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346 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 13, 2015
I fly through the air, soaring over chaos, then slam into the opening of the world. I grip the edge just barely. Grit rolls under my hands and I slide back towards the hole, only barely catching myself with the very edge of my fingertips. I dangle over disaster, the roar of battling demons below, but I am unafraid. I am filled with nothing but smug damn victory.I don't know what to say. This is the final book in one of my favorite YA series in the last couple of years, and reading it is like saying goodbye to a friend. Which is kind of confusing, since I believe we've established that Eliza based Meda after ME (my ego knows no bounds), and therefore I would be saying goodbye to myself? Whatever. I digress.
I am Meda fucking Melange. There is no way in hell I’m letting go.
My gaze leaves them and finds Him. My one true love.The character development is great. It happens so subtly, but our Meda isn't just a bloodthirsty, snarky, immature teen anymore. She's matured. Instead of reveling in the midst of pain and suffering, she only celebrates a little bit.
My heart gives a little squeeze at the sight of him. He leans nonchalantly in the parking lot, the long afternoon sun splashing his shadow on to the pavement, bigger, taller than the original. Enormous, like the space he fills in my heart.
It wasn’t love at first sight. Oh no, like all the best relationships it was slow and tempestuous. I thought he was too loud, too flashy. As for him, he was aloof.
I move forward and stroke his shiny chrome fender. “Who’s a good boy? Are you my good boy?”
“It’s just a motorcycle,” Jo snaps.
I’d like to tell you that I enjoy his pain, that the revenge is sweet. That my harsh words are only the beginning of a scheme to destroy him. But I can’t.Ok, so we're not going to see her get into a circle and sing Kumbaya with the Crusaders or comfort a poor demon who's trying to convince her that it's good at heart, really! No. But we do see her grow to love her friends. We do see her making sacrifices for the greater good. We see her thinking about people other than herself.
Neither can I tell you that I don’t enjoy it. That I’ve become a better person who doesn’t delight in the pain of her adversary; that I don’t take a dark delight in the piteous cries of what remains of [his] pathetic heart. But I can’t say that, either. Instead I rest in the middle, feeling victorious but a bit sick, like a child who’s eaten an entire cake.
“You heard them, Meda. We’re losing. The world is losing. We have to do something.”This book is the last book in the series, and consequently, shit is real. It's full-blown war between the Crusaders and an army of demons, and the good guys (excluding Meda, of course) are vastly overpowered. It's the equivalent of the Black Knight fighting King Arthur.
“Did it ever occur to you that, no, we don’t? That we are already doing enough and it’s not our damn responsibility?”
“You’re about to get married.” She clears her throat uncomfortably. “And as you no longer have a mother, I feel it’s my duty to explain what to expect.”*snickers*
What to expect? She can’t mean…
She clears her throat again. “Now, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done it.” She scratches the back of her head. “Years and years, really, but—’
My look of absolute, utter horror cuts her off.
She sees my expression and her face takes on an equally horrified one. Under different circumstances I would laugh to see the severe, emotionless Sarge turn such a brilliant shade of red, but the threat of a sex talk from the Sarge is too terrifying to allow levity.
Fortunately she holds up her hand. “No. No. Oh, God, no, this isn’t that talk.”
"Hope can be a powerful thing.
A spark of light in the dark,
A star in a black night.
An impetus to change, a motivation to transform.
Something to lose, something to attain."
"Now I have seen too much good in my enemies, too much evil in my allies. I’ve seen too much evil in my friends, even.(...)Just as the Crusaders are plagued with hate, demons are afflicted with hope. The equal opposite nature of the cosmic game board means no one is above reproach, and no one is below it."
"My relationship with Jo has always been built upon a foundation of discord. We have never agreed on anything, but it has never mattered.(...)We are bound too tightly by ties I can’t escape, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Ever."
HOLY WAH HOLY WAH HOLY WAH.
It’s this, my own depravity, that makes me unable to condemn others for theirs, that makes me want to believe that no matter what mistakes I make, that there is forgiveness. There is hope.
I want to believe there’s a chance, Armand had said. Even for me.
That’s what rebirth gives the demons: hope. Hope can be a powerful thing. A spark of light in the dark, a star in a black night. An impetus to change, a motivation to transform. Something to lose, something to attain.
Just as the Crusaders are plagued with hate, demons are afflicted with hope. The equal opposite nature of the cosmic game board means no one is above reproach, and no one is below it.
I am Meda fucking Melange. There is no way in hell I’m letting go.I am now convinced there is no end to Meda's awesomeness. Absolutely no end. She always has her head straight. She's selfish and she's arrogant only care about her three most beloved friends and it's this very love that keeps her motivated to do the right thing and don't fuck anything up. I absolutely love how her character developed. She didn't become a saint comforting crusaders and trying to justifies anyone's actions , but she continues to love her friends and try to do better for the world even when sometimes her selfish instinct kicks in. I really think she's the character every YA lover needs to read about. She's everybit snarky, selfish, witty and everything in between but all you need to know is that she's amazing.
Still I don’t mind when Jo, Chi and Armand reach over the edge and haul me up.
Hey, just because I don’t need help doesn’t mean I don’t mind a little from my friends every once in a while.
“Tell me . . .” He fiddles with a button on the pocket of his cargo pants, then forces his hand still. He looks up, his eyes betraying his vulnerability even before his words do. “What would it take for you to forgive me?” It’s soft, almost a whisper. As if my forgiveness is a bird he’s afraid to startle away.
I eye him, then lean forward until our mouths almost touch. His eyes drift to my lips. I pause, letting the moment hang, letting it draw long, letting him wait. “Die for me, Armand.” My voice is a seductive, violent purr. “Die for me and set me free from our marriage.”
He closes his eyes as if pained. “I can’t do that.”
“And I can’t do forgiveness.” I bend my lips in a smile. “But cheer up. At least I can’t kill you.”
There’s a beat, then he forces a tight smile. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.”
“You always do.”
When she stops, she takes another breath and she looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in months. Maybe ever. “Who would have thought that you would become my conscience?”I loved Chi most in this one in all of the three books. He's the beacon of kindness and selflessness among demons and their evilness, and little insight to Chi's character we got all along the way to hell was really comforting to read about. As much as I love Meda, I admit my little bit angelic side doesn't really like it when people are dying and Meda only think about saving her own ass, so Chi'selflessness always cheer me up. Afterall, too much evilness is contagious too.
I gasp in horror. “Don’t you dare get used to it! I’m the bad cop.” I point at her. “Staid, righteous good cop.” I point at myself. “Mischievous, fun-loving bad cop.”
She grins impishly—which really doesn’t bode well—and tosses an arm around my shoulder. It pulls her off balance a little and her leg brace clangs against the railing.
“Sure thing, Hooch.”
I am Meda fucking Melange. There is no way in hell I’m letting go.
“You have been my greatest weakness since the day we met,” I shout.
She doesn’t back down. “You’ve been my greatest strength.”
"I here Armand’s jeering voice in my head."
"When someone loves you unconditionally and eternally, no matter what you do... Well, let's just say, it makes it hard to be an ass."
"The carpet is luxuriously thick, the kind upon which you could sneak up on a person without even trying, the kind that would muffle the thud of a body, the kind that would cost thousands to get bloodstains out."
"I'm drowning, Meda." The words are whispered, rough and raw from his raw throat, and his eyes close again, exhaustion overtaking him. "I'm drowning and I'll be drowning for eternity." His eyes open but he doesn't look at me. "I want to believe there's a surface, and air, even if I never see it."
"I joined the Crusaders for you. I married [spoiler] for you." I'm in her face, snarling. "You have been my greatest weakness since the day we met," I shout.
She doesn't back down. "You've been my great strength."
“Hey, I can do romance,” I protest, forcing levity into my voice. “I didn’t feed you to the dragon when I had the chance. That’s romantic.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. You have the soul of a poet.”
That Chi’s freeing of the soul was a deliberate attempt to protect it from Jo’s cruelty and not just his happy-go-lucky naivety is again the wind fluttering the curious curtain over Chi’s depths. He has seen something in Jo and now we all see something in him.
Jo blinks, as if someone unexpectedly turned on a light, then shakes her head. “You can’t do the right thing here, Chi. It’s not . . . it doesn’t belong.”
His voice gentles, the previous bite all but forgotten. “You can do the right thing everywhere, Jo. That’s why it’s the right thing.”
I love screams. All screams. Bloodcurdling, terrified screams. Squealing, pained screams. Harsh, moaning screams ripped from raw throats that thought they could scream no more. The trailing scream that crumbles into a death rattle. I love the way they ring in my ears, the way they vibrate in the points of my teeth. The way the Hunger roars in harmony. If I were a musician, my instrument would be the highest pitches of the human voice box. I’d line up my victims and pluck their vocal cords like a street musician stroking the lip of a dozen water glasses.
“Because I need the Crusaders to do something for me.”
“You need them.”
“Where else am I going to find an army of heroic self-sacrificing idiots?”
Can’t disagree with that one. “And you think they’re going to help you?”
His eyes open and he smiles faintly. “Not on purpose. Obviously.”
When someone loves you unconditionally and eternally, no matter what you do . . .
Well, let's just say, it makes it hard to be an ass.
'My relationship with Jo has always been built upon a foundation of discord. We have never agreed on anything, but it has never mattered.'
I am Meda fucking Melange. There is no way in hell I’m letting go.
“Who would have thought that you would become my conscience?”
I gasp in horror. “Don’t you dare get used to it! I’m the bad cop.” I point at her. “Staid, righteous good cop.” I point at myself. “Mischievous, fun-loving bad cop.”
I love screams. All screams. Bloodcurdling, terrified screams. Squealing, pained screams. Harsh, moaning screams ripped from raw throats that thought they could scream no more. The trailing scream that crumbles into a death rattle. I love the way they ring in my ears, the way they vibrate in the points of my teeth. The way the Hunger roars in harmony. If I were a musician, my instrument would be the highest pitches of the human voice box. I’d line up my victims and pluck their vocal cords like a street musician stroking the lip of a dozen water glasses.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>
"You look like you think you’re leaving.” The words contain a silky threat.Oh, Jo. I love you.
Jo rises to the bait. “And you look like an asshole.” I squeeze her arm in warning. “What?” she says to me, “I thought we were stating the obvious.”