Laura Oliva

“I think when magic is dark enough, it can look like anything it wants.”

“Something that sounded like ripping metal shredded the deadly quiet. The inaudible bass smoothed into a low, steady hum. Outside, a low, mechanical growl rumbled closer and closer. Darius caught his breath. He knew that sound, and it wasn't magic.It was a motorcycle.”

“It was not accustomed to being summoned.”

“Bez blew out a breath and leaned heavily against the bar. "Honestly, D, you're better off busting your subversive cherry with something else. A nice werewolf killing. A vampire blood drive.”

“Father Gregory laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes life knocks us to our knees." His hand tightened briefly. "But that's a damn good position to pray from.”

“Go do your thing, magic girl.”

“How long since he'd been back home? Ten years? Fifteen? He'd stopped keeping track around the time he'd finally stopped looking over his shoulder. At the time, leaving had seemed too good to be true. He'd spent months feeling like he was half a step ahead of some nameless specter; like if he let his guard down, even for a second, whatever it was would drag him right back where he'd come from.”