Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock, #11)

by Faith Hunter

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS, THROW THEM AWAY AND GET SOME BACON!

I yanked the staves up and back, snapping one stave between Gee’s legs and one against his throat, yanking him back against me and applying pressure all at once. Gee made an eep and froze in place. His breath made a whistling noise. A blood-servant hooted approvingly. Others applauded slowly, as if still trying to figure out what they had seen. Or hadn’t. “Enforcer,” Gee greeted me, motionless and formal. “Bird Man,” I greeted him back, softly. “How’s it shaking?” “I have nothing that shakes. I am healthy. And you, Enforcer? Are you well?” “I’m good. Okay, how about this. You drop your staves, I let the pressure off your nuts—you do have nuts?” “Yes,” he breathed. “At the moment in a most uncomfortable position.” “Continuing: I let you go, we bow to each other, and we chat off the record.” I hoped this took us from formality and fighting and into conversation. “You wish to gossip?” “Sure. Why not?” “Agreed.”

OMG. Thats the funniest bit of Faith Hunter I've ever read.

“One does not use a thirty-year-old Macallan for dismembered Mithran limbs. One uses vodka.”

“Have I told you recently that you do a great job?” I asked the Kid. “Words are nice, but I’d rather have a car.”

The mug filled with comfort tea said, ME? CRAZY? I SHOULD GET DOWN OFF THIS UNICORN AND SLAP YOU.

I am loving the humorous side of Jane

“Janie, we need to get this guy out of the cage. Suggestions?” Am Beast. Not Jane. What am I? Chopped liver? Do not need liver chopped. Have fangs and claws to chop liver.

How many Mississippis did I hug for?

“Jane? What the fu—funny bone of Satan.