“Telling someone like my mother that Hell is a real, physical place, somewhere you can travel to and from, would be like spray-painting the statue of Jesus hanging over the pulpit during mass. Better off telling her the Pope is gay.”

“The glove suddenly feels much heavier, now, more dense. The rush of power didn’t come through me, but wrapped around me; invisible and strangely empty, like a purely mechanical force. It wasn’t like I just got stronger; it was separate from me, like something stepped in and punched him instead of me. I pull the glove off gingerly, half afraid I’ll punch my own fingers off.”

“I chew the inside of my lip, considering for a second what it would be like to slap this skinny little witch right across her tight-lipped little face. ~Kelly about Suni”

“You want me to join your group of demon hunters," I can’t believe I just said that out loud, "because of a can of pepper spray and a boat load of luck? You’re insane.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for any of this, but I’m here now. I get that it’s dangerous. I get that I’m fat. I get that I’m about as far from prepared for this insanity as you can get. But I’ll tell you something about me: I don’t quit. So enough with the let’s-scare-the-fat-girl routine, okay?”

“We fight monsters and unholy creatures for a living here. Grotesque, evil, violent, dangerous; they’re certainly all these things. And yet, we somehow manage to go to sleep each night and wake up each morning. The terror wears off. What was horrific becomes mundane. We lose ourselves to a numbed normalcy after a while, a self-inflicted detachment. You forget how you got here, what it was like before. And then someone comes along, someone new, someone who sees it all with fresh eyes, and it snaps you out of your daily coma, reminding you of what you’ve forgotten. Of what you’ve become.”

“That thing ruined my favorite T-shirt," complains Mario."Whatever." It’s Marianne’s voice. "You were just looking for a reason to get your shirt off." I try to look around for her, but my neck refuses.”