In honor of summer, I've recently started a new, perfect-beach-read project. Or at least, it's my idea of a perfect beach read. So there are a lot of explosions, giant monsters, sword-fights and weird spatial distortion issues.
What, that's not the kind of thing you read at beaches?
Between the converted gas lamps and the smoke-stained ceiling, Dameshead could pass for London in the rain. Not quite as graffitied as New York or as dusty as Cairo. Definitely a European feel to it.
I stand under the platform’s leaky roof and watch water drip from my umbrella, exactly like blood from a fresh-fed blade.
No. None of that tonight. This trip’s strictly peaceful. Diplomatic escort. I shove my free hand deeper into my pocket; raise my shoulders against the chill. At home, less than a twenty-minute ride away, it’s midsummer. Here there’s already a nip of fall in the air.
“Train’s late,” Thomas says.
I nod. Of course. Of all the short sticks in the handful of stumps I could draw, this had to be the one.
Why her? Anyone else I could handle tonight. “Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am, right this way if you please.”
Alas, whatever else I might be, and the list’s grown really quite long, I’ll always have a weakness for first love.
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