“Fiske spoke sharply to the four walls. "We need medical attention immediately. We have a gunshot wound that requires treatment.""You're not going to get through to them by talking like an English professor," scoffed Reagan. "Hey!" she bawled. "Get a doctor down here! She's in pain, thanks to you! What are you going to do about it?”

“Desperately, Phoenix attempted to maneuver both tips of the instrument around the bullet. He knew that each move caused Nellie unimaginable pain, but he could not grasp the target. "It's no use," he sobbed. "And my hand is going numb."In a frenzy, Nellie shouted something into the gag, but no one could understand her."I beg your pardon, child?" queried Alistair.Nellie spat out the rag and rasped, "Get the Kabra chick!""Natalie?" Fiske exclaimed. "She's fallen completely to pieces.""Get her!" Nellie demanded. "Anybody with eyebrows plucked like that knows how to use a tweezers!"Reagan bounded across the room and came back with a shivering, mewling Natalie."I can't!" she wheezed.Fiske poured alchohol over the girl's beautifully manicured fingers. "You must."Still protesting, her eyes tightly shut, she took over the instrument from Phoenix. "I can't do it! You can't make me—oh!" She said in sudden surprise. "This?" And when she pulled the tweezers out of the wound, the tips were firmly grasping a flattened, blood-slimed bullet.Nellie laughed—and promptly fainted.”

“Hamilton had a complaint. "Why did you have to tell the cops I'm your boyfriend? That's gross, Amy. We're related!"Amy was disgusted. "We had a common ancestor, like, five hundred years ago. Besides, if they think we're together, we only have to come up with one story, and I can do all the talking.""Hey, I got an early acceptance to Notre Dame," Hamilton said defensively. "I can talk.""Of course you can," Amy soothed. "It's what you say that might get us into trouble.”

“It was no place for a Kabra, not even a poor one living in exile with a psychopathic cat.He approached the counter and rand the bell with authority. The clerk turned around.Evan Tolliver."You're Amy's cousin!""Yes, I am," Ian confirmed. "I have here a list of items–""Have you heard from her?" Evan interrupted. "Is she okay?""Her health is excellent.""No, I mean–"Ian sighed. "Why should you care? She promises to phone you, and she doesn't. You were nearly arrested, thanks to her. There's a message in there somewhere, don't you agree?"Evan nodded sadly. "I kind of think so, too. But we were awesome together. She's smart, fun to be with, and not immature like most of the girls in our school. It's as if she has an automatic switch for when it's time to be serious–she can almost be old beyond her years at times. Where do you learn something like that?""I have no earthly idea," Ian lied.”

“He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load. "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit. Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante. Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill.... And if she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.”

“Dear Mr. Weston, Hello again. We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you. I guess things have been pretty quiet since the Salvation Army tried to take over the world. We are sorry, but after much deliberation we have elected not to assign any men to Protect Trillium Air Base. We feel that the Forces can protect themselves, and if they can't, who is going to protect the country? Also, thank you for sending us that shard of broken glass with the fingerprint on it. It was yours. Our mail clerk required four stitches and a tetanus shot. Relay our condolences to your Mr. Waghorn. We have no idea what unfortunate circumstance (for him) drew him to your ever-watchful attention, but he has no criminal record and his face is not known to us. Yours Sincerely,Bruce Hmmm, thought Sidney, Waghorn has no criminal record. "Let me see one of those," said Tom. "I'm sorry, Tom, but I can't show you the letters." Tom muttered something about a lack of trust. He was extremely alarmed at the intensity of Sidney's expression. As Sidney himself would have put it, the investigation was progressing. That meant trouble. There was always trouble when his brother got to the letter-writing stage. Tom would have to stay on his toes. Sidney opened the last letter. Dear Mr. Weston, Please stop bothering us. Cordially yours,The Ontario Provincial Police.”

“Hamilton was bug-eyed. "Who are those people?"Jonah held his head. "Man, I should have known it was a mistake to say I'd be leaving town soon! Why do fans have to be so literal?""Are they going to let us go get the faxes?" Hamilton asked.Jonah stared at him. "You're kidding, right?”