Who are you?" because even now, she couldn't let her questions go. "What are you?" That face that wasn't a face smiled. It was the most terrible thing she'd ever see, ever. "Magnus" he said. "I'm the end.

Shane settled his flamethrower more comfortably on his shoulders. “Ladies? After you.” “Rude,” Claire said. “I was being polite!” “Not when you have a flamethrower.

You know," I said to Michael, "my girlfriend took him down with a broken tree branch." "Too bad she isn't here," he said.

She was starting to feel a little like a hamburger at a dieters’ convention. Nobody was likely to snack on her, but absolutely everybody noticed she was edible.

Saint Claire, the patron saint of the kick-me sign.

In any group of people, no matter how hard-assed they might appear, there’s always a geek.

Her phone rang again. “What?” she snapped as she answered it. Myrnin, of course. “Are you on your way?” “No!” “Claire, there are things to do.” “Here, too,” she said. “And I’m staying here, believe me.” Myrnin was silent for a beat, and then he said, “Bob would be very disappointed in you.” “Bob the spider?” “He looks at you like a mother, you know. I’m surprised at your lack of work ethic. Think of the example you set for—” She hung up on him and turned the phone on vibrate and relaxed in Shane’s arms.