“Sam, you need experts on this, and I love you, but—”“I’m so new I have that new-car smell about me?”

“Hey, you called me Sam. My actual name. Not Master or dumbass—” “I have never in my life called anyone dumbass.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. Now, focus.”

“I didn't want to think about the fact that she could smell me, or that she just joked about eating me. At least I hoped she meant it as a joke.”

“Hi, my name is Ashley, and I’ll be your Harbinger today. I will be acting as an interim instructor for all your necromancy needs.” She flashed her best stewardess smile and gave a little Vanna wave.“Ashley, as delighted as I am to meet you, don’t you think it might be hard to teach me? I’m in a cage that you can’t get into. Oh, and—” I grabbed the bars with both hands, “I’m a little distracted right now by the fact that I’m being held by a psychotic killer.”Ashley cocked a single eyebrow, a look of mild amusement on her face. “Geez,” she said, looking at Brid. “Is he always this big of a drama queen?”

“Arriving on Bainbridge Island is the opposite of arriving in Seattle. When you got in your car and waited to unload off the ferry in Seattle, you saw the Space Needle, cars, and a mound of urban construction. Once you exit the ferry terminal on Bainbridge, however, it’s mostly trees. Pine as far as the eye can see. Well, pines, firework and coffee stands, and eventually a casino. You drive through the Port Madison Indian Reservation when you leave the island. I couldn’t help but smile as I went past the casino. I didn’t really get gambling, since I’d never had money to throw away, but as I passed through all the beautiful countryside that I’m sure once belonged to the tribe, I sort of hoped they would rob the white man blind. Perhaps not politically correct, but the feeling was there all the same.”

“I know you're frustrated, Sam, but the reality is you're in a world now where the majority of the people you run into will be able to snap you like a twig.""My world was like that before.”

“Are we going where I think we are?” he asked.“Hell, yeah,” I told him, turning the key in the ignition. I steered the car toward the highway that would take us to my mother’s house. “And I hope she’s got a few good answers.”“I hope,” Ramon said, “that she’s made cookies.”I glared at him.“Don’t look at me like that. If we were going to interrogate my poor mother for whatever, you’d be secretly hoping she’d made you tamales. I’m just honest enough to admit it.”