Summoned to Thirteenth Grave (Charley Davidson, #13)

by Darynda Jones

What, pray tell, the fuck?

Safety first! Just kidding. Coffee first. Safety’s, like, third or fourth.

A lot of days I truly expect my horoscope to say, “Just don’t kill anyone today.”

Patience: That thing you have when there are too many witnesses.

I want to be the reason you tilt your phone away from others when you read it.

I’m not sure I can physically handle much more of this “getting out of bed” nonsense.

Trust me. You can dance. —VODKA

The biker boys were drinking bourbon and watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, saying if the world was about to end, they were going to go out watching Sarah Michelle Gellar kick demon ass.

Librarians may come across as meek and docile, but do not ruin a book. Or three. By spilling coffee on them.

If history repeats itself, I am so getting a dinosaur.

You had me at, “We’ll make it look like an accident.”

My therapist says I have a preoccupation with vengeance. We’ll see about that.

“That was faster than I thought humanly possible.” “My last girlfriend said the same thing. Nice place.”

Charley Davidson and Reyes Farrow: That thing that happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object.