She knew it should bother her more, being evil and all, but after she put on a little mascara and some lipstick and poured herself another cup of blood-laced coffee, she found that she was okay with it.

One of them hissed-not the hiss of a cat, a long, steady tone-more like the hiss of air escaping the rubber raft that is all that lies between you and a dark sea full of sharks, the hiss of your life leaking out at the seams.

You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don't.

Foul and magical fumes bubbled out of the kettle, like the flatulence of a dragon on a demon-only diet.

It's Christmas! Ah, Christmas, the time when all good people go about not decapitating each other.

Pondering is a little like considering and a little like thinking, but looser. To ponder, one must let the facts roll around the rim of the mind's roulette wheel, coming to settle in whichever slot they feed pulled to.

How could you deal with a creature as devious as woman.