“Was the pie good, luv?" she asked. I'd forgotten the pie until that moment. I took a leaf from Dr. Darby's notebook. "Um," I said.”

“How about this?' Simmon asked me. "Which is worse, stealing a pie or killing Ambrose?"I gave it a moment's hard thought. "A meat pie, or a fruit pie?”

“I think it's kinda nice.' And I did. my mom isn't famous for her pies. No, she's famous for defusing a nuclear device in Brussels with only a pair of cuticle scissors and a ponytail holder. Somehow, at the moment, pies seemed cooler.”

“A cherry pie is . . . ephemeral. From the moment it emerges from the oven it begins a steep decline: from too hot to edible to cold to stale to mouldy, and finally to a post-pie state where only history can tell you that it was once considered food. The pie is a parable of human life.”

“Excuse me?" I said, palms down on the Formica tabletop. "Coffee? I thought we came here for pie." "I don't eat the kind of pie they serve here." I felt a flash of heat go through my stomach. I knew firsthand the kind of pie Ranger liked.”

“What can you do?" he asked.It took me a few seconds to catch up to Daddy's question. He was asking about my snazzy new vampire powers, not expressing helplessness about my being turned by a guy with "shoves trees on people" tendencies."Oh, um, a lot of stuff, except, you know, eat solid food and go outside during the day, " I said. "Even my pot pie?" Mama cried. Yes, because in this situation, pot pie was what we should be focusing on.”