Quotes from Shelly Laurenston

Yes. I appreciate the helpful and long spreadsheet with all the many places you can't go.

Yeah, that sure was Mace Llewellyn staring at her from the other side of her desk. Just staring. Like he used to. Like he knew where she'd buried the bodies of all her goldfish after their unfortunate "accidents" or what she did with her sisters' toothbrushes on more than one occasion.

Why would there be a morgue in a sports center?" Charlie asked. "Because Soylent Green is people?

Everything makes me nervous." Stevie thought a moment. "Well . . . not everything. But man-eaters definitely make me nervous." "But tigers are man-eaters . . . and you're half tiger." Stevie stared out the front window for several seconds ruminating on that bit of information before admitting, "Dear God. I'm terrified of myself.

Lock surveyed all the costumes. Some must have cost a small fortune and some were ridiculous. "Is that supposed to be a used condom?

I'm sorry . . . what?" "For they are the Crows," he intoned solemnly, "and they are the harbingers of death.

Unfortunately," she admitted. "MacKilligans aren't allowed in Siberia. There was an incident." "With the bears?" "Oh, no." She placed her head on his shoulder, snuggling close, before admitting, "Not with the bears. With everybody.

say…same shit, different day.

Wow. Look at the lines in your face, Missy. It's like your bitterness just dug in and stayed.

Of course they do. It's like an elaborate game of fetch—ow!

Bear put his hand over his heart. "I just feel that something horrible has happened to a book somewhere that has my ancestors crying out in horror and pure pain." Ski

I live for hatred," the boy replied. "It rejuvenates my creative fire.

This isn't over, old man! I will hunt you down and kill you! I'm calling Will and telling him exactly where you are! I will have all the MacKilligans looking for your dumb ass! And when he cuts your heart out, I will dine on it with a good Scottish ale, you worthless son of a bitch!

Stevie can learn anything from a book. And when it comes to psychiatry, she's read them all. So she wields guilt like a master swordsman. And Max isn't nearly as much of a psychopath as the social worker said because otherwise, she wouldn't feel any guilt at all. At least that's what I tell myself. All the time.

No. Let's just get back upstairs and—" "There's a Starbucks." "Ooh." Charlie stepped past the doorway. "Coffee.

Damn tricky cats!

Dear God, Max! What happened to your face?" Berg hysterically asked. She shrugged, the quills in her face wiggling when she did. "A porcupine attacked me. Flung its quills at me." She glanced around, seemingly not bothered by the many—many—quills hanging from her face like some weird, horrifying mask.

It simply dazzled her how he went from goofy bear, rolling on his back and playing with his toes, and right into sexy-beyond-belief Jersey grizzly who'd worked her body like a love god.

He should hate those nails. He normally considered that sort of thing tacky or gaudy, but damn if that look didn't work on her. And because it worked on her —it was really working on him.

And I've fallen in love with you. But if you tell the Crows, especially Erin, that I said it first, I will tear your toenails out while you're sleeping.

Oh, my God!" Gwen suddenly burst out, startling the bears in the room, which made the rest of the predators nervous.

Sorry!" the She-dogs yelled from the other side. "We're closed!

You can't give wild animals food and then take it away." Stevie pointed a finger at Charlie and snarled through gritted teeth, "So if that means you need to bake, bitch. Bake!

They talk to me and tell me I'm pretty and inform me when the neighbor's dog is stalking me in the name of the high god Satan . . . so how imaginary can they be?