“It's the same with spirit guises; show me a sweet little choirboy or a smiling mother and I'll show you the hideous fanged strigoi it really is. (Not always. Just sometimes. *Your* mother is absolutely fine, for instance. Probably.)”

“Stanley went on, "highly dangerous, fanatical and additictied to violence'- Blimey Fred, is it your mother writing this? They seem to know you so well”

“One magician demanded I show him an image of the love of his life. I rustled up a mirror.”

“Listen,” I began, “this is an established, traditional form that—”“Traditional nothing. Where are your clothes?”“Clothes?” I said weakly. “I don’t normally bother with them in this guise.”“Well, you could put on a pair of shorts, at least. You’re not decent.”“I’m not sure they’d go with the wings….” The demon frowned, blinked. “Hold on, enough of this!”“Lederhosen would. They’d compliment the leather.”

“But I do get afraid. It's just that fear makes me sort of . . . angry and resentful, and I bite back at it. It's hard to describe."It isn't hard to describe, you idiot," Aud said. "It's called courage.”

“I thought I told you to stop doing that," he snapped. A thin-lipped mouth opened; the jutting chin and nose knocked together indignantly. "Do what?""Taking on such a hideous appearance. I've just had my breakfast." A section of brow lifted, allowing an eyeball to roll forward with a squelching sound.The face looked unapologetic."Sorry, mate," it said. "It's just my job." "Your job is to destroy anyone entering my study without authority. No more, no less." The door guard considered. "True. But I seek to preempt entry by scaring trespassers away. To my way of thinking, deterrence is more aesthetically satisfying than punishment." Mr. Mandrake snorted. "Trespassers apart, you'll likely frighten Ms. Piper here to death." The face shook from side to side, a process that caused the nose to wobble alarmingly. "Not so. When she comes alone, I moderate my features. I reserve the full horror for those I consider morally vicious." "But you just looked that way to me!" "The contradiction being...?”

“Fifty years isn’t too bad. With luck you might see it happen when you’re a sweet, old granny, dandling big fat babies on your knee. Actually”—he held up a hand, interrupting Kitty’s cry of protest—“no, that’s wrong. My projection is incorrect.”“Good.”“You’ll never be a sweet old granny. Let’s say, ‘sad, lonely old biddy’ instead.”