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"She takes his face in her hands, curls her fingers in his down-soft hair, and kisses him."

Oh no I could

"Liska wavers on the edge of the bed, feverish and disoriented. What is wrong with her? How could she even consider kissing him? He is a seven-hundred-year-old czarownik. With antlers. He’s hardly even human!"

Oh no, I couldn't!

Axes don’t just slide in and out of skulls like knives into butter. They splinter bones and get stuck, have to be wrenched out, hefted back overhead, and plunged back in again. You can’t hack someone to death gently, there needs to be force behind it, and that force—not the blade—is what tears the bodies apart, leaving messes for people like Cora to clean up.

(Okay Cora thanks Cora I had no idea)

This book spends way too much time telling me about what Cora thinks about everything. I would be better off knowing less...

"Crossing to a high shelf, she lifted out a lacquered box and brought it back to her dressing table.
...
Glimmering inside was a diamond choker, with a large, eight-sided amethyst at its heart."

Huh? Diamond in a lacquer box?? And this is a Chinese setting too so am I missing something

“Do any of you know my uncle personally?” No one responded. “How many of you are here to make sure he’s dead?” All the hands went up. “And you were all going to stab him?” “I was going to inject him,” one man said. “With what?” “Nothing. Just air. Into his carotid. If he wasn’t dead, he’d be then.”

What didn’t kill me didn’t make me stronger; what didn’t kill me made me a victim. But I made me stronger. I made me a survivor. Well, me and Lee and my very patient therapist.

"Horribly inconsiderate of him. We were all ready to go home. The story should have been done. He just kept on painting anyway."

"But she just felt…tired. And guilty over her lack of proper emotions. And more tired, because guilt of that sort is an immense burden. Heavier than the rocks she’d moved earlier. Then she felt ashamed. Because guilt has a great number of friends and keeps their addresses handy for quick summons."

Every 5 pages, Lila Bard or Delilah Bard ✨ ✨ ✨ gets to act half her age and show off how she hasn’t changed at all. And not in a good way

<spoiler>The only sin Mazen has is being manipulated by his brother and saying the wrong words at the wrong time -- and yet poor guy keeps being blamed for his brother's mistakes.... and he's not wrong about Ahmed</spoiler>

<spoiler> The only sin Mazen has is being manipulated by his brother and saying the wrong words at the wrong time -- and yet poor guy keeps being blamed for his brother's mistakes.... and he's not wrong about Ahmed </spoiler>

"but the next thing I remember is wrapping Erin up as tightly as my oxycodone-limp limbs would allow. Erin returned my warmth, and we stood for a second like we weren’t on the mountain at all. Like we’d never changed. Like she didn’t have a chapter of her own coming up."

'Got it. Sure thing, champ.’ He loosened up. Thankfully he didn’t affectionately punch me in the arm, otherwise we would have had to go outside and play catch, and I hadn’t brought my baseball glove.

Lucy commits to the rhetoric; she describes it as a business and tenses up whenever anyone says that specific word. So out of respect, I won’t use it. I’ll just say the Egyptians built them.

I won’t name the company because I don’t want to get sued, but I recall her being promoted to Vice Executive Regional President (or something) a while back, along with about ten thousand others. An arbitrary title, unless of course it was referring to her own vice of badgering friends into buying shit they didn’t need, in which case she was certainly presidential.

'You know,’ she said, leading me inside, ‘you’ll have to play nice if you want to make it out of this weekend alive.’ I swear to God she actually said that. And she even winked at me. As if she's the one telling the damn story.

Signa could you please focus more on the murder mystery and less on Sylas