Pulvis et umbra sumus. It's a line from Horace. 'We are dust and shadows'. Appropriate, don't you think?" Will said. "It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body - dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all.

But I will never have a bride.

You stole a boat,” she snapped. “What am I doing with you, you boat-stealing lunatic?

I can't - I'll chop off my own foot!" "If you're going to chop off anyone's foot, chop off Benedict's," Will muttered.

Usually I'm remarkably good natured. Try me on a day that doesn't end in y.

I'll need you to get a leash for my monkey, Claude, and also a hat." "Of course, monsieur" "Do you think he needs a little coat as well?" "Perhaps not in this weather, monsieur." "You are right," Magnus said with a sight. "Make it a simple dressing gown, just like mine." "Which one, monsieur?" "The one in rose and silver." "Excellent choice, monsieur.

As Magnus turned to walk away from the church, he heard the sound of violin music carried to him on the cloudy London air, and remembered another night, a night of ghosts and snow and Christmas music, and Will standing on the steps of the Institute, watching Magnus as he went.