It starts with a sheriff's deputy, hiding in the back of the library, trying not to let anyone see him cry ( Read more... )

The dream doesn't start here, but the remembering does; she's in a square, at a bonfire, a heap of paper and wood and white-gold and gems, a fortune for anyone who doesn't mind losing a hand to the flames, and the once-purple Cricket is parked by a track that isn't asphalt but some kind of corduroyed surfacing she doesn't have a word for; something ( Read more... )