“Well. We’ll just have to hope that this wasn’t a loup-garou, I guess.” “If it was a louper, you’d know,” Bob said wisely. “In the middle of this town, you’d have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What’s going on?” “A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Like I said, magic comes from life, and especially from emotions. They're a source of the same intangible energy that everyone can feel when an autumn moon rises and fills you with a sudden sense of bone-deep excitement, or when the first warm breeze of spring rushes past your face, full of the scents of life, and drowns you in a sudden flood of unreasoning joy. The passion of mighty music that brings tears to your eyes, and the raw, bubbling, infectious laughter of small children at play, the bellowing power of a stadium full of football fans shouting "Hey!" in time to that damned song—they're all charged with magic.My magic comes from the same places. And maybe from darker places than that. Fear is an emotion, too. So is rage. So is lust. And madness. I'm not a particularly good person. I'm no Charles Manson or anything, but I'm not going to be up for canonization either. Though in the past, I think maybe I was a better person than I am today. In the past I hadn't seen so many people hurt and killed and terrorized by the same kind of power that damn well should have been making the world a nicer place, or at the least staying the hell away from it. I hadn't made so many mistakes back then, so many shortsighted decisions, some of which had cost people their lives. I had been sure of myself. I had been whole.”

“Life is full of toil, sacrifice, and pain, and from the time we stop growing, we know that we've begun dying. We watch helplessly as year by year, our bodies age and fail, while our survival instincts compel us to keep on going-which means living with the terrifying knowledge that ultimately death is inescapable.”

“Maybe,” he said in a slow, rural drawl, “you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy.” “Well,” I said, “if you’re going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn’t it.”