Laura Oliva Quotes

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.

Are you here about the infestation?"MacMillian stiffened. "I don't... We aren't-"Lena cleared her throat. "I'm afraid bugs aren't really our specialty.""Not bugs." The woman shook her head vigorously. "Ghosts. Whole place is crawling with 'em.

Wrong. This was wrong. A list of words raced through his head. Apostate, heretic, pagan.Witch.

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.

Something about the floating club reminded him of Wonderland. Not Disney's Wonderland, either, but Wonderland according to Lewis Carroll: dark, sumptuous. Treacherous. It was the sort of place where anything could happen...and probably did. He had a feeling if a deranged, bloodthirsty monarch suddenly swept in and started demanding people's heads, no one would bat an eye.

MacMillian groaned again, and sat up. "Clients?""Yeah. You know, people who'll give us money in exchange for work.

Go do your thing, magic girl.

When had she moved so close? Her brain screamed at her to back away. She would regret this. She already regretted this.

What was she doing here? Private detectives were for insecure housewives, parents of troubled teens, bent old ladies who'd forgotten where they parked. She was none of the above. She was a sane, stable, capable adult. Yet here she was.Desperate times, and all that.

Lena scowled at the empty space in her living room. "Oh sure, thanks, I had fun too." She'd stayed awake, spilled a cup of perfectly good tea, and for what? A spirit with the noncorporeal equivalent of erectile dysfunction. Mostly she was fine being permanently on-call in the Veil. On nights like this, however, it sucked.

That, my dear detective, was the other San Francisco. You've probably seen it before, just out of the corner of your eye. You've probably dismissed it all your life. Maybe you always told yourself you'd just had too much to drink." She paused, her gaze heavy on his face. MacMillian squirmed. "But I'm guessing you always knew better."His head was throbbing. He shook it once, twice, but it didn't clear. "I don't get it, Miss...""Alan," she supplied.He nodded. "Ms. Alan. Why are you here?"Her eyes darkened. "Because there are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to bump back.

I should hex the IRS.

The way he smiled with just one corner of his mouth said he’d show her a good time if she let him.

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

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.

I swear. Tell someone you're a vampire or a werewolf and they think it's sexy. Tell someone you're a witch and they go from zero to Torquemada in three seconds flat.

Durbin's sunglasses were gone, and his gray eyes sparkled up at her. He winked. "Take care of yourself, Dr. Venkman."Lena bit back a grin. "You too, Dana Barrett.

MacMillian pinched the bridge of his nose. Conspiracy theories, secret societies... what the hell had he gotten himself into? What was next? Vampires? Werewolves?

A chaotic mix of emotions churned inside him. Relief. Anger. Longing. She was the last person in the world he wanted to see. She was the only person in the world he wanted to see.

MacMillian steepled his fingers on the head of his cane. Anticipation rose in his chest. Lena and Cyrus Alan might have an advantage over him when it came to hunting ghosts, but this was where he excelled. This part of the game was all about patterns. He saw patterns. Always had.

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.

Ain't good to talk too much about infernal affairs if you can avoid it. Tends to make certain things stand up and pay attention.

It was not accustomed to being summoned.

The Toyota plowed headlong into the boy. But there was no impact. No screams, no blood, no bending metal.The boy simply dematerialized in a swirl of white light.