He had the look of an atheist who’d just had a visit from God: stunned, disbelieving and faintly ill.

I barely heard him, I was too busy watching Pritkin, who had slumped over with his head on the sofa arm, shoulders shaking helplessly, and what looked suspiciously like tears leaking out from under his closed eyes. "Not that bad," he muttered, and then he was off again.

I felt betrayed and absolutely livid, but my body wasn’t smart enough to know it. It had liked the feel of his hands, wanted more of it, wanted it now. It was almost like there were two of me, one who heartily approved of the mage and one who would have dearly loved to see him dead.

You could say I'm on the troubleshooting squad." "Troubleshooting?" He put a hand on the back of his waistband. "I see trouble and I shoot it.

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.

No they called it the Codex Merlini because it was written by a guy named Ralph.

Come and take your seat, Lady Dorina.