“They'd poisoned me, dammit. Probably to trade my dead body to the barbarians for Wulfgar's safe return. Or maybe just for the fun of it.”

“There, close enough to spit on--if I'd been a barbarian and inclined to spit--was the dragon.”

“Still,” I said, “I am sorry. But I was desperate to rescue my sister.”“I understand,” the sagging dragon assured me. He explained, “I, too, had a sister, once.”The past tense didn't escape me. “What happened to her?” I asked, feeling we were connected, two of a kind after all, sharing similar personal tragedies.“I had to eat her,” the dragon said, “to keep her from stealing my gold.”

“Then, early, early, early in the morning-just as in countless Disney films-I heard a rooster crow. But guess what? They don't do it just once.”

“Giannine--What are they going to do: smack me on the head with a pamplet?”

“If you don't like vampire games, don't play”

“She sighed. Loudly. "Physical appearance is not what is important."Yeah right. Tell that to any girl who hasn't bothered to put on a presentable shirt or fix her hair because she's only running into the grocery store to get a quart of milk for her grandmother, and who does she see tending the 7-ITEMS-OR-LESS cash register but the guy of her dreams, except she can't even say hi—much less try to develop a meaningful relationship—since she looks like the poster child for the terminally geeky.”