Yes,” I told him. “I think the guy playing the Pirate King was awesome.” He stopped where he was. “What?” I asked, frowning at the big smile on his face. “I didn’t say I liked the Pirate King,” he told me. “Oh.” I closed my eyes—and there he was. A warm, edgy presence right on the edge of my perception. When I opened my eyes, he was standing right in front of me. “Cool,” I told him. “You’re back.” He kissed me leisurely. When he was finished, I was more than ready to head home. Fast. “You make me laugh,” he told me seriously.

Hard truths can be dealt with, triumphed over, but lies will destroy your soul.

C’est moi, c’est moi,’tis I,' I told him. It seemed appropriately melodramatic, though I didn’t know if he’d catch the reference. I shouldn’t have worried. Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Trust you to quote Lancelot rather than Guinevere.

The devout belief that the world is explainable is both a terrible vulnerability and a stout shield.

New rules. If you are smart enough to live, you won’t hit Charles’s mate in front of his father.

A werewolf tossed me against a giant packing crate while I was trying to rescue a frightened young girl who'd been kidnapped by an evil witch and a drug lord.

"I thought Indians built fires with fiction." .... "I can do that, but I'd like to eat sometime in the next day or so. Sterno and Bic are much faster."