“I gave her a smile that I hoped conveyed something like: Hey, you know I’m on your side. Gods are such jerks! But what can you do?Probably my expression actually conveyed: It’s not my fault! Please do not kill me!”

“Hey, if you poop on my blankets...""Please. War gods do not poop on blankets..Well except for that one time..”

“But it’s so bloody unfair”Walt looked at me, and I realized he was smiling. “That’s my line. I’ve been saying that for years. Sadie, I want to be here. The past two months I’ve felt like I’m actually living for the first time. And getting to know you…” He cleared his throat. He was quite attractive when he got nervous. “I started worrying about smile things. My hair. My clothes. Whether I brushed my teeth. I mean, I’m dying , and I’m worrying about my teeth.”“You have a lovely teeth.”

“I gave her my deluxe I'll-Kill-You-Later stare.”

“I told you I try not to live in the past and nothing could change the fact that my mum was gone. But I’m a liar. The truth was, I’d had one dream ever since I was six: to see my mum again. To actually get to know her, talk to her, go shopping, do anything. Just be with her once so I could have a better memory to hold on to.”

“The older lady harrumphed. "I warned you, daughter. This scoundrel Hades is no good. You could've married the god of doctors or the god of lawyers, but noooo. You had to eat the pomegranate.""Mother-""And get stuck in the Underworld!""Mother, please-""And here it is August, and do you come home like you're supposed to? Do you ever think about your poor lonely mother?""DEMETER!" Hades shouted. "That is enough. You are a guest in my house.""Oh, a house is it?" she said. "You call this dump a house? Make my daughter live in this dark, damp-""I told you," Hades said, grinding his teeth, "there's a war in the world above. You and Persephone are better off here with me.""Excuse me," I broke in. "But if you're going to kill me, could you just get on with it?”

“Did someone just call me the wine dude?” he asked in a lazy drawl. “It’s Bacchus, please. Or Mr. Bacchus. Or Lord Bacchus. Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don’t-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.”