T. Kingfisher

it was because there was another city down there, and people just kept on building upwards as the canals rose, so the

basement floors were really the roofs and ceilings of old houses.

can magic bread, Your Grace. Make dough rise, or keep the muffins from burning, or make sure they come out of the pan clean. Just bread, though. I can’t do anything but bread

Bone dog, stone dog … black dog, white dog … live dog, dead dog … yellow dog, run!

Dawn had passed and it was most of the way to morning when the baby emerged into the world, looked around, and burst into tears.

“You get used to it,” the Sister told the infant, and handed the child to Marra, who stared at it with intense horror. It was bloody and wrinkly and reddish gray and looked like the sort of thing you would drive back to hell with holy water. “Um,” said Marra

the history of the world was written in women’s wombs and women’s blood

everywhere’s dangerous if you’re foolish about it

The joy of finding one was crushed easily under the sorrow of so many that would go unused

Then again, few humans were truly worth the love of a living dog.

Hate, like love, was apparently complicated.