“She probably gave up and started playing Minesweeper."[...]We reached the cafe and found Sydney bent over her laptop, with a barely eaten Danish and what was probably her fourth cup of coffee. We slid into seats beside her."How's it—hey! You ARE playing Minesweeper!”

“Don’t you think we’re going to go to hell for this?” asked Lissa.He reached out and touched her face, trailing his fingers along her cheek and neck and down to the top of her silky shirt. She breathed heavily at that touch, at the way it could be so gentle and small, yet evoke such a strong passion within her.“For this?” He played with the shirt’s edge, letting his finger just barely brush inside of it.“No,” she laughed. “For this.” She gestured around the attic. “This is a church. We shouldn’t be doing this kind of, um, thing up here.”“Not true,” he argued. Gently, he pushed her onto her back and leaned over her. “The church is downstairs. This is just storage. God won’t mind.”

“I think we got in more trouble with Aunt Tasha,ʺ said Christian. ʺShe was kind of pissed off that we didnʹt tell her what was going on. I think she probably wanted to blow up the statues herself.”

“Sydney sighed and stood up, smoothing her rumpled clothes with dismay. 'I need a coffee shop or something.''I think I saw one in a cave down the road,' I said.That almost got a smile from her.”

“I mustered all my strength, drew back, and swung.The sword's blade hit the side of her neck, hard and deep. She gave a horrible, sickening cry, a shriek that made my skin crawl. She tried to move toward me. I pulled back and hit again. Her hands clutched at her throat, and her knees gave way. I struck and struck, the sword digging in deeper into her neck each time. Cutting off someone's head was harder than I thought it would be. The old, dull sword probably wasn't helping.But finally, I gained enough sense to realize she wasn't moving. Her head lay there, detached from her body, her dead eyes looking up at me as though she couldn't believe what had happened. That made two of us.”

“„Ma'am?“She glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose as she did. “Hmm? Oh, I remember you. Miss Melbourne.““Melrose,“ I corrected.“Are you sure? I could've sworn you were named after someplace in Australia.“„Well, my first name is Sydney,“ I said, not sure if I should be encouraging her.”

“Don't do that!" she exclaimed, shivering at the realization that it had been his fingers touching her.He gave her his lazy, slightly twisted smile and brushed a few pieces of unruly black hair out of his face."Are you asking me or ordering me?”"Shut up." She glanced around, both to avoid his eyes and make sure no one saw them together."What's the matter? Worried about what your slaves'll think if they see you talking to me?”"They're my friends," she retorted."Oh.Right. Of course they are. I mean, from what I saw, Camille would probably do anything for you, right? Friends till the end." He crossed his arms over his chest, and in spite of her anger, she couldn't help but notice how the silvery gray of his shirt set off his black hair and blue eyes.(Lissa&Christian)”