“Troubleshooters?" Michael asked."When there's trouble," I told him, "they shoot it.”

“Bloody hell," he gasped. "Harry. There's a *knife* in my leg. When did *that* happen?""In the duel," I told him. "Don't you remember?""I thought you'd stepped on me and sprained my ankle," Ramirez replied. Then he blinked again. "Bloody hell. There's a *knife* in my guts." He peered at them. "And they match.”

“Erlking,” I told her. “Big-time bad guy. Wants to eat me.”“Why?” she asked.“Well. I met him,” I said.”

“Holy shit," I breathed. "Hellhounds.""Harry," Michael said sternly. "You know I hate it when you swear.""You're right. Sorry. Holy shit," I breathed, "heckhounds.”

“You about done?” I asked him. “I need the table.”“What is it with you people?” Butters groused. “For God’s sake, these are real injuries here.”“There will be more of them than a thousand reluctant physicians could patch up if we don’t get moving,” I said. “Today’s serious business, man.”“How serious?”“Can’t think when it’s been grimmer,” I said. “Freaking waste-of-space vampires, lying around on tables you need to use.”“Useless wizards,” Thomas said, “jumping on enemy guns and accidentally shooting their allies with them.”“Oh,” I said. “That was when I jumped Ace?”He snorted. “Yeah.”

“I still can't believe," Michael said, sotto voce, "that you came to the Vampires' Masquerade Ball dressed as a vampire.”

“Everyone dies, honey," I said, very quietly. "Everyone. There's no 'if.' There's only 'when.'" I let that sink in for a moment. "When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you've done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?”