I grinned and said, “Hey don’t blame me, I’m a tourist, remember?”
“You’re a tourist, but I don’t remember ever hearing the Dutch were idiots.”
“Yeah, well, this one got herself stuck in a big foreign country with zombies running wild,” I replied.
I’m half of my father. Half of my hero. And I am half of my mother. Half soft sighs and half sharp edges. And if they can be Carmindor and Amara–then somewhere in my blood and bones I can be too. I’m the lost princess. I’m the villain of my story, and the hero. Part of my mom and part of my dad. I am a fact of the universe. The Possible and the Impossible. I am not no one. I am my parents’ daughter, and then I realize–I realize that in this universe they’re alive too. They’re alive through me. Fashioning my hands into a pistol, I point it at the ceiling, lifting my chin, raising my eyes against the blinding stage lights, and I ignite the stars.
I don’t entirely understand how anyone gets a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. It just seems like the most impossible odds. You have to have a crush on the exact right person at the exact right moment. And they have to like you back. A perfect alignment of feelings and circumstances. It’s almost unfathomable that it happens as often as it does.
She chuckles again. “Because sane plans never work, girl,” she says. “Only the mad ones do.”
“But I might come back to haunt you,” said Ruby.
“Of that I am certain,” said the housekeeper. “You haunt my every waking hour, why give up the habit when you’re dead?”