Seventh Grave and No Body

I often question my sanity. Occasionally, it replies.

If I’m upset, hold me and tell me how beautiful I am. If I growl, retreat to a safe distance and throw chocolate. — BEST. ADVICE. EVER.

I don’t think I get enough credit for the fact that I do all of this unmedicated. —T-SHIRT

I’m like crack. People don’t want to like me, but once they get a taste, they always come back for more.

Of course I’m an organ donor. Who wouldn’t want a piece of this? —T-SHIRT

I knew it!” she said, glaring at me. “You’re in league with the devil.” “Duh. I’m affianced to him. Or, well, his son. I guess that makes me ‘in league’ with him, but you can’t judge people by their in-laws. In-laws are all crazy. Everyone knows that.

A wine, please.” “Ma’am, this is McDonald’s.” “Okay, a McWine, please.” —MCDONALD’S DRIVE-THROUGH, 2 A.M.

I thought you were mad at me.” “I am.” “Well, I make it a rule never to have sex with anyone who’s mad at me.” He arched a brow. “It’s a wonder you’ve ever had sex at all.

Lead me not into temptation. Follow me instead! I know a shortcut! —T-SHIRT

My life is just like a soap opera filmed in a psychiatric ward. —T-SHIRT

Charley Davidson, Private Investigator, Because No One Is Better At Investigating Your Privates

You know how you heal really fast?” I stood and walked to the doorway that separated our offices. “Yes,” I answered, wondering where she was going with this. She was sucking the side of her index finger. “Maybe if you lick my cut, your spit will heal me fast, too.” “Dude,” I said, tamping down a giggle, “I’m not licking your cut.” “Just lick me.” She held out her finger. “This is going to be tender for days.” “I’m not licking you.” A line I rarely said aloud.

Most of what I call “cooking” is just melting cheese on stuff.

Damn it, I needed The Idiot's Guide to Grim Reaperism.

One thing I’d learned growing up: People were never, ever, ever 100 percent honest about their feelings. Never.

There must be a special, less volcanic portion of hell that was partitioned off and set aside for people who weren’t all bad, just a little vindictive. They could call it the drama queen ward. It would be a huge hit.

You are the worst greeter in the history of greeters ever. In the history. Of time. And greeters.” “Greeter? You think I’m a greeter?” Talk about a demotion. “Yes. To the other side?” She pointed up. “Dude, calling me a greeter is like calling Saint Peter a ticket taker.

You realize that by summoning me here, you signed your own death warrant.” Demons were nothing to take lightly. I’d seen what they were capable of, but I also knew they were no match against the light that shone inside me. “I do,” it said, and I fought to place the language we were speaking. I knew it was ancient. Possibly the first language ever spoken in the universe. “Unless we sign yours first.” “Is that what you think will happen here?” “Dutch,” Reyes said into my ear, “stop playing with your dinner.

According to this, it’s not the Twelve that is going to be the undoing of the Daughter of Light, but the Thirteenth Warrior.” “Antonio Banderas is going to be my undoing? I’m rife with anticipation.

And he was damned nice to look at, even when he scowled. In fact, if I were totally honest, that scowl only added to the allure that was Reyes Farrow. Damn it. When I scowled, I looked constipated. Leave it to the son of Satan to turn a scowl into the stuff of fantasies.

You risked your life for me." He took my shoulders into his hands. "When are you going to learn, Dutch: No one matters but you and the baby. You keep risking your life--" He threw one hand out to indicate our surroundings. "--on things that are not the least bit important." He stepped even closer. "On people who committed suicide and crazy chicks in cemeteries and--" He stopped and dropped a heated gaze on me. His voice cracked when he said in a hushed tone, "I can't lose you." "And I can lose you?" I asked, almost screaming at him. He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Then he admitted what was probably his greatest fear. "I don't know how to win. I don't have the faintest idea of how to kill the Twelve. And when I saw your name on that wall." His breath hitched in his chest. Then he focused his coffee-colored gaze on me. "If you die," he said with a savage vehemence in his voice, "I will go straight to hell and kill every demon there. Or I'll perish in the attempt.

An hour later, Cookie, Lacey, and I sat in the graveyard, watching a slave demon who looked like a nineteen-year-old kid--a very well-built nineteen-year-old kid--dig up a grave shirtless, his wide shoulders shimmering in the moonlight. "I'm going to hell," Cookie said, unable to rip her gaze off him. "Well, if you go, there are probably others who look like that. It might not be such a bad place." "I want to have his demon babies," Lacey said

She said her mother has a strap-on named Event Horizon.

mawage \’mah-’wahge\ n. 1; a bwessed awangement 2; a dweam wifin a dweam —T-SHIRT

And just how, exactly, do you feed off the souls of humans? Is it like a vitamin-deficiency thing?

I was busy perusing the suicide notes and waiting for Belvedere's water to finish its treatment when I heard a thud from Cookie's office. Then a mousy squeak. The a throaty moan. "Cookie," I said, wiggling my fingers at Belvedere to get him acquainted to with our strange ways, "are you masturbating?" "No, I got a paper cut." Oh, I didn't see that coming.

A wine, please.” “Ma’am, this is McDonald’s.” “Okay, a McWine, please.

I’d tried to be washed of my sin once, but I ran out of Dial. Tricky business, that.

Are you ready?” she asked, whispering. “Ready as a drunk virgin on prom night.

I’d offer you advice, but I’ve never been married.” “Neither has Garrett,” I said, stating the truth. “He’s a slut.” Cookie giggled. “I love it when you call men sluts.” “Right?” I said, giggling back. “It’s much funnier than the alternative.” It was odd how I despised that word when talking about women, but when talking about men, all bets were off. Maybe because of the centuries-old double standard where a woman who enjoyed sex was a slut, whereas a man who enjoyed sex was a stud. That one never sat well with me.