Screw this. He’d blown his shot at nice-and-easy, which only left quick-and-brutal—my favorite way to play.

As a matter of fact, I was going to offer you something.” “What did you have in mind?” "A field trip. You interested in doing something dangerous, and possibly illegal?” “Does it involve underage girls, broken curfews and assorted fruit toppings?

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him.

I want you, Kaylee, like I’ve never wanted anything. Ever. I want the fire. I want the heat, and the light, and I want the burn.

I got swirling eyes and the capacity to shatter windows with my bare voice. Tod got teleportation and invisibility. The supernatural world is so far from fair.

Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.