“From who?” “From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing.” “All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?”

“You had something. What was it?" he demanded."An alcohol-laced kiss," I said tightly. "Two, to be precise.""From who?""From whom,I believe is the correct phrasing.""All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?"Mac and Barrons”

“We fucked, Ms. Lane. Even cockroaches fuck. They eat each other, too.”

“I told you, Ms. Lane, never believe anything is dead-""- I know, I know, until you've 'burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.”

“Don't celebrate yet, Ms. Lane. Don't believe anything is dead until you've burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.”

“Burns from dropped matches, Ms. Lane? Matches one might have dropped while flirting with a perniciousFae, Ms. Lane? Have you any idea the value of this rug?”I didn’t think his nostrils could flare any wider. His eyes were black flame. “Pernicious? Good grief, is Englishyour second language? Third?” Only someone who’d learned English from a dictionary would use such a word.“Fifth,” he snarled. “Answer me.”

“Deals with the devil, Ms. Lane, never go well. That‘s a given. You will not make one again. Do you understand me? If I have to chain you to a fucking wall to protect you from your own stupidity, I will!" He glared at me. I rattled my chains. "Wrists. Beam. Chained already, Barrons. Come up with a new threat." I glared back.”