Come and take your seat, Lady Dorina.

When good Americans die, they go to Paris,' the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. But you’re not dead. I suppose the question must be, are you good?

I wasn't entirely sure, but a polite John Pritkin might be a sign of the apocalypse.

I left it with a warmer,” he said drily. Because war mages ate their fried chicken frozen to the ground and they liked it.

War mages ordered, threatened and bitched. They didn't deal.

Not really hungry." "She’ll eat." Pritkin said curtly. "I said —" "If you starve to death it would damage my professional reputation." "I eat plenty." "The same does not apply should I strangle you in understandable irritation, however." "I’ll have a sandwich," I told Nick. "No meat.

Think you can maybe not die for five minutes?" "I'll try,"I told him seriously. "You know, if anyone else said that, it would be funny.