My foster mother always laughed and said it was his reputation for knowing everything that allowed for him to appear infallible: all he had to do was walk through the room and see who looked guiltiest when they saw him. Maybe she was right, but I tried looking innocent the next time, and it didn't work.

Evil must always be fought.

Identity was partly heritage, partly upbringing, but mostly the choices you make in life. ~ Bran

Coffee or orange juice?” “Water is fine.” His eyebrows went up. “Uh-oh,” Auriele said, but she was smiling. Darryl was not. “Are you implying that my coffee is not the best in four counties? Or my fresh-squeezed orange juice is less than perfect?

You don’t have the courage of a half-bred mongrel.

Adam has always had . . . heroic tendencies.” I touched Adam’s arm. “He’s my hero.” There was another pause. . . “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bran said. “Be careful, Adam, or you’ll turn her into a real girl.” Adam looked at me. “I like her just the way she is, Bran.” And he meant it, greasy overalls, broken fingernails, and all.

Some truths are truths, no matter who says them.