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 am Meda fucking Melange. There is no way in hell I'm letting go. 
 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. 
 This book maintains everything I have previously loved about the series. The friendship. The snark. The priorities. As in: when the world is going to burn to a fiery death, thou shalt not gaze lovingly into thine lover's eye and whisper sweet nothing into his heads, but instead, thou shalt kick thyself some motherfucking demon ass. Meda has always, always got her head straight, and that's what I love about her. She is irreverent. She is selfish. She's out for self-preservation first and foremost. And above all else, she is loyal and loving to her friends. And no love triangle. Ever. In fact, the romance is hardly a mention at all. 
 And what romance there is...is so damn funny.My gaze leaves them and finds Him. My one true love. 
 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.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. 
 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. 
 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. 
 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. 
 That isn't to say Meda isn't perfect. When danger rears its ugly head, the best action is sometimes to just run the fuck away. Survive to fight another day. Fuck bravery, you gotta save your own ass at times. Clearly, a girl after my own shriveled, enormously wimpy heart. 
 "You heard them, Meda. We're losing. The world is losing. We have to do something." 
 "Did it ever occur to you that, no, we don't? That we are already doing enough and it's not our damn responsibility?" 
 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. 
 Clearly, desperate times call for desperate measures, the measures of which Meda does not like. At. All. And for good reason. 
 "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." 
 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." 
 *snickers* 
 In all seriousness, this book filled with plenty of ass-kicking, blood, and unexpected twists. Meda's friends play a large role in this book, for which I'm thankful, and the end was as satisfying as I would have hoped. Goodbye, old friend.