I don't believe in fate," he said carefully, "but... I do believe everything happens for a reason. That there is some plan, some meaning to this darkness we live in.

You will always be a monster - there is no turning back from it. But what kind of monster you become is entirely up to you.

The mighty hunter," I quipped as we snuck out the backdoor, escaping into the yard. "He can take down vicious rabids and rampaging boars, but one old lady can make him flee in terror.""One scary old lady," he corrected me, looking relieved to be out of the house. "You didn't hear what she told me when I got up - you're so cute I could put you in a pie. Tell me that's not the creepiest thing you've ever heard." His voice climbed a few octaves, turning shrill and breathy. "Today for dessert, we have apple pie, blueberry pie and Ezekiel pie.

I've always wanted the IQ of a rock. No, wait. That would be an insult to the rock.

Metallic trees. That's new. If you see any steel dryads, be sure to tell me so I can run away screaming.

I wished that, for once, faery tales – real faery tales, not Disney fairy tales – would have a happy ending.

Me? Robin Goodfellow, a family man? He, not likely, ice-boy. I mean, think of what that would do to my reputation. Glamour shimmered around him, and he gave us a wink. Later, lovebirds. Gimme a heads up when the kid arrives. 'Uncle Puck' will be waiting.