“Uh-oh, I hope he doesn’t start rattling off dirty limericks next; she’ll probably burn the hotel down.”

“This is from the queen? And you say it’s for a mouse? I’m sorry, sir, but the Pyramid Hotel doesn’t allow any pets except for service animals.”

“Speaking of your eyeballs, dear brother,I overheard some girls talking about you in the restroom at the tournament hotel. Apparently rumor now has it that you won’t allow anyone to see your eyes—ever. In fact, according to this knowledgeable source, you even sleep and shower with your glasses on in case someone unexpectedly walks in...one of them said she’d seen your eyes for herself two years ago and could only describe them as 'ferocious and roving,’ and ‘burning white-hot with a primal, raw wildness.”

“Suddenly, the giant, three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Underworld appears next to her—sans two of its heads—and sits down. As a child, we had a neighbor with a Great Dane, and I know they’re about three feet tall at the shoulder. Allow another twelve inches for their T-Rex-sized heads, and you’ve got a dog that this woman could throw a saddle on and ride like a pony.”

“I look around briefly at the other players like I always do before a game. Other than Queenie, Bill, and Talon, I don’t know any of them (and I don’t care enough about them to know them). But if there’s going to be any cordiality, any forced politeness or ‘Aw, shucks, let’s all just try to have a good time here tonight’ kind of blather, then now’s the time to get it out of the way before I get down to the business of screwing everyone out of their hopes and dreams.”

“The car doesn’t so much drive as float above the road, like we’re making our way to Sydney in a hovercraft.”

“My help—it’s not a light switch you can turn on and off. My help starts right now, and after this point you don’t get to tell me that you don’t want it anymore. Understand? You had a chance to walk away, Alice, and you didn’t take it. Now it’s time to play the game.”