Barrons knows virtually everything about me. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere he has a little file that encompasses my entire life to date, with neatly mounted, acerbically captioned photos—see Mac sunbathe, see Mac paint her nails, see Mac almost die.

-I'm going to kill the kid. - Barrons says faintly. Ryodan makes a burbling sound like a bodly laught. -Get in line

Bedevil the devil and devil be dammed. I fear no devil and bow to no man. - Adam Black

Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.

Oh, for heaven's sake, she thought with droll exasperation, this certainly explains a lot. It's no wonder I haven't been able to keep my hands off the blasted man since the day I met him. He's an artifact! A Celtic one at that!

Question: When you’re one of the few people who can do something to fix a problem, just how responsible does that make you for it? Answer: It’s how you choose to answer that question that defines you.

He looked as if he'd stepped straight off the cover of one of those romance novels she ordered from Amazon.com so she didn't have to be embarassed by some supercilious male clerk in the bookstore.