“Red Sox looked around Jane at the patient, “Your mind reading coming back?”“With her? Sometimes?”“Huh. You getting anything from anyone else?”“Nope.”Red Sox repositioned his hat. “Well, ah…let me know if you pick up shit from me, k? There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, feel me?”“Roger that. Although I can’t help it sometimes.”“Which is why I’m going to take up thinking about baseball when you’re around.”“Thank fuck you’re not a Yankees fan.”“Don’t use the Y-word. We’re in mixed company.”

“Thank fuck you're not a Yankees fan.""Don't use the Y-word. We're in mixed company.”

“Lassiter skidded in from the billiards room, the fallen angel glowing from his black-and-blond hair and white eyes, all the way down to his shitkickers. Then again, maybe the illumination wasn’t his nature, but that gold he insisted on wearing. He looked like a living, breathing jewelry tree. “I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?” “Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.” The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.” Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual. “Are you serious?” Butch said. Like the guy had maybe volunteered for a lobotomy. Or a limb amputation. Or a pedicure. “No fucking way,” V echoed. “When and where did you become a friend of the enemy—” The angel held up his palms. “It’s not my fault you guys suck—” Tohr actually stepped in front of Lassiter, like he was worried that something a lot more than smack talk was going to start flying. And the sad thing was, he was right to be concerned. Apart from their shellans, V and Butch loved the Sox above almost everything else—including sanity.”

“Because my patient just sat herself up--and I'm not talking about her raising her torso off the damn pillows. I wasn't there when she did it and I need to see how it happened."Red Sox seemed to stop breathing. "What...I'm sorry. What the fuck are you saying.""Do I need to reenact it in charades or some shit?""I'll pass on that--I so don't need you on your knees in front of me with only a towel on.""Which makes two of us.""Wait, are you serious?""Yeah. I'm really not interested in blowing you, either.”

“Mr. Normal stepped forward and offered him a Scotch bottle. "You look like you could use some." Yeah, you think? Butch took a swig. "Thanks." "So can we kill him now?" said the one with the goatee and the baseball hat. Beth's man spoke harshly. "Back off, V." "Why? He's just a human." "And my shellan is half-human. The man doesn't die just because he's not one of us." "Jesus, you've changed your tune." "So you need to catch up, brother." Butch got to his feet. If his death was going to be debated, he wanted in on the discussion. "I appreciate the support," he said to Beth's boy. "But I don't need it." He went over to the guy with the hat, discreetly switching his grip on the bottle's neck in case he had to crack the damn thing over a head. He moved in tight, so their noses were almost touching. He could feel the vampire heating up, priming for a fight. "I'm happy to take you on, asshole," Butch said. "I'll probably end up losing, but I fight dirty, so I'll make you hurt while you kill me." Then he eyed the guy's hat. "Though I hate clocking the shit out of another Red Sox fan." There was a shout of laughter from behind him. Someone said, "This is gonna be fun to watch." The guy in front of Butch narrowed his eyes into slits. "You true about the Sox?" "Born and raised in Southie. Haven't stopped grinning since '04." There was a long pause. The vampire snorted. "I don't like humans." "Yeah, well, I'm not too crazy about you bloodsuckers." Another stretch of silence. The guy stroked his goatee. "What do you call twenty guys watching the World Series?" "The New York Yankees," Butch replied. The vampire laughed in a loud burst, whipped the baseball cap off his head, and slapped it on his thigh. Just like that, the tension was broken.”

“There aren't any syringes." Red Sox came over and held a sterile pack out. When she tried to take it from him, he kept a grip on the thing. "I know you'll use this wisely.""Wisely?" She snapped the syringe out of his hand. "No, I'm going to poke him in the eye with it. Because that's what they trained me to do in medical school.”

“Qhuinn’s head cranked around, leaving its cage of the hand that had remained, his blue and green eyes red rimmed and watery. “I have loved you for years. I have been in love with you for years and years and years… throughout school and training… before transitions and afterward… when you approached me and yes, even now that you’re with Saxton and you hate me. And that… shit… in my fucking head locked me down, locked everything down… and it cost me you.”