No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets.

He must have been handsome when he was alive and was handsome still, although made monstrous by his pallor and her awareness of what he was. His mouth looked soft, his cheekbones as sharp as blades, and his jaw curved, giving him an off-kilter beauty. His black hair a mad forest of dirty curls.

Being infected, being a vampire, it’ s always you. Maybe it’ s more you than ever before. It’ s you as you always were, deep down inside.

Once, she made a boy come out of his house and kiss her under the streetlight. It was her first kiss. She thinks it was probably his, too. She never told him and she never, ever will.

Death has his favorites, like anyone. Those who are beloved of Death will not die.

A girl like that, Grandad said, perfumes herself with ozone and metal filings.

Mine. The language of love is like that, possessive. That should be the first warning that it's not going to encourage anyone's betterment.