Reyes leaned back against the bar, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me from beneath those same ridiculously long lashes. Men and their freaking lashes. It was so unfair. Like the exorbitant cost of designer shoes. Or world hunger.

They were back. The demons in all their glory. And they had a plan. I made plans sometimes, too, but they rarely involved world domination. Hot dogs on a grill, maybe. Tequila.

Cook, at that moment in time, I would have sold my body for a mocha latte

Since killing people is illegal, can I have a Taser just for shits and giggles? -Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

Hello?" I said, because Charley's House of Pasties seemed wrong.

I suck at all this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken. Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.

I climbed into Misery and called Uncle Bob. “We hooking up?” “Why does everything out of your mouth make me sound incestuous?” “Um, I wasn’t aware that it did. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.” “Charley.” “Is there something you need to get off your chest? Besides that skank I saw you with the other day?