“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)”

“Talon glanced wistfully at his drink as he debated what should take priority. 'Coffee… Daimons… Coffee… Daimons…”

“Nick’s right, you are psychotic. (Talon)The correct term is sociopathic and yes, I am. But at least I have no delusions about myself. (Zarek)Meaning? (Talon)Take your meaning wherever you can find it. (Zarek)”

“Since when do Daimons fight their own kind? (Zarek)I was never a Daimon, Roman. (Spawn)And I was never a fucking Roman. (Zarek)”

“Damn, all I wanted was a drink of coffee and one little beignet. Coffee… Daimons… Coffee…Daimons. (Talon)I think in this case the Daimons better win. (Wulf)Yeah, but it’s chicory coffee. (Talon)Talon wanting to be toasted by Acheron for failure to protect humans. (Wulf)”

“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)”