“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”

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

“Mac: "It's not the sidhe-seers."He stopped and went very still.JZB: "Who is it?"Mac: "The MacKeltars."He was silent a long moment. Then he began to laugh, softly.JZB: "Well played, Ms. Lane."Mac: "I had a good teacher."JZB: "The best. Hop on one foot, Ms. Lane."Mac and Barrons”

“He raised a brow. 'Petunia, Ms. Lane?'I scowled. "Ass, Barrons.”

“Barrons." I hastily shoved the phone between the cushions. Ms. Lane." He inclined his dark head. You tattooed me, you bastard." I got right to the point.”

“Barrons Books and Baubles had been ransacked! Tables were overturned, books torn from shelves and strewn everywhere, baubles broken. Even my little TV behind the counter had been destroyed. "Barrons?" I called warily. It was night and the lights were on. My illusory Alina had told me more than an hour had passed. Was it the same night, nearly dawn? Or was it the night following our theft attempt? Had Barrons come back from Wales yet? Or was he still there, searching for me? When I‘d been so rudely ripped from reality, who or what had come through those basement doors? I heard footsteps, boots on hardwood, and turned expectantly toward the connecting doors. Barrons was framed in the doorway. His eyes were black ice. He stared at me a moment, raking me from head to toe. "Nice tan, Ms. Lane. So, where the fuck have you been for the past month?”