Magic gives you a lot of choices," Grandad says. "Most of them are bad.

You really dug your own grave,” he mutters. “And I’m going to bury you in it.” “Say that louder,” I tell him, under my breath. “I dare you.

Sometimes,” Sam says, “I can’t tell when you’re lying.” “I never lie,” I lie.

So what are you really wearing?" The words left her mouth before she could consider them. She winced. He didn't seem to mind; in fact, he flashed her one of his brief smiles. "And if I said nothing at all?" "Then I would point out that sometimes, if you look at something out of the corner of your eye, you can see right through glamour," she returned. That brought surprised laughter. "What a relief to us both then that I am actually wearing exactly what you saw me in this afternoon. Although one might point out that in that outfit, your last concern should be my modesty.

The more powerful you become, the more others will find ways to master you. They'll do it through those you love and those you hate. They will find the bit and the bridle that fits your mouth and will make you yield.

You are the best kind of killer, Cassel Sharpe, the kind that never has blood on his hands. The kind that never has to sicken at the sight of what he's done, or come to like it too much.

I'm sorry I kissed you- it was selfish and it upset you- but you can't ask me to pretend I didnt want to.