Eddie Drood: Is this why we become agents? To play games, to chase after secrets that are rarely worth all the blood spilled on their behalf...To end up stabbed in the back, just when you thought you'd won, bleeding out in some nameless backstreet...With most people never even knowing who you were, or what you did, or why it mattered?

Books can be terrible snobs.

There are any number of magical creatures, mostly female, whose singing can bring about horror and death. Sirens, undines, banshees, Bananarama tribute bands...

After all, you’re only an immortal until someone manages to kill you. After that, you were just long-lived.

What is the world coming to, when you can't even trust a rogue vicar and her demon lover?

Because nothing makes love and life matter more than the knowledge that some day it must end.

Wait. You've got principles? We'll have to update your file.