I'd heard that if you saw a Reaper, you saw what you expected to see, what you thought the agents of Death would look like. Personally, I wanted to see little, fuzzy pink bunnies, but apparently my subconscious visualized tall, scary, and skeletal. My subconscious and I needed to have a long talk.

I was used to shooting beer cans off the back of an old washing machine, or at things that ran away from me that I intended to eat—not things that ran toward me with the intent of eating me.I’d found that to be a significant difference.

I wouldn't be comfortable, but at least I'd have marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss must have died a horrible death with a really surprised look on his face.

Dragons didn’t fool around when it came to protecting things that they acquired—be it gold, gems, or a monster’s body parts.

The second time, I had a freakin’ vampire at my back.” I froze. Oh shit. “No offense, Mr. Moreau,” I quickly added.“None taken, Agent Fraser. During the course of my lengthy life, I have been called many things, but ‘freakin’’ has never been one of them. I’ll consider it a novelty.

So the owner of a monster head wants to meet on a path named Nut,” I said. “That’s appropriate.

Ian stepped out to where he knew I could clearly see and identify his tall, dark, and dangerous self.

It was an octopus with one eye. A Cyclops octopus. I'd call it a cyclopoctopus until a better name came along.