The funny thing about mundies is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means.

Get up, Imogen, and get yourself ready for battle. From now on, the orders around here are going to come from me." "And the first thing you're going to do is free my son from that accursed Malachi Configuration.

One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret that's never been told. ~ Simon

Lord, you're Irish," said Will. "Can you make things that don't have potatoes in them? We had an Irish cook once when I was a boy. Potato pie, potato custard, potatoes with potato sauce.

How many times have I told you, Magnus? Behave professionaly in a professional setting. Which means no being rude to Nephilim, and also no getting attached to Nephilim." "I never get attached to Nephilim!" Magnus protested. Ragnor coughed, and in the midst of the cough said something that sounded like "blerondale." "Well," said Magnus. "Hardly ever.

Is this one of those days where we all stalk out in fury? Because I simply haven't got the energy for it.

What were you dreaming about?" "You." He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. "I always dream about you." "Oh, yeah? Because I thought you were having a nightmare." He tipped his head back to look at her. "Sometimes I dream you're gone," he said. "I keep wondering when you'll figure out how much better you could do and leave me.