“Trash can!”Pritkin cursed and grabbed one, just about the time everything I’d eaten that night paid a repeat visit. Whiskey, pizza, milk shake, beer-and a lone, half-dissolved gummy bear, which was a surprise, since I couldn’t actually recall having eaten any. Fun times.”

“I started to get up, but that hand tightened on my foot. I wanted to pace, needed to let off some of the nervous energy that kept me from eating half the time, kept me from sleeping. And just when I told myself I was being paranoid and everything would be fine, something tried to drown me in the goddamned bathtub.But I didn't get up. Because then I'd lose that bried, human connection. A connection that shouldn;t have been there, because Priktin wasn't the touchy-feely type. He touched me in training, when he had to, and grabbed me in the middle of crises. But I actually couldn't recall him ever touching me just ... because.”

“Pritkin gave me a little shake and I eyed him without favor. The only other occasions when I had been dragged back in time, the trip had been triggered by proximity to a person whose past was being threatened. I have to tell you,” I said frankly, “if someone is trying to mess with your conception or something, I’m not feeling a pressing need to intervene.”

“Before I left, I just wanted to say . . . thank you.” It came out a little strangled. I thought about it for a moment. “You’re welcome?” “Do you know what I’m thanking you for?” Damn. I’d hoped he wouldn’t ask that. It couldn’t be for lunch, since we’d never had any. And I guessed we wouldn’t now, what with a possessed fridge and all. “No?” I said, figuring I had a fifty-fifty shot.”

“I’d have been dead a long time ago if not for my friends, one of whom had just jumped off the cliff after me. I’d have been a lot more appreciative if he hadn’t pushed me first." ~Cassandra Palmer”

“I'm fine," I told him tersely."Of course you are. You're one of the strongest people I know."It took me a second to process that, because he'd said it so casually. Like he was talking about the weather or what time it was. Only Pritkin didn't say things like that. His idea of a compliment was a nod and to tell me to do whatever it was I'd just done over again. Like that was usually possible.But that had sounded suspiciously like a compliment to me.”

“Pritkin muttered something that sounded fairly vicious. “My clothes are warded! Even if I wished to accede to your demand, it would not work on them.”“Then strip.”“I beg your pardon?” He sounded almost polite suddenly, as if he believed he couldn’t possibly have heard right.”