiet. There’s a reason magic is called whisper, not shouts.

It isn’t about the sharpness of the blade, but the hand that holds it.′ Science doesn’t do good or ill by itself- it’s the intention behind it.

He asked for a knife,” she said. “What do you think that means? It’s not for eclairs, I can promise you that.