Ian Kabra rolled up his window. "My god, what's that smell?" Behind the wheel, Sinead laughed. "It's called fresh air. Growing up in London, you've probably never breathed it before." "And I hope I never breathe it again.

I've taken care of it," I said My father looked at me, shocked. Then I realized "taken care of" had a very specific meaning in his line of work. "No, no, I mean he's gone.

In our family, you don't get a childhood. We're too busy trying to dominate the world.

Nellie's brow furrowed. "The great Mr. Hip-Hop Mogul standing in line with the common peasants? How do you figure that?" Dan grinned. "I'm starting to dig this 'no cars' thing. It's a great equalizer.

Wonderful. What's the point of throwing a hissy fit without friends and family on hand to hear it?" -Amy Cahill

If the cake fits, eat it!

You two have to promise to be careful!" Sinead handed Amy a small plastic bag. "I made you a going-away present–a high-powered miniature smoke bomb. Could come in handy against the Vespers. It works with knockout gas, so I tossed in a couple of breathing filters." "That's the Cahill equivalent of a Hallmark moment," Dan observed. "A smoke bomb. When you care enough to send the very best–explosives." "I'm not a flowers-and-candy kind of girl," Sinead informed him.