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Serah Santimano
https://www.goodreads.com/ser_s
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“Lucy, I’ve been meaning to say: that was an impressive move back there – what you did with the rapier.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You aimed it perfectly, right between their heads. An inch to the left, and you’d have skewered George right between the eyes. Really sensational accuracy there.’
I made a modest gesture. ‘Well . . . sometimes you just do what has to be done.’
‘You didn’t actually aim it at all, did you?’ Lockwood said.
‘No.’
‘You just chucked it. In fact, it was pure blind luck that George lost his balance and fell out of the way. That’s why he wasn’t kebabbed by you.’
‘Yup.”
― The Whispering Skull
‘Thanks.’
‘You aimed it perfectly, right between their heads. An inch to the left, and you’d have skewered George right between the eyes. Really sensational accuracy there.’
I made a modest gesture. ‘Well . . . sometimes you just do what has to be done.’
‘You didn’t actually aim it at all, did you?’ Lockwood said.
‘No.’
‘You just chucked it. In fact, it was pure blind luck that George lost his balance and fell out of the way. That’s why he wasn’t kebabbed by you.’
‘Yup.”
― The Whispering Skull
“Kipps is the worst, though. He really hates us, doesn’t he?’
‘Not us,’ Lockwood said. ‘Me. He really hates me.’
‘But why? What’s he got against you?’
Lockwood picked up one of the bottles of water and sighed reflectively. ‘Who knows? Maybe it’s my natural style he envies, maybe my boyish charm. Perhaps it’s my set-up here – having my own agency, no one to answer to, with fine companions at my side.’ He caught my eye and smiled.
George looked up from his comic. ‘Or could be the fact you once stabbed him in the bottom with a sword.’
‘Yes, well, there is that.’ Lockwood took a sip of water.
I looked back and forth between them. ‘What?’ I said. ‘When did this happen?”
― The Whispering Skull
‘Not us,’ Lockwood said. ‘Me. He really hates me.’
‘But why? What’s he got against you?’
Lockwood picked up one of the bottles of water and sighed reflectively. ‘Who knows? Maybe it’s my natural style he envies, maybe my boyish charm. Perhaps it’s my set-up here – having my own agency, no one to answer to, with fine companions at my side.’ He caught my eye and smiled.
George looked up from his comic. ‘Or could be the fact you once stabbed him in the bottom with a sword.’
‘Yes, well, there is that.’ Lockwood took a sip of water.
I looked back and forth between them. ‘What?’ I said. ‘When did this happen?”
― The Whispering Skull
“Hey, Flo! It’s Lockwood!’
Silence. The figure straightened abruptly; I thought for a moment it was going to turn and run. But then the voice came again, faint, hostile and guarded. ‘You? What the bloody hell do you want?’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ Lockwood murmured. ‘She’s in a good mood.’ He cleared his throat, called out again. ‘Can you talk?’
The distant person considered; for a few seconds we heard nothing except the sloop and slosh of the river along the shore. ‘No. I’m busy! Go away.’
‘I’ve brought liquorice!’
‘What, you’re trying to bribe me now? Bring money!’ More silence; just the sucking of the water. Away in the haze a head was cocked to one side. ‘What kind of liquorice?”
― The Whispering Skull
Silence. The figure straightened abruptly; I thought for a moment it was going to turn and run. But then the voice came again, faint, hostile and guarded. ‘You? What the bloody hell do you want?’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ Lockwood murmured. ‘She’s in a good mood.’ He cleared his throat, called out again. ‘Can you talk?’
The distant person considered; for a few seconds we heard nothing except the sloop and slosh of the river along the shore. ‘No. I’m busy! Go away.’
‘I’ve brought liquorice!’
‘What, you’re trying to bribe me now? Bring money!’ More silence; just the sucking of the water. Away in the haze a head was cocked to one side. ‘What kind of liquorice?”
― The Whispering Skull
“Burglary’s more fun than socializing, I always say.”
― The Whispering Skull
― The Whispering Skull
“Being diplomatic, I’d say Kipps was a slightly built young man in his early twenties, with close-cut reddish hair and a narrow, freckled face. Being undiplomatic (but more precise), I’d say he’s a pint-sized, pug-nosed, carrot-topped inadequate with a chip the size of Big Ben on his weedy shoulder. A sneer on legs. A malevolent buffoon. He’s too old to be any good with ghosts, but that doesn’t stop him wearing the blingiest rapier you’ll ever see, weighed down to the pommel with cheap paste jewels.”
― The Whispering Skull
― The Whispering Skull
Serah’s 2025 Year in Books
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