“There was a sound like a human yawn, and then the skull turned slightly toward me and asked, "What's up, boss?""Evil's afoot.""Well, sure," Bob said, "because it refuses to learn the metric system. Otherwise it'd be up to a meter by now.”

“Of course Evil's afoot. If it had switched to the metric system it'd be up to a meter by now. ”

“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.”

“But do I need to say anything?" Sophie asked. "Do I need to learn any words?""Like what?" Saint-Germain said."Well, when you lit up the Eiffel tower, you said something that sounded like eggness." "Ignis," the count said. "Latin for fire. No, you don't need to say anything." "Then why did you do it, then?" Sophie asked. Saint-Germain grinned. "I just thought it sounded cool.”

“That sounded like an insult, but he wasn't sure. "What's a dillweed?" "You. You're a dill weed." Well, that cleared things right up.”

“Another guy came in, and he said he was quitting his job at the Research Laboratory; said anything a scientist worked on was sure to wind up as a weapon, one way or another. Said he didn’t want to help politicians with their fugging wars anymore. Name was Breed. I asked him if he was any relation to the boss of the fugging Research Laboratory. He said he fugging well was. Said he was the boss of the Research Laboratory’s fugging son.”