The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson, #12)

by Darynda Jones

“I suggest running, but since no one else is in—” “Drugs,” Garrett said. Osh nodded. “That might work. We can all do drugs. Then we won’t care when the world is either destroyed by a volatile god or overtaken by a demon-infested hell dimension.” He grinned at Garrett. “Good thinking.”