Two years? That's entirely too long. If you want, we can take care of that. After two years it's pure therapy.

You need a name.” I covered the receiver for a moment. “We need a team name.” “Hunters,” Raphael said. “Valiant Knights of the Fur,” Dali said. “Justice Group,” Jim said. “Since Justice League is taken.” “Fools.” Doolittle shook his head. “Fools,” I said into the receiver.

Some people had attack dogs. Ghastek had attack lawyers.

I make a bad mom, but I can pull off a crazy aunt.

Peope, especially unhappy people, want a cause. They want something to belong to, to be a part of something great and bigger, and to be led. It's easy to be a cog in a machine: you don't have to think, you have no responsibility. You're just following orders, doing as you're told.

You look like Curran. You have that pissy exasperated look on your face.

There is no such thing as privacy between a deity and his worshipper. There are no secrets, no glossed-over failures. Only promises kept and abandoned, sins committed and imagined, and raw emotion. How many of us are ready to have our lives judged? What would happen if we were found wanting?