Quotes from Jeff Lindsay

Since I am not actually a real human being, my emotional responses are generally limited to what I have learned to fake. So I did not feel shock, outrage, anger, or even bitter resolve. They're very difficult emotions to do convincingly, and there was no audience to do them for, so why bother? But I did feel a slow cold wind from the Dark Backseat sweep up my spine and blow dry leaves over the floor of my lizard brain.

Chapin was secured in the backseat—the motor-pool cars had rings bolted to the floor for just that reason—and he sat in his durance vile mumbling, ranting, threatening, and overusing the same naughty word.

I yanked my steering wheel hard, cutting off a BMW with a very loud horn. I extended my middle finger, for once driving like the Miami native I was, and accelerated over the causeway.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal.

Ah, well," I stammered, overcome by the absolute shocking effrontery and absurdity of it—were all human women crazy?

He smiled at me, the irritating, superior kind of smile that I would love to try sometime when I wasn't in disguise. "You didn't read your history, did you?" he said. "I don't think this chapter was assigned. What are you talking about?

In truth, I would have said anything to make LaGuerta take me to the rink. I wanted to go to the arena very badly. I wanted to see this body stacked in the net on the ice more than anything else I could think of, wanted to undo the neat wrapping and see the clean dry flesh. I wanted to see it so much that I felt like a cartoon of a dog on point, wanted to be there with it so much that I felt self-righteous and possessive about the body.

was a full-service marina for the terminally rich, the kind of place where they cleaned and polished your bowline when you brought the boat in.

hospital. I would go see her tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd had a memorable but exhausting day; chased into a pond by a serial limb-barber, surviving a car crash only to be nearly drowned, losing a perfectly good shoe, and on top of all that, as if that wasn't bad enough, forced to buddy up with Sergeant Doakes. Poor Drained Dexter. No wonder I was so tired. I fell into bed and went to sleep at once.

If you can screw up the case in the first few vital hours, it saves time and paperwork later.

Who was I if I was no longer me?

Vince had answered the door in a body-hugging satin gown with a basket of fruit on his head. "J. Edgar Hoover?" I asked him.

He looked natural and unrushed, and had obviously had a lot of experience at either chicanery or skulduggery, depending on which word was better suited for describing officially sanctioned mischief.

In spite of the fact that I am a soulless monster who enjoys killing, it stung to have her think of me that way, especially since I had given my word of honor as an ogre that I was entirely innocent, at least in this case. I wanted to get along with my sister, but I was also miffed that she seemed a little too enthusiastic about her role as a representative of the Full Majesty of the Law, and not quite willing enough as my sidekick and confidante.

I smiled at her, my most comforting, challenging, I'm-not-really-a-shark smile.

Other people are less important to me than lawn furniture.

The children are no longer your concern," he said. "They belong to Moloch now. Moloch likes the taste of children." "Where are they?" I said. He waved his hand dismissively. "They're right here on Toro Key, but you're too late to stop the ritual.

Have you ever been to this museum?" "No," she said, drawing the word out into three contemptuous syllables as only a ten-year-old girl can.

Arabelle," Debs was saying. "Arabelle, please listen to me." Arabelle was not listening, and I didn't think my sister's vocal tone of combined anger and authority was well calculated to win over anyone—especially not someone who looked like she had been sent over from a casting office to play the part of a cleaning woman with no green card.

I have really good eyesight," I said, wondering if everyone who came in to see me today was going to be profoundly annoying.

No, you don't understand. She told me to get you back. She's made up her mind and I don't dare disobey. She hits very hard.

And of course you don't actually have to take an IQ test to become a reporter.

Doakes was gone. One small piece at a time he was leaving my life and releasing me from the involuntary servitude of Rita's couch. I could live again.

Baleen was a very pricey place that I would not have attempted on my own modest means. It has the kind of oak-paneled elegance that makes you feel the need for a cravat and spats.