“You're in America now," I said. "Our idea of diplomacy is showing up with a gun in one hand and a sandwich in the other and asking which you'd prefer.”

“It's hard to think when someone's trying to kill you. We human beings aren't wired to be rational and creative when we know our lives are in danger of a swift and violent end. The body has definite ideas of which survival strategies it prefers to embrace, and those are generally limited to "rip threat to pieces" or "run like hell." No thinking need be involved, as far as our instincts are concerned.Our instincts were a long time in the making, though, and the threats that can come after us now have outpaced them. You can't outrun a bullet, and you don't go hand-to-hand with a gunman unless you're certain you are about to die anyway. Speed and mindless aggression weren't going to keep me alive.”

“...the Stone Table [was] a place that served as the OK Corral for the Faerie Courts when they decided to engage in diplomacy by means of murdering anyone on the other team.”

“There was a click of high heels in the hall behind us, and a young woman appeared. She was pretty enough, I suspected, but in the tight black dress, black hose, and with her hair slicked back like that, it was sort of threatening. She gave me a slow, cold look and said, "So. I see that you’re keeping low company after all, Ravenius."Ever suave, I replied, "Uh. What?""’Ah-ree," Thomas said.I glanced at him.He put his hand flat on the top of his head and said, "Do this."I peered at him.He gave me a look.I sighed and put my hand on the top of my head.The girl in the black dress promptly did the same thing and gave me a smile. "Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t realize.""I will be back in one moment," Thomas said, his accent back. "Personal business.""Right," she said, "sorry. I figured Ennui had stumbled onto a subplot." She smiled again, then took her hand off the top of her head, reassumed that cold, haughty expression, and stalked clickety-clack back to the bistro.I watched her go, turned to my brother while we both stood there with our hands flat on top of our heads, elbows sticking out like chicken wings, and said, "What does this mean?""We’re out of character," Thomas said."Oh," I said. "And not a subplot.""If we had our hands crossed over our chests," Thomas said, "we’d be invisible.""I missed dinner," I said. I put my other hand on my stomach. Then, just to prove that I could, I patted my head and rubbed my stomach. "Now I’m out of character—and hungry.”

“You're one hell of a woman, Molly,” I said. “Thank you.”

“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.”

“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.”