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

I wanted a do over. A time machine. That magic wand. But real life didn't have any easy outs, and very few happily-ever-afters. The real world was more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with most of the choices ripped out before you even opened the cover.

Did he show himself?” Nash asked, and I glanced to my right to see him staring at my father, as fascinated as I was. My dad nodded. “He was an arrogant little demon.” “So what happened?” I asked. “I punched him.” For a moment, we stared at him in silence. “You punched the reaper?” I asked, and my hand fell from the strainer onto the edge of the sink. “Yeah.” He chuckled at the memory, and his grin brought out one of my own. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father smile. “Broke his nose.

Because in most cases, I believe that people deserve a second chance. And because I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd stood by and let them both die souless, when I could have helped.

We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.” “You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.

"Hey, do you wanna go out for..." His words melted with a sigh when he noticed Tod, but then he rallied with a smile. "Hi, Tod, I didn't realise you were here. In my daughter's bedroom. With the door closed." "Happy to be here," Tod said, and I groaned out loud.

Not that I don't appreciate the rescue," Holt said. "But I'm forced to ask, in the interest of self-preservation ... exactly how well armed are you right now?