The three cards were the Moon, the Empress, and the Ace of Cups. Ambrose leaned over my shoulder to peer at the cards. "Ooh,' he said. "Very interesting." Rhonda glanced up at him. "Hush. You don't know what you're talking about.

So. Are you guys here to convert me or sell me siding?

I decided the Alchemists needed an entire department devoted to handling Adrian Ivashkov.

If I was drunk, I wouldn’t be here at all. And really, this is pretty good for four White Russians.” “White what?” I almost sat down but was afraid the chair might dematerialize beneath me. “It’s a drink,” he said. “You’d think I wouldn’t be into something named that—you know, considering my own personal experience with Russians. But they’re surprisingly delicious. The drinks, not real Russians.

Dimitri Belikov had arrived.

You and I have never liked each other, Rose. If I’ve got to kill someone, it might as well be you.

‎She didn't understand what it was like to be filled with a love so strong that it made your chest ache—a love you could only feel and not express. Keeping love buried was a lot like keeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up inside until you wanted to scream or kick something.