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I felt sick. Buying Kisten’s and my safety from Piscary was so wrong. But it was either that or deal with a demon, and I’d rather keep my soul clean and let my morals get dingy.

Kim Harrison

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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Moral
Demon
Wrong
Buying
Rather
Safety
Felt
Clean
Keep
Sick
Soul
Deal
Deals
Dingy
Either
Morals

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I ought to file charges of uncommon stupidity against you for letting her try this alone. ~ Newt, Black Magic Sanction, Kim Harrison
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For all his sourness, he was ruled by his heart.
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Can we get back to how we’re going to kill Nick? And what’s this about a dead body? You’d better start talking quick, Ivy, ’cause I’m not going to play hide-and-seek with a dead guy in my trunk. I did that in college, and I’m not going to do it again.” A smile quirked Ivy’s mouth. “Really?” she asked, and I flushed.
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Good God,” I whispered, sitting on the van’s cot and looking at my legs, horrified. They were hairy—not wolf hairy, but an I-couldn’t-find-my-razor-the-last-six-months hairy. Utterly grossed out, I took a peek at my armpit, jerking away. Oh, that’s just…nasty.
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Newt spun, making her robe unfurl. “He’s my familiar, bought and paid for. I can claim anything of his. Even his life.” Al cleared his throat nervously. “That’s good to know,” he said lightly. “Important safety tip. Rachel, write that down somewhere as lesson number one.
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Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” he said, very still and unmoving. “Always jumping to the wrong conclusion. You’re like a frog, you know.
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Who’s going to keep them from wiping us out species by species? Not me. We aren’t prepared for a new demographic of magic-using humans who are sadistic, power hungry, don’t like Inderlanders, and see genocide as an acceptable form of communication.
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Adjustment? She called that an adjustment? How about I adjust her right out of existence?
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Okay, I like him,” I admitted. “But it takes more than a nice body, Jenks. Jeez, I do have a little depth. You’ve got a great body, and you don’t see me trying to get into your Fruit of the Looms.
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By Tink's diaphram...!
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Married pixy, I told myself, forcing my eyes back to the shelf of ceramic animals. Fifty-four kids. Beautiful wife, sweet as sugar, who would kill me in my sleep while apologizing for it.
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I'll wait for you under the bluebells. I'll be there always.
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No, you just keep crashing my life. Look— I said, and Al grunted. Here it comes, the demon muttered. Listen. Listen to this, runt. She's going to have a list.
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You bet your Grannie's Panties I will.
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Life was going on, and no one but a handful of people cared if I lived or died.
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And if he is lying and he double-crosses you, I’ll kill him for you.” From anyone else, it would have been an idle threat, and I smiled, feeling loved. (Ivy and Rachel)
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HAPA was like mint. You could rip it up, and six months later, it was back, healthier than ever. Mint smelled better, though, and you could make juleps out of it. I don’t know what I could make out of HAPA. Compost, maybe.
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It’s a cat. Boy, you couldn’t slip anything past me tonight.
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I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.
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if I’d been hit with the same thing as Glenn, I probably had his doctor. The thought seemed about right when Glenn shrank back in his chair with a guilty expression. The tomato, too, was in hiding somewhere. I didn’t want to know where. I truly didn’t.
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