“A psychic laywer is a lethal combination in a mother.”

“I'm psychic," she said, and looked at me looking nervously at the lock. "Psychic. Not pshycho. I'm Jazz Parker.”

“She's the psychic but she can't see what's coming up: the intersection of hurt and more hurt. The blind spot there is a killer.”

“A psychic friend could come in very handy." I reshuffled my cards."I predict I will," she said.”

“I'm up for a Shadow hunt." She tries to let us out, but the lock's stuck. "That's weird.""Is this like an omen?" Daisy asks.Jazz unzips her boot and takes it off so she can slam it at the lock. "It's not an omen." Slam. "Tonight." Slam. "Is going to be great." Slam. "I've got a feeling." Slam. She puts her book back on and looks at us. "Okay, we'll have to climb out of here."She stands on the toilet seat and from there to the toilet-roll holder and then heaves herself over the wall. "Impresive," I say, and then we hear her slam to the ground."Less impressive," Daisy says."It doesn't mean anything," Jazz calls. "Trust me. I'm a psychic.”

“It isn't the smallness of this place that bothers me. It's the grey that's worked its way into the walls. It's the stains on the carpet from some other life that came and left before ours. Bert always said he'd give me a good deal on paint but some places take burning down and rebuilding to make them shiny."-Ed, page 10”

“I'm eclectic,' she said to the HDs once and I could see them trying to work out where she plugged in.”