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He’s like the Rasputin of reapers.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
Reapers
Rasputin
Reaper
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Walking around nude in front of humans was not a good way to keep a low profile with the community. It was an excellent way to make new friends, though.
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And I met Madeline's necromancer. His name's Luca. A death detector? Tod made a face. That's creepy. It gets weirder. He's dating Sophie. On purpose?
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When he finally stopped calling, the hush felt strange. It felt like the whole world went silent when Marc did, as if I could see peoples mouths moving, but I couldnt hear what they were saying. Like I'd gone deaf.
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If you live in the dark long enough, you start to forget what light looks like.
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He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.
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The school sent you flowers. I’m sure that totally makes up for the fact that they hired the psychotic, soul-stealing pedophile who murdered you in your own home.
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Not even if you fed me your firstborn, still wet and screaming
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Like I'm going to pass up an opportunity to smack your cousin.
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I'm not going to lose you, Kaylee. No matter what I have to do, or whom I have to fight. Even if that means quashing your vexing tendencies toward self-sacrifice. Did you just say 'vexing'? Nash asked. Tod scowled. Nothing else seemed to fit. I stand by my word choice.
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Because in most cases, I believe that people deserve a second chance. And because I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd stood by and let them both die souless, when I could have helped.
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I should have said something. ... But my mouth wouldn't open, and the longer I stood there in silence, the better I can to understand the problem. It wasn't that I had nothing to say to him. It was that I had too much to say.
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You thought you could figure that out online? Somehow I don't think hellions are much into social networking.
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Come on, Kaylee, before I choke on testosterone and melodrama.
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You should be careful, tossing descriptors like that around in a situation like this. My ‘problem’ isn’t little. Unless you’re drawing some pretty wild comparisons. Please tell me you’re not drawing wild comparisons. Or blood-relative comparisons.
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There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.
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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.
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It's suspiciously quiet in here, and there's a Tod shaped dent in the bean bag. For the sake of both my sanity and my temper, I'm going to pretend I can't tell that you're in his lap, so could you pretend that this is still my house and you are still my daughter, and I'm within my parental rights to kick your boyfriend out after 11:00 p.m.?
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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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What could thunderbirds want with us? I wondered aloud [...] We'll find out when Big Bird wakes up, Marc said. My father shook his head. We'll find out now. Wake him up and make him sing.
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You know, most girls sleep with a teddy bear or an extra pillow. But I gotta say, that's kinda hot.
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