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Maybe I could be friends with a ghost. I wouldn’t be able to kill him.

Kim Harrison

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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Wouldn
Maybe
Friends
Able
Ghost
Kill

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I'll wait for you under the bluebells. I'll be there always.
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Numb, I took the perfectly browned puff. Okay. Let me see if I have this right. Al provokes me into defending myself. I nearly kill him. Then Newt tries to kill me, thinking I'm Ku'Sox. Al stops her, saving my life. And now we're all going to have s'mores together?
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And I’m not spying! I’m evaluating!” “It’s the same difference!
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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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A demon was asking me what I wanted. My eyes flicked to Al, and he shrugged. “What do you want?” he said softly.
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I have to save the world tomorrow, and I don't even know what I'm going to wear yet.--Rachel Morgan
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Anything worth having is going to be hard
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I suddenly realized that a bunch of my friends needed babysitters and vowed to start screening my calls.
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Actually,” I said, hesitant to bring it up, “I was thinking along the lines of a curse that can turn you human.” “Or witch?” Ivy said, surprising me. There was a soft vulnerability in her and I blinked. “You don’t want to be a witch,” I said quickly. “Why not? You are.
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People ask me what I do in my spare time, and I look at them blankly, truly believing that I don't even have spare time, and if I did, I'd probably use it for something mundane, like chipping away at the mound of laundry rising to dangerous proportions in the back room.
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The small gargoyle had gone entirely white to match the ceiling, and only the rims of his ears, his long clawlike nails, and a thick stripe down his whip-like tail were still gray. He was crawling along the ceiling like a bat, wings held to make sharp angles and claws extended. It just about broke my creepy meter.
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Elves apparently had a short childhood. Not like witches, who seemed to take forever to grow up, according to Jenks.
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Coffee. I could smell coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
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Rachel knew what she was doing. And when she didn't, she could improvise on the fly, coming up with options that left a lot of collateral damage but usually only hurt herself, not the people around her. It was one of the things he would never admit that he admired about her.
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My eyes widened at the ball of orange fluff squeezing out from under the counter, blinking and stretching. I looked again, not believing. “It’s a cat,” I said, winning the Pulitzer prize for incredible intellect.
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He wanted that again, that feeling of standing with her against all odds and succeeding. He wanted it so bad, he was going to risk destroying everything he and his father had worked for.
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His right ear still held both studs, and I wondered who had the missing earring. I would have asked, but was afraid he’d tell me Ivy had it.
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You bet your Grannie's Panties I will.
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I want one thing I can point to and say, 'that is good, and it's a part of me.'
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But he's Rachel Candy! -Both Jenks and Al
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