What do you think?
Rate this book


750 pages, ebook
First published October 18, 2022
“Joan of Arc,” McKinnon repeats, “She was a martyr. This teenage girl who fought in all these battles and had visions from saints and angels and helped win wars…I remember looking down at the picture of her in her armour and thinking, I want to be like that someday.”
“What, a martyr?” Dorcas wrinkles her nose.
“No,” McKinnon throws one of the pillows at her, half-heartedly; Dorcas bats it away.
“A hero.”
“That’s stupid,” Dorcas says, bluntly, “Nothing good ever happens to heroes.”
“Maybe,” McKinnon shrugs, rolling back over, “But they do a lot of good. And in the end, isn’t that what matters?”
“Dorcas really, really wishes that Marlene wouldn’t say that. She wishes that she knew what to do with this firestorm of a girl, this supernova, this blazing, blistering sun. She wishes that she knew how to explain that her wings will only ever melt; that she can reach out, and stretch, and fly as high as she can, but there are some-times points of contact that will simply never be made. Dorcas can’t believe in the things Marlene needs her to. She wishes that she could. Instead, she stretches out a hand, close enough that she can almost feel the hot wax dripping down her back.”
“If it’s a martyr’s death you want, Dorcas thinks, then I’ll be the stake you burn yourself on. I’ll be the fire.”
“For just a moment, Dorcas can hear her bright laughter. For just a moment, she can see the gold hair, the freckled shoulders, the cheeks burnt pink from sun. For just a moment, she can taste the warm heat of her lips.
Just a moment.
That’s all they really had, in the end.”
“Merlin’s beard,” he gasps, breathlessly, trying to speak through the fits of giggles that continue to wrack his body, “Sirius, that’s—merlin—liking blokes doesn’t make you gay!”
Now it’s Sirius’s turn to stare at him, utterly baffled.
“Er…sorry, what?”James shakes his head, still chuckling.
“Everyone likes blokes, Padfoot,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I mean—come on, we both shared a locker room with Frank Longbottom!”
“Soul magic. That’s what Dorcas is looking at. An enchantment that binds the magical cores…eerily similar to the ritual of the horcrux. She stares at Lily, studying her face—Lily stares back, eyes blazing green like death and magic, jaw set hard.
“I’m not letting Voldemort kill my son.”
“Fine,” she says, picking up the book, “But only if you say please.”
Regulus glares at her. She raises a single brow, waiting.
“Please.”
“Sure,” Dorcas smiles at him, sweetly, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Oh, sod off,” Regulus mutters. Dorcas flips open the book to its table of contents, and finds herself stifling a grin.”
“She laughs, and she cries, and she wishes and wishes and wishes that Regulus Black had just told her—had just brought her with, had just once in his life asked for help.”
“Of all the times to decide to play the hero, of course Regulus Black would choose the most inconvenient one.”
“I’ll be counting on you to kill Voldemort. Once he’s dead, let’s meet again at the place with the red tables. I liked their chips.In the meantime, tell my brother that I’m
Never mind. I’ll talk to him myself, once this is all over.”
“A butterfly lands in the palm of her hand.
She watches it flap its wings once, twice—and then it flies away.
Here is a secret.
Are you listening?
This is a story, and a story is not its end.”