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onionskin.
“You missed a pedestrian,” I said. “You want to go back and hit her?”
“That’s a relief. I hate it when scholars disagree.”
Then I thought, No, Satan would be a schlub next to this guy. This guy is like Satan’s fashion consultant.
It’s the perfect conclusion, isn’t it? Billy went to school. He had a good day. Then he died. The end.
People tended to spell it Mangus, rhymes with Angus. I always corrected them: No, it’s Magnus, rhymes with swag-ness.
Stupid magical hotel wouldn’t even allow me to properly vandalize things.
Sam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s named Saehrimnir.” “Okay, first of all, who names their dinner? I don’t want to know my dinner’s name. This potato—is this potato named Steve?” She rolled her eyes. “No, stupid. That’s Phil. The bread is Steve.”
I’d seen the word harbinger somewhere before, maybe in a fantasy novel, but I couldn’t remember what it meant.
Come to the Dark Side. We Have Pop-Tarts
I’m blushing, Hearthstone signed, clearly not blushing.
His irises glowed so intensely I was pretty sure everything I saw for the rest of my life would be tinted the color of lime Jell-O. The good news: the rest of my life didn’t look like it was going to be very long.
As my vision went dark, Sam and Hearth helped me leap off the cliff. Because, you know, what are friends for?
You’d make a good used car salesman.” Loki winked. “I think the term is pre-owned.
“What is wrong with you?” “Everything,” said the goat. “My whole life is one big—” “Never mind,” I said. “Just be quiet.” The goat brayed. “Sure, I understand. You don’t want to know my problems. No one does. I’ll be over here, weeping or whatever. Just ignore me.”
