He put on his hat and wrapped his scarf around his jaw, but did without the wig and the sunglasses. He clicked his key chain and the car beeped and the doors locked. "That's it?" He looked up. "Sorry?" "Aren't you afraid it might get stolen? We're not exactly in a good part of town." "It's got a car alarm." "Don't you, like, cast a spell or something? To keep it safe?" "No. It's a pretty good car alarm.

We're not robbing him," Skulduggery said." But I'm afraid I have some bad news." "Is it Deacon?" Francine asked, her eyes wide. "It is." "Is he sick?" "It's a little worse than that." She gasped. "He's dying?" "He was briefly dying," said Skulduggery. "Now he's dead.

When I meet people, I no longer say "Hi, I'm Derek Landy, pleased to meet you." Now I say "Hi, I'm number one bestselling author Derek Landy. Worship me.

Cheer up everyone," he said, a new brightness to his voice. "Since we’re all going to die horribly anyway, what’s there to be worried about?

Every solution to every problem is simple. It's the distance between the two where the mystery lies.

I know how easy it is to be swept away by stories, by things you wish were real.

You’re seventeen. You’re supposed to be dealing with school and hormones and dim-witted parents. You’re supposed to be finding out who you are as a person.” “But I already know who I am,” Valkyrie said. “I’m a world-breaker.