You are your father's daughter,' he said, the skin around his eyes tightening. 'Trent is his father's son. Apart, you are annoying. Together...you have the potential to be a problem.

Al's voice was faint but resolute. "Stand up. Try to look sexy." "In a bedsheet?" I complained, running my hands down it. "How can I look sexy in a bedsheet?" He cleared his throat, and I grimaced. "Never mind.

Shot me twice. I want my name, or I'm going to start charging you a fee every time I field something for you. And it's going to be expensive. I'm Park Place. Bud-dy." His red, goat-slitted eyes squinted at me from over his smoked glasses. "You're more like Oriental Avenue right now, dove. What are you on?

Did something happen to the sanctity of your church again?" My eye twitched. "Newt broke it so she could look in my closet." Again.

Sure, it was nice now, but eventually there would be running and screaming and blood on the floor.

...treat people with understanding when you can, and fake it when you can't until you do understand.

Was using “dead-man’s-toe” morally okay if the man’s relatives had knowingly sold him for parts?