What's that?" he asked, when I stood beside him again. "Halos," I said with a grin. "For heavenly creatures like us." "That might be a stretch.

My muse is an ungrateful harlot who’s abandoned me to actually come up with my own plots.

Well there you go. Even a psychopath recognized your worth enough to want to kill someone else first." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I felt a strange fluttering sensation in my chest. Butterflies, cardiac arrest . . . it was hard to say what exactly.

We all screw up. Everyone makes mistakes. That’s what she did. It was bad judgment, that’s all. You don’t cut off the people you love for mistakes like that.

I left the clinic in a daze that had nothing to do with my head injury. Clear up in a week or so? How could Dr. Olendzki speak so lightly about this? I was going to look like a mutant for Christmas and most of the ski trip. I had a black eye. A freaking black eye. And my mother had given it to me.

Was it weird having a witch grandma? Scary? Was she always, like, threatening to cast spells if you were bad?" "Most of the time she just threatened to send me to my room." "That doesn't sound so scary to me." "That's because you haven't met her.