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“I wouldn’t burden any decent system of faith by participating in it.”
“A Cabbage Patch doll? You expect me to help you while wearing this?”
“Sleep is god. Go worship.”
No one sane wants to be anywhere close to what could be a fight between a White Council member and a Red Court warlord. I knew I was sane because I didn’t want to be there, either.
“I’m a disciple of the Tao of Peter Parker, obviously,” I said. I guess Nicodemus was a DC Comics fan, because he didn’t get it.
“Are you all right?” “Fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “It’s done.” “But are you all right?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m glad you didn’t see it.” Susan asked, “Oh? Why?” “You’re a girl. Beating up bad guys is a boy thing.” “Chauvinist pig,” Susan said. “Yeah. I get it from Murphy. She’s a bad influence.”
“But even if you do win, what does it change?” “Me getting killed now. That way, I get to be killed later tonight instead.” Susan laughed. There was nothing happy in it. “You don’t deserve a life like this.” I squinted my eyes and made my voice gravelly. “Deserve’s got nothin’—” “So help me God, if you quote Clint Eastwood at me, I’m wrapping this car around a telephone pole.” “Do you feel lucky, punk?”
We all moved forward over the rumbling freight cars, just like every Western movie you’ve ever seen. If I hadn’t been feverish and nauseous, it might have been fun.
