Thank God for imminent doomsday.

I let out a battle cry. Sure, a lot of people might have mistaken it for a sudden yelp of unmanly fear, but trust me. It was a battle cry.

There should be a rule against your own inner monologue throwing around that much sarcasm.

There’s nothing that makes you more insane than family. Or more happy. Or more exasperated. Or more . . . secure.

When I started, I was pretty sure I was going to be writing some goofy little wizard novels that might make me some part-time money and would hopefully lead to something I could do better.

And thrice do I say to thee...bite me.

Molly was committing dinner by that time, aided and abetted by Sanya, who seemed to take some kind of grim Russian delight in watching train wrecks in progress.