The vampire's eyes were open, and he was staring at her intently. It was as though he were trying to speak to her with simply the power of a glare. Alexia did not speak glare-ish.

These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.

She had to give her teachers credit: they were right to insist all pupils carry scissors, handkerchiefs, perfume and hair ribbons at all times. At some point she'd learn why they also required a red lace doily and a lemon.

I believe there is a considerable range in the bang of most guns.

Alexia blinked stupidly at the Beta from around the earl’s upper arm. Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.

She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial. “Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side. “Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?” “Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.

What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? I forbid you to be ill, wife.