... he trotted down the hallway on all fours and started in on his second favorite pastime, conversations with plumbing. Just what I needed: Stone, the Toilet Whisperer.

Hey, rock dude, are you destroying the house? Causing mayhem? Who’s a ferocious gargoyle? Stoney’s a ferocious gargoyle.

I needed sleep. Big squishy bunches of it. Soon.

Keep digging, Flynn. Six feet makes a grave.

For a brief, weird minute I felt like Dorothy in Oz, walking down the street with Terric the doubtful, Shame the brainless, and heartless Zay.

He was like an undead boomerang. A zomberang.

Don't know about my knives, but my gun's made of pain.