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Harmony glanced to her left, and my gaze followed hers to the living room, where my aunt had died, my cousin had been restored, and I'd whacked a psychotic grim reaper with a cast-iron skillet. Weirdest. Tuesday. Ever.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
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I don't want to wear your dad's clothes. He hates me. You'd rather wear mine? Nash scowled.
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You don't know me. Don't ever think you know me. The only things you know about me are the things you made me do, and that illustrates your character, not mine.
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Is that a joke? Please tell me you're joking. -Sophie I never joke about carnivorous bunnies. -Luca
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Well that's too bad, because this is an assassination. No, this is an execution. The difference would be...? Assassination is murder. Execution is justice.
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Why do I always have to be the one who says 'stop'? I demanded, my voice little more than a moan. You don't. In fact, at this point I'm considering a petition to that word stricken from the English language. His grin was almost lazy, the gleam in his eyes an effortless challenge. If I did, would you sign?
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So,would you say I’m closer to a zombie or a vampire? I gotta know—are my parts going to rot and fall off, or am I forever frozen in youthful perfection?
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I’m glad you think so. I’ve always considered my sense of humor to be largely underappreciated, so it’s nice to finally meet a fan.
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I laughed and it almost felt good. Is that a dig at my liquor cabinet? Cam smiled. That wasn't liquor, it was swill. And that wasn't a cabinet, it was a drawer.
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As a matter of fact, I was going to offer you something.” “What did you have in mind?” A field trip. You interested in doing something dangerous, and possibly illegal?” “Does it involve underage girls, broken curfews and assorted fruit toppings?
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We would not have hurt the child, even if she is our natural enemy. Nor would we have hurt you, if it could be helped. Finn was killed by a male cat, and in exchange for that information, we also agreed to try to remove the female cats from your encampment before the true melee begins.” Melee?! Were these ninja birds? Green Berets with feathers?
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I wanted a do over. A time machine. That magic wand. But real life didn't have any easy outs, and very few happily-ever-afters. The real world was more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with most of the choices ripped out before you even opened the cover.
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Uh, yeah, I do. The scythe was a little tricky at first, but—much like golf—turns out it’s all in the swing.
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Come on, Kaylee, before I choke on testosterone and melodrama.
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Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.
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Suggestions? I asked [...] Marc never took his gaze from the cage. Get the hose.
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Sneak out. He shrugged, as if that should have been a no-brainer. But that was easy for him to say. He was dead. What else could they do to him, take away his birthday?
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Then strong, warm arms wrapped around me from behind. I've got you, Tod whispered in my ear.
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