When she left for a third time and returned with a giant box, I started to get irate. "What is this?" I demanded, taking it from her. It felt like it had bricks in it. "Grandmother needs you to carry some things," Paul told me. "Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I sort of figured that out fifty pounds ago.

Oh, hey. This looks promising. " We came to a stop before a high, barbwire fence with an enormous PRIVATE PROPERTY--NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ALLOWED sign on it. The lettering was red, apparently to emphasize how serious they were. Personally, I would have added a skull and crossbones to really drive the message home.

I didn't just get an idea. I got a great idea.

I think Adrian really likes you. Like, in a wanting-to-be-serious way." "Nope. He likes me in a wanting-to-get-the-clothes-off-the-cute-dhampir way.

She probably gave up and started playing Minesweeper." [...] We reached the cafe and found Sydney bent over her laptop, with a barely eaten Danish and what was probably her fourth cup of coffee. We slid into seats beside her. "How's it—hey! You ARE playing Minesweeper!

Yeah? What'd you name all those cats?" Death, Famine, Pestilence, War, and Mr. Whiskers." You named your cats after the riders of the apocal--wait. Mr. Whiskers?" Well, there are only four horsemen.

Funny how someone telling you not to do something can talk you into it.