I look at them and I think `I can't possibly be like them, and they can't stand anyone different`.

The world seemed to be swaying around him, and strange things were important.

It was like holding a loosed arrow: Ty felt hot and sharp in his arms, and he was vibrating with some strange emotion. After what felt like a long time he relaxed slightly. His hands touched Kit, their motion slowing, his fingers winding themselves into Kit’s sweater.

We could go to Baker Street,” Kit said, without even knowing he was going to say it. “We are in London.”Ty looked up at that, his gray eyes aglow. “To 221B Baker Street?

Kit found himself holding Ty harder, until Ty relaxed under the tight grip of his hands; held him more tightly than he’d ever held anyone, held him as if they’d been lost in the sea of the sky, and only holding on to each other could keep them afloat above the wreckage of London.

You want a—wait, you’ve been sleeping outside my room because you want a sort of Watson for your Sherlock Holmes?”Ty’s eyes lit up. They still moved restlessly around Kit as if he were reading him, examining him, never quite meeting Kit’s own, but that didn’t dim their glow.

A cruel sort of bond, he thought, that made one person out of two people, and left such devastation when half was gone.

Kit burst out laughing. Ty looked even more astonished than he had when Kit had said he'd miss him. But after a second, he started to laugh too. They were both laughing, Kit doubled up over the blankets, when Magnus came into the room. He looked at the two of them and shook his head."Bedlam," he said, and went over to the counter where the glass tubes and funnels had been set up.

Ty’s not my shadow,” said Kit crossly. “My apologies. I suppose you’re his.

Funerals are always so sad,” said a woman who had introduced herself as Irina Cartwright, staring at Julian with a deep pitying stare. When he didn’t respond, she shifted her gaze to Kit. “Don’t you think?”“I wouldn’t know,” said Kit. “My father was eaten by demons.