Magnus shrugged. "He also made inappropriate amorous advances to a startled grandmotherly sort selling flowers, an Irish wolfhound, and innocent hat stand in a dwelling he broke into, and myself.

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.

He made a sound of frustation, caught at her hand, brought it to his chest, and pressed it flat over his heart. The steady beat hammered against her palm. "Every heart has its own melody," he said. "You know mine.

I am not a certified idiot—" "Lack of certification hardly proves intelligence," Will muttered.

Well, I'd certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death." He blinked. "There is a fine line between sarcasm and outright hostility, and you seem to have crossed it. What's up?

Have you tried talking to her?" "No. We've been punching her in the face repeatedly. What? You don't think that will work?

I know I told you once that whether God exists or not, we're on our own. But when I'm with you, I'm not.