“Men and swords. My father said that if you put any able-bodied man, no matter how peaceful, into a room with a sword and a practice dummy and leave him alone, eventually the man would pick up the sword and try to stab the dummy. It is human nature.”

“You said sloppy! Look, I didn't even use my sword; I hit him with my head, like a moron.”

“Just so you know: if a rakshasa shows up, I left my sword in the car.”

“I snapped the crossbow into the top of the mount, took a canvas bundle from the cart, and unrolled it. Crossbow bolts, tipped with the Galahad warheads.“This is my baby.” I petted the stock.“You have a strange relationship with your weapons,” Roman said.“You have no idea,” Raphael told him.“This from a man with a living staff and a man who once drove four hours both ways for a sword he then put on his wall,” I murmured.“It was an Angus Trim,” Raphael said.“It’s a sharpened strip of metal.”“You have an Angus Trim sword?” Kate’s eyes lit up.“Bought it at an estate auction,” Raphael said. “If we get out of this alive, you are invited to come to my house and play with it.”It was good that Curran wasn’t here and I was secure in our relationship, because that totally could be taken the wrong way.”

“Why a raven?""To honor my father.""The writing under it, is that Cyrillic?""Yes.""What does it say?""Dar Vorona. Gift of the Raven. I am my father's gift.""The raven is holding a bloody sword.""I never said it was a nice gift.”

“Bleed him and I'll skewer you like a stuck pig," I said through clenched teeth."No, you will try. You'll wave your sword around and talk a lot of shit and then back off at the last minute. And then I'll snap your neck and his.”

“It was the kind of sword that would make a lifelong pacifist look for tall boots and a hat with feathers.”