“It's not the type of work you can put on a business card.I sometimes play the game with myself, though. What would I put on a business card?Jill Kismet, Exorcist. Maybe on a nice heavy cream-colored card stock, with a good font. Not pretentious, just something tasteful. Garamond, maybe, or Book Antiqua. In bold. Or one of those old-fashioned fonts, but no frilly Edwardian script. Of course, there's slogans to be taken into account. Jill Kismet, Dealer in Dark Things. Spiritual Exterminator. Slayer of Hell's Minions.”

“You're my friend, Danny. You understand? There's no debt between friends."Maybe it's just that the debt gets so high you stop counting it.”

“Can I…I mean, do you mind if I sleep up here? If you don't, I, um, understand. I just—""Yes." The word bolted out of me. "Yes, please. Maybe I'll be able to sleep if you're here.”

“People don’t really want to know anything about you. They just want to put you into their little preordained slots. They decide what you are in the first two seconds, and they only get nervous or upset if you don’t live up to their snap judgements. That’s the only way the normal world’s like the Real – it all depends on who people think you are. Figure that out, play to what they expect, and it’s clear sailing.”

“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).”

“I caught the look Benjamin gave me. "What?""Nothing. We just thought a svetocha would be more, well, difficult." Leon's mouth twitched. "I do seriously want a slushie."I tried a tentative smile. I definitely liked him now. "I haven't had one in ages. Maybe the guys outside—the double blonds—would want one, too?"For some reason Leon found that utterly fricking hysterical. He snorted and chuckled all the way through Housewares to the Health and Beauty section, and even Benjamin unbent enough to grin.”

“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.”