“The little boys did as they were told, eager to please their deranged brother."Ici, garcon," they chorused, pudgy fingers raised. And then from the corner of his mouth, Myles whispered to his twin, "Artemis simple-toon.”

“Artemis: "Right, brothers. Onward. Imagine yourself seated at a cafe in Montmartre."Myles: "In Paris."Artemis: "Yes, Paris. And try as you will, you cannot attract the waiter's attention. What do you do?"Beckett: "Umm...tell Butler to jump-jump-jump on his head?"Myles: "I agree with simple-toon."Artemis: "No! You simply raise one finger and say clearly 'ici, garcon.'"Beckett: "Itchy what?”

“Artemis simple-toon”

“He ran his hand from my wrist up to the crook of my elbow and then to my shoulder. “When I was a little kid, my dad would come to my room at night to say a prayer with me. He used to say, ‘Lord, We know there’s a little girl out there who’s meant for Henry. Please protect her and raise her up right.’” His voice changed to something slower and more country when he mimicked his dad. He smiled at the memory, and then he put his mouth near my ear and whispered. “You were that little girl.”

“You didn’t feed from her,” he said, and this was not a question.“Swill poison? Not my kind of fun, little brother.”One corner of Stefan’s mouth quirked up. He made no response to this, but simply looked at Damon with eyes that were... knowing. Damon bridled.“I told the truth!”“Going to take it up as a hobby?”

“His face had become very red and his mouth and fingers were sticky. He did not look either clever or handsome, whatever the Queen might say.”