I'm like a fine wine. I get better with age. The best is yet to come.

You know, Aunt Tasha makes jokes about how youʹd actually be a better queen than the others, except sometimes . . . I donʹt think sheʹs joking.

Do what? Come up with a clever pun referencing Jerome's demonic status? The truth is, I usually keep a stash of them on hand and—

She stared at me with concern a few moments longer and then relaxed a little. "Okay. But if you need anything—" "I know, I know. Call on the Love Phone.

I'm backing down now. I really do love you. That's why I'm doing this.

You have the patience of a saint," I grumbled, slouching into a chair. "And besides, you don't hang out with him 24/7." "Neither will you. It's only 24/6." "Same difference. It might as well be 24/10." She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense.

Look who's calling the cauldron black." "Kettle. It’s a kettle. Get your metaphors right." "That wasn’t a metaphor. It was a, you know..." He stared off into space, blinking. "One of those things that’s symbolic of another thing. But isn’t the same thing. Just like it." "You mean a metaphor?" "No! It’s like a story...like...a proverb! That’s it." "I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a proverb. Maybe it was an analogy." "I don’t think so.