But you were Mine. My child. And I would not give you up.

He’s a war mage. They’re almost impossible to kill.” He scowled. “Even on purpose.

It's about time! It's supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.

Kiss me....Cassie....Like you mean it.

There are things we want, and things we may have.... Sanity lies in knowing the difference.

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?

More worryingly, my baby fangs were out, which usually happened only when I was perilously close to tipping over into Mr. Hyde territory. I quickly drew them back in. It didn’t help much. I still looked like Dracula’s daughter. Which was completely unfair, since he’d only been an uncle.