Here. Have a Coke. That’s good for a sore throat, right?” “Good for everything,” Shane croaked, and took the extended cold can with good grace. “Thanks.” “You owe me a dollar,” Eve said. “I’ll add it to the five thousand you already owe me, though.” He blew her a kiss, and she stuck her tongue out at him, and that was the end of the subject, thankfully.

You have not been sticking your dirty fingers in my sauce,’’ Eve said, and pointed her wooden spoon at him. He quickly took the finger out of his mouth. ‘‘First off, they’re not dirty. I licked them first.

Well," Claire said, "at least we have tacos. Everything goes better with tacos.

Your father's an asshole. It's not a disease. You don't have to catch it.

Mind the dead man, my dear.

Seriously,” Shane said, “this kind of is the worst situation we’ve ever been in, right?” “Speak for yourself,” Michael said. “I got myself killed last year. Twice.” “Oh yeah. You’re right—last year really sucked for you.

You want to go play with your new friends back there? The really pale ones with the taste for plasma? --Shane