Cherry Bomb: A Siobhan Quinn Novel - Plot & Excerpts
In fact, I didn’t come to anywhere in the museum. I opened my eyes, after all that falling and the whirling black stars and the void, fucking Carcosa, and I was sitting on a bench in the park. I couldn’t even remember crossing the street. Not that it mattered. I opened my eyes, and B was sitting on my right and Pretty Boy Charlee was sitting on my left. Charlee was holding on to my arm, just above the elbow. And the Basalt Madonna, still wrapped in Selwyn’s Morrissey T-shirt, it was right there in his lap. I gasped, sucking in air like I’d never tasted the stuff before. Like I was a breather. It smelled good, clean. Well, as clean as November in New York City gets. It was, in fact, the best goddamn air I’d ever tasted. But there was a chill, too, in the afternoon breeze rustling the leaves, and I pulled the stolen peacoat tighter. “You’re okay,” said Charlee, and he gave my arm an encouraging little squeeze. “You’re just fine.
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