I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.

Good Lord, I thought, squinting at the bright glare of a late-July morning. No wonder I slept through this. It was noisy with shrieking birds, and already hot.

Keep your vampire mitts off me. I'm not your friggin' blood toy.

Confused, I asked, "The coven's what?" "Plumber," Ivy said, looking pale as she leaned on Glenn. "You know. Stops leaks?" Oh goodie. I'm a leak.

Inside Junior's it was peaceful. I can change that, I thought dryly.

Lately I’d begun carrying pain amulets in my bag, like some people have breath mints.

And then there are the rare ones who know love, who understand it. Who freely give of themselves, demanding only a return of that love,that trust.