Mencheres slid through the water toward her, drawn by the same inexorable compulsion that led moths to dance with flames. He'd had several lifetimes' worth of reason, cold machinations, and, ultimately, emptiness. Perhaps the moths knew what he didn't, that the joy of the flame was worth the price of destruction.

Since this was a formal undead gathering, there would be food—all kinds—drinks, dancing, and festivities, while those in power pondered whether or not to slaughter half the people around them. In other words, like a high-school prom.

Age had taught him patience. Youth had taught me to get frustrated at the lack of progress.

Don't fret, Grannie. We're going to a Bible retreat to scare the devil out of her

Any situation was better faced with an empty bladder, a clean body, and a lack of morning breath.

Do you think I’m pretty?” I heard myself ask. Something I couldn’t name flashed across his face. “No. I don’t think you’re pretty. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

Now that was informative" were her first words. "Catherine, you never told me that no matter how many times you sliced something off a vampire, it grew back" Charming, "Guess I don't have to ask if you had a nice time.