“Bob," I said over my shoulder. "Tell her it's me.""Can't," Bob said in a dreamy tone. "Boobs.”

“So?" Bob said. "Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved." "Bob," I said. "You can't just go around killing people." "I know. That's why you should do it." "No, no. I can't go around killing people, either.”

“I was sitting in my lab, my hand spread open on the table, while the skull examined my palm.I'd worn a mark there for years--an unblemished patch of skin amidst all the burn scars, in the perfect shape of the angelic sigil that was Lasciel's name.The mark was gone.In its place was just an irregular patch of unburned skin."It looks like there's no mark there anymore," Bob said.I sighed. "Thank you, Bob," I said. "It's good to have a professional opinion.""Well, what did you expect?" Bob said. The skull swiveled around on the table and tilted up to look at my face. "Hmmmmm. And you say the entity isn't responding to you anymore?""No. And she's always jumped every time I said frog.""Interesting," Bob said."What's that supposed to mean?""Well, from what you told me, this psychic attack the entity blocked for you was quite severe."I shivered, remembering. "Yeah.""And the process she used to accelerate your brain and shield you was traumatic as well.""Right. She said it could cause me brain damage.""Uh-huh," Bob said. "I think it did.""Huh?""See what I mean?" Bob asked cheerfully. "You're thicker already.""Harry get hammer," I said. "Smash stupid talky skull.”

“All right. Tell me what I'm looking at."From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, "A giant pair of cartoon lips."I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible.A big goofy magic nerd!" Bob said.”

“No, Bob. Just no. For crying out loud. She's seventeen. Better move quick, then, Bob said. Before anything starts to droop. Taste of perfection while you can, that's what I always say......The perverted little creep has a point, my host.”

“Bob, would you be willing to take on Evil Bob?"Bob's eyes darted nervously. "I'd . . . prefer not to. I'd really, really prefer not to. You have no idea. That me was crazy. And buff. He worked out.”

“You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex."Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry.""Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses.""Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep -"I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it."He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity.""Bob," I said, "you're a skull . You don't have any masculinity to insult.""Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets.”