“Nick was dressed in jeans, a dark green sweater, and bomber jacket–the perfect image of a rich college student. Talon looked like a biker who had just left Sanctuary, New Orleans’s premier biker bar. Acheron looked like a refugee from the Dungeon–the local underground goth hangout. Valerius was the professional contingent, and Zarek…Zarek just looked like he was ready to kill something.’ (Talon)”

“You, psycho-ass, and Talon, I’ll cover, but not him. (Nick)Psycho-ass? Hmm, I like that. (Zarek)Nick– (Acheron)It’s all right, Greek. I would rather die than have his plebeian help anyway. (Valerius)Make that three votes, then. I would rather he died, too. Now all together, let’s vote this asshole off the island. (Zarek)”

“I look like a biker slut from hell meets soldier of fortune pinup.”

“You don’t like Talon, do you? (Sunshine)Wish him dead every time I see him. (Zarek)I can’t tell if you mean that or not. (Sunshine)I mean it. (Zarek)Why? (Sunshine)He’s an asshole and I’ve had enough assholes in my life. (Zarek)”

“They had seen Zarek take out a pair of Daimons. Great. Just great. He closed his eyes and cursed. This night was starting to rate right up there with abscessed teeth.’ (Talon)”

“Next time I’ll just send the three of you e-mails. What was I thinking when I decided to have this meeting? (Acheron)Oh, I know. That men who are a couple of thousand years old could actually behave like grownups? (Nick)(Zarek elbowed Nick in the stomach.)Oops. Involuntary arm spasm. (Zarek)”