You know what we call pedestrians in Morganville? Mobile bloodbanks.

Look, I hate good-byes, too. But sometimes, we need them just to survive.

Me neither,” Shane put in. “Homie don’t play that.” “I wonder, sometimes, if your generation speaks English at all,” Amelie said.

Promise me you’ll marry me. Not now. Someday. Because I need to know.” Claire felt a flutter inside, like a bird trying to fly, and a rush of heat that made her dizzy. And something else, something fragile as a soap bubble, and just as beautiful. Joy, in the middle of all this horror and heartbreak. “Yes,” she whispered back. “I promise.” And she kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, while the sun came up and bathed Morganville in one last, shining day.

Is it him?” Dad asked. “Did he get you into trouble?” “Not me,” Shane said. “I’ve just got that kind of face.

Myrnin: ‘Have we been introduced?’ Frank: ‘Probably not. Why, you asking me out, sweetheart?’ Myrnin: ‘You’re not my type, darling.

I never forget,” Myrnin said in a choked whisper. “Certainly not with your nails in my throat. They’re quite an excellent mnemonic device.