“Tom is trying to tag a banshee? By himself? Go for it, coffin bait.”

“I’d given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.”

“Tagged by a whiny little vamp. Rache, take this sword and stick it in me. Just go and stick it in me. I'm a back-drafted, crumpled-winged, dust-caked, dew-assed excuse of a backup. Worthless as a pixy condom. Taken down by my own partner. Just tape my ass shut and let me fart out my mouth.”

“Tagged by a whiny little vamp," he said gesturing. "Rache, take this sword and stick it in me. Just go and stick it in me. I'm a back-drafted, crumpled-winged, dust-caked, dew-assed excuse of a backup. Worthless as a pixy condom. Taken down by my own partner. Just tape my ass shut and let me fart out my mouth.”

“Jenks kept me alive for two years through two death threats, a crazy banshee, and at least two serial killers. Its about time I return the favor! And if I can't, then I can sit by his bed and hold his hand as he dies, 'cause I've had plenty of practice doing that, too!”

“Have any of your clients died?” Ford asked. “Someone you were trying to help?” “Brett,” Jenks said. “Peter?” I blurted out. But the amulet went a negative gray. “Nick,” Jenks said nastily, and the color on the metal disk became a violent shade of purple. Ford blinked, trying to divorce himself from the hate. “I’d say no,” he whispered.”

“Don’t hurt her!” I demanded, then shifted my expression to one I hoped looked lascivious enough. “I like untouched skin.” Tom flushed. “Ah, we couldn’t find a virgin.”