Nellie Gomez awoke to a splitting headache. Worse, she was still hungry. "Where's my croissant?" she demanded of the person leaning over her. "Dear child," came a strangely familiar voice. "Don't 'dear child' me!" she snapped. The twenty-two-year-old punk rocker ran black-polished fingernails through black-and-orange-dyed hair, which did nothing to soothe the pounding behind her black-shaded eyes. "Give me my croissant or I'll–" It was then that she suddenly realized she was threatening the venerable Alistair Oh. "Alistair, what are you doing here?

The dog always dies. Go to the library and pick out a book with an award sticker and a dog on the cover. Trust me, that dog is going down.

What did Romeo and Juliet do?” They died,” I remind her gently. “Some mix-up with the poison-

Ian sighed wanly. "I once had the means to be gaga over art–before I found myself in a country where the standard of beauty is toaster waffles shaped like cartoon characters.

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.

Jonah peered critically up at the Renaissance masterpiece. "Man, those copies don't due it justice. This one's the truth!" "Only a Janus," groaned Hamilton.

Don't think of it as losing a boyfriend. Think of it as gaining a stalker." -Dan Cahill