Do you think we can be friends?” I asked.He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend.

Vane grabbed me. “DuLac, let’s chat.”Chat. British-speak for “Stand still while I yell at you.

Vane’s lips tightened to suppress a smile. “Why so hostile, love?”“You whacked me on the head with a ball!”“You deserved it.

I caught his hand. “What do you want me to do?”Leaning down, he kissed the pulse beating on my neck just above the damaged skin. “Tomorrow, I need you to die.

Why did you wear heels? How are you supposed to fight a gargoyle in what you're wearing?

He’d used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.

I noticed him right away. No, it wasn’t his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn’t the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.

Well, can you tell her that?"He looked down at his feet. "I will. I will."Guy-speak for, "I plan to keep avoiding her until she gives up.

You'll get fired if anyone finds out about us!""So many rules in this century," Vane muttered.