p82 In her, too, curiosity was a perverse fire, stoked by any effort to extinguish it.
p154 How much would your life have to suck to want the apocalypse?
“It would have to suck so much that your bunny slippers are your only friends.”
“It would have to suck so much that your dog wags its tail when you leave.”
“That you know all the Celine Dion lyrics.”
That you wish the entire world would end so you don’t have to wake up one more day in your crappy house—which, by the way, has no art in it whatsoever—feed your surly kids, and go to a mind-numbing job where someone is sure to have brought doughnuts to make your ass even fatter.
That is how much your life has to suck to want the Apocalypse.”
“You survived the fall,” she said. But not unscathed. Bereft of his human, he was splayed out over the ground. One arm had been crushed; he cradled it to his chest and dragged himself with the other, legs limp behind him. And his head, his awful purple head, was flattened at the temple, crusted with dried blood, and still embedded with rocks and broken glass .He gave an impatient flick of the hand. “I’ve fallen farther.”Karou was skeptical. The minaret towered overhead, the tallest structure in the city. Seeing her glance up at it, Razgut chuckled again. It was a curdled sound: mingled misery and spite. “That’s nothing, blue lovely. A thousand years ago, I fell
p 166 Home. The word might still have air quotes around it, but half of Karou’s life had been chopped off, and the other half—the normal half—was inPrague. Her tiny flat with its rows and rows of sketchbooks; Zuzana and marionettes; school, easels, naked old men with feather boas; Poison Kitchen, statues in gas masks, bowls of goulash steaming on coffin lids; even her jackass of an ex-boyfriend lurking around corners dressed like a vampire.
p176 Her smile was real when Mik began kissing Zuzana’s neck, but after a moment it began to feel a little like a Mr. Potato Head smile, plastic and stuck on.
p179 “Perfect. You look adorably pathetic. Some tourist is sure to try to carry you home as a souvenir.”
p183 The first time she’d come to Prague, she’d gotten so lost exploring these streets. She’d passed an art gallery and a few blocks later doubled back to find it, and… couldn’t. The city had swallowed it. In fact, she had never found it. There was a deceptive tangling of alleys that gave the impression of a map that shifted behind you, gargoyles tiptoeing away, stones like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves into new configurations while you weren’t looking. Prague entranced you, lured you in, like the mythic fey who trick travellers deep into forests until they’re lost beyond hope. But being lost here was a gentle adventure of marionette shops and absinthe, and the only creatures lurking around corners were Kaz and his cohorts in vampire makeup, ready with a silly thrill.
p204 She studied him, mentally correcting the drawings she’d done from memory. Her fingers itched to snatch up a pencil and draw him from life. Stupid fingers.
p206 Well, you’re lucky,” said Karou. “Here, if you want long life, you have to yank out all your teeth with pliers.”
p207 She kind of wanted to take off her boots, but that was something you didn’t do if there was any chance you might have to quickly flee or kick someone. Judging from Akiva’s plain exhaustion, she didn’t think she was in danger of either. The only danger was of foot smell.