God,” I moaned. “Do they use that stuff as rocket fuel?” “No one made you keep drinking it.” “Hey, don’t get preachy. Besides, I had to be polite.” “Sure,” she said.

You used your power to toss one rock at me?" he exclaimed, an almost comic note of incredulity in his voice. "On the contrary," I heard Dorian say pleasantly. "I didn't use magic for that. I just threw it.

I had a standing arrangement with God: I'd agree to believe in him—barely—so long as he let me sleep in on Sundays.

But I did die once. (I don't recommend it.)

I’d mentioned this odd wardrobe choice to Adrian a couple of weeks ago: “Isn’t Dimitri hot?” Adrian’s response hadn’t been entirely unexpected: “Well, yeah, according to most women, at least.

I can be a good friend, or a bad enemy.

You remember our talk about purpose and meaning?" he asked me, the smile disappearing. "Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.