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Is Adrian here?” “Who?” “Adrian. Tall. Brown hair. Green eyes.” She frowned. “Do you mean Jet?” “I … I’m not sure. Does he smoke like a chimney?” The girl nodded sagely. “Yup. You must mean Jet.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Sure
Nodded
Eye
Jet
Girl
Tall
Doe
Brown
Must
Smoke
Chimney
Mean
Green
Chimneys
Like
Hair
Frowned
Eyes
Adrian

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Was it weird having a witch grandma? Scary? Was she always, like, threatening to cast spells if you were bad? Most of the time she just threatened to send me to my room. That doesn't sound so scary to me. That's because you haven't met her.
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Dmitri was at a total loss. It was a common reaction for people when I agreed to do something reasonable.
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Too bad you got so bogged down in books. You've got the spirit of a warrior.
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I fought against her, trying to mount some kind of defense, but it was like fighting Dimitri on crack.
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I won't lie. Walking into a room and seeing your girlfriend reading a baby-name book can kind of make your heart stop.
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My mom beat me up, I informed my reflection. It looked back sympathetically.
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How do you know if a demon is lying? His lips are moving.
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And you work for that demon, right? The one who looks like Matthew Broderick?” “John Cusack,” I corrected. “He looks like John Cusack.” “Whatever.
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This isn’t a game. We don’t want mediocre employees who can keep the status quo. We want souls. We want to win. And you’ve spent most of your time here being mediocre.
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Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one. That’s what I was supposed to say... he gasped out. Those were his last words.
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Since when do we even play games?” “Since when don’t we play games? Games of life, games of death. Games of love, of hope, of chance, of despair, and of all the myriad wonders in between.” I rolled my eyes at the newcomer. “Hello, Carter.
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What are you? An after school special?
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You understand your responsibilities better than guardians twice your age. You'll do what you have to do to succeed.
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Honor, I thought. For real: the guardians should have taught it. Because I hadn't learned it.
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Books were a lot less messy than orgasms.
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There were drinks and food in full force, and some Moroi guy had a guitar out and was trying to impress girls with his musical skills—which were nonexistent. In fact, his music was so awful that he might have discovered a new way to kill Strigoi.
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Rose Hathaway: You see something you like? Dimitri Belikov: Get dressed.
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I had an accident. That seemes to happen a lot. It wasn't my fault. It never is. I just have bad luck. Or you're just trouble. You got a problem with that? No problem at all. Oh my God! Are you going to help or not?
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