“I was feeling safe. Not the kind of safe where you know there are still bad things howling outside the door waiting to get in. No, it was the kind of safe where you sink down in your bed at the end of the day and know you can go to sleep and everything is going to be the same tomorrow.”

“Dru Anderson: Thanks.Graves: No problem. First one’s free. Look, you really can’t go home? What happened.Dru Anderson: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.Graves: Try me.Dru Anderson: I just can’t go home, not until tomorrow.Graves:Do you need a place to sleep?Dru Anderson: I’ll find somewhere.Graves: I know a place.Dru Anderson: Why is it there’s always a guy who thinks he can get something out of the new girl? Every goddamn town, it’s the same thing. Some guy thinks he’s God’s gift to the displaced.Graves: I just asked if you wanted a place to sleep, Jesus.Dru Anderson: Sorry.Graves: No problem. So, I’ll take you someplace you can sleep tonight. Someplace safe. Okay?Dru Anderson: How much?Graves: I keep telling you, first one’s free. You want to play some air hockey? Good way to get your mind off stuff.Dru Anderson: Sure.Graves: Cool. You finished?Dru Anderson: Yeah, I guess. Graves?Graves: Huh?Dru Anderson: Thanks. Nice gloves.Graves: Hey, you know. Chicks dig guys in gloves.”

“Jesus, you've got a death wish.""Right now I have a bathroom-and-sleep-somewhere safe wish, kid.”

“I thought wulfen howls were bad when I heard them in my own garage. Hearing the high, glassy cry in the middle of the woods at night is infinitely worse, because the howls sounds like it could be words if you just listen hard enough. The horrible thing is that it pulls on that deep hidden part in every person-the blind animal part.The part that knows you're the prey.But the worst thing about it?Is when it sounds right behind you, and something hits you from behind, tumbling you into another thorn-spiked mess of vines and branches, leaf mold and dirt filling your nose, and a huge, hot, hairy hand winds in your hair.”

“Dru Anderson: You should wear some gloves.Graves: Ruins the image.Dru Anderson: You’ll goddamn well freeze to death.Graves: Hey, we’ve got to suffer for beauty. Chicks don’t go for guys in gloves.Dru Anderson: How would you know?Graves: I know. You never said if you liked shooting pool.Dru Anderson: I don’t, but I’ll beat your ass at it, okay?Graves: Fine. If you can. Dru.”

“I’m probably the only sixteen-year-old girl in a three hundred mile radius who knows how to distinguish between a poltergeist from an actual ghost (hint: If you can disrupt it with nitric acid, or if it throws new crap at you every time, it’s a poltergeist), or how to tell if a medium’s real or faking it (poke ‘em with a true iron needle). I know the six signs of a good occult store (Number One is the proprietor bolts the door before talking about Real Business) and the four things you never do when you’re in a bar with other people who know about the darker side of the world (don’t look weak). I know how to access public information and talk my way around clerks in courthouses (a smile and the right clothing will work wonders). I also know how to hack into newspaper files, police reports, and some kinds of government databases (primary rule: Don’t get caught. Duh).”

“God, was I going to have another day of painful thoughts jumping me every time I relaxed? The obvious solution—to just not relax—was kind of sucking.”