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

“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.”

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

“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 laywer is a lethal combination in a mother.”

“She looked at me with those empty eyes, and I thought, I'm going to make sure I fill them up with something.”

“Ed gives him a dirty look. Leo grins. Dylan twitches. It feels like something's going on, I think loudly, and I know that Jazz hears my thought because she gives me her serious look and blows a chewing-gum bubble in my direction.”