Omens

First you buy me a mocha. Then you let me help you hide a body. Now you take me to a biker clubhouse. Best. Day. Ever.

A friend helps you move; a real friend helps you move a body.

She's useful to me, I'm useful to her. As long as that continues, Rowan Street is safe from an old-lady smack down of epic proportions.

A word of advice about Ricky ..." Gabriel said as he swung his car from the end of the drive. "Is it going to cost me?" I waved off his answer. "Whatever you're going to say, save your breath." "I overheard him offering you a ride on his motorcycle. I don't believe you understand what that entails." "Grass, gas, or ass. No one rides for free." I looked over at him. "I've seen the T-shirt." "I don't think you're taking this seriously, Olivia. Do you know what a one-percenter is?" I sighed. "Yes, Gabriel. It refers to the portion of bikers who belong to a professional motorcycle club. A gang. Ricky is one. As such, I'm going to guess that the only women who get to ride his bike are also riding him. Am I right?" His mouth tightened as if he didn't appreciate the crass phrasing. "I'm afraid you're under some illusions about Ricky because he does not fit the stereotype." "Oh, I'm not fooled. He may appear to be the heir to a criminal empire, but he's really an undercover cop, working tirelessly to overthrow his father's evil empire and restore justice and goodness to the land." I glanced over. "Am I close?" Not even a hint of a smile.

My nephew is a manipulative, scheming, unscrupulous son of a bitch. And those are his good qualities.

Yes, you’re sleeping in my apartment,” I said. “On my sofa. It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I’d really hope you’d remember if it had been.

That’s trouble. The pixies will sour your milk.” “I thought it was hobgoblins who soured milk.” “A dirty lie. Spread by the pixies, no doubt.

Gabriel Walsh comes from a long line of hustlers. He’s just the first one to go to law school and get a license for it.

Gabriel might always have his own best interests at heart, but he expects everyone else to do the same for themselves. To him, we are all the center of our own universes.

Don’t grumble,” I said. “Or I’ll bake you more cookies.

. When the plague struck Chicago, the townspeople here erected the gargoyles, and nary a soul was lost to the Black Death.” “The bubonic plague predates Chicago by about five hundred years.” He lowered himself to the bench. “I know. I was very disappointed when I found out. Almost as bad as when I learned there were no fairies. The world is much more interesting with goblins and plagues.” “Unless you catch the plague.

I’d say I needed to find myself, if that didn’t sound like I was heading into the Himalayas, taking only a backpack stuffed with angst and clean underwear.

Demon possession strains the boundaries of credulity, given the sheer number of times it seems to happen. One would really hope demons had better things to do with their time.

Don’t give me that look,” I told the cat. “You’ve caught one mouse since you’ve been here. And what do you get in return? Food, shelter, and a human servant to clean up your shit. You didn’t even warn me when someone was at the door.” “Because his sixth sense tells him I can be trusted.” “Then his sixth sense is broken.

When I hung up, Gabriel said, “Now you’re going out that—” “I’m not leaving you.” “Don’t be stupid. I have a gun.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the .45. “Which will knock you on your ass if you try firing with a bad leg. Sit down before you fall.” “I’m—” “Sit down.” I walked to the door and peered out. If I strained, I could hear footsteps above. Anderson would search the other rooms first. Then he’d come down here. When I returned, Gabriel was still standing, leaning against the washing machine. Stubborn bastard. “So you’re staying with me?” he said. “Yep.” “You may not want to do that.” “Too bad.” “I wouldn’t stay for you.” “Probably not.” His mouth opened, as if he’d been prepared for me to disagree. He paused and then said, “I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.” “Doesn’t matter. You’re my partner. I watch your back.

The hounds will come to Cainsville and when they do, you'll wish you made a very different choice today

Also, the killing of small animals is the entrance ramp onto the serial killer superhighway. Damn. I bet the cat knows that. He picked me because I can't hurt him, or I'd be fulfilling my biological destiny. So I'm screwed. The cat stays. Unless you'll kill him...How does fifty bucks sound?

Mr. Walsh?” a woman’s voice said. “Can I get a comment, Mr. Walsh?” “That’s not about me, is it?” I said. “No, my client. He’s on trial for killing his business partner and dissolving him in quicklime. Which is ridiculous.” “Uh-huh.” “It is. Anyone in my client’s line of work knows that quicklime is a very poor solvent. Chemical hydrolysis is the method of choice these days.

I should have a gun.” “And you think I can provide it?” “Ask your biker gang buddies.” “They prefer the term ‘motorcycle club.’” “I’m sure they do.

I wouldn’t call Gabriel Walsh if I was on fire.” She pursed her lips. “No, I might. To sue everyone responsible—from the person who lit the match to those who made my clothes. But I’d wait until the fire was out. Otherwise, he’d just stand there until I was burned enough for a sizable settlement.

If he knew one thing about life, it was this: look out for yourself. No one else would do it for you. If you were cheated or tricked, it was your own fault, and a lesson best learned before the world devoured you.

I’ll keep it in my bedside drawer, in case I’m woken in the middle of the night and mistake the cat for an intruder. An honest accident.” “You’re not shooting the cat. It would leave a mess.

In Cainsville, town elders still hold power. They’ll protect you.

If the Romans could have fortified their cities the way the human brain fortifies itself, we’d still be wearing togas. The mind is an amazing piece of biomachinery, really. A serious threat presents itself at the gate and up fly the walls, standing firm in the face of earth-shaking revelations, ideological bullets, and plain old logic.

Cars like that shouldn’t be left in storage. It causes mechanical issues. With brakes and tires and engines and such.” My smile returned. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?” “Not a word.

I'd seriously contemplated a real collar - a sparkly green one - if only because I was sure it would offend his dignity.

...ethics were in most cases a burden that could be reasonably ignored in pursuit of necessity.

I’m presuming, though, that breaking and entering isn’t your intent, unless you bring a lawyer in tow, should you be caught.” He pursed his lips. “That could be convenient.

As he talked, I thought, “Maybe I’m wrong about the guy.” Put him with someone like Anna Gunderson, a nice woman who has suffered a great tragedy, and his empathetic side came out. And then I realized he was faking it.

A suitably sultry voice answered his office phone. I gave my name, and she checked to see if Mr. Walsh was in. Given that Grace said he was the only lawyer at his firm, one wouldn’t think she’d need to check