I've got the Mark of Cain," said Simon. "That means nothing can kill me, right?" "You can kill yourself," Magnus said, somewhat unhelpfully. "As far as I know, inanimate objects can accidentally kill you. So if you were planning on teaching yourself the lambada on a greased platform over a pit full of knives, I wouldn't." "There goes my Saturday.

Would you like to meet him? I could summon him up in a trice of you like. Being a warlock, and all.

I thought of love as a game. It is not a game. It is more serious than death.

If there is a life after this one, he said, let me meet you in it, James Carstairs.

Does anyone know why Will left?" Charlotte demanded, standing at the head of a long table around which the rest of them were seated. Cecily, her hands folded demurely before her, suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the carpet.

It sucked to be old enough to want to know what was going on, but so young you were always dismissed.

Don't make it sound like that. Like some ordinary sort of grief. It's not like that. They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite. Over. This is a fresh wound every day.