“What, would you like to be demoted to slave?  Perhaps concubine?”“No.  I want my normal life back, devoid of psychotic evil overlords, thank you very much,” I said, deflecting his hands.  I stomped away.  “And don't even think about following me.”“Psychotic evil overlord, eh?  Hmm, I kind of like that- how about just 'Overlord'?”“Don't you have a job to do?  Someone dies every second- go, Fido, fetch the bone!” I said caustically, turning the corner to see Morocco slumped over the gutter, his head skimming the bushes.  “Rocco?” I cried out.  “You did this to him!”“What?  I just put him to sleep so he wouldn't interfere.  We have important matters to attend to, you and I.”“I won't just leave him here.  I'm driving back to his place  And you are. Not.  I

“Fine,” I sighed heavily.  “But can't you just, oh, I don't know, snap your fingers and take us somewhere?”His head shot backwards in rip-roaring laughter.  “Snap my fingers?  Toying with the fabric of reality is exhausting, maggot.  There's only so much energy I can expend at a given time.  And I prefer to keep mine reserved for less trivial matters.”“So you can't teleport?”“I can 'teleport' all I want, I'm a spiritual being.  But you're trillions upon trillions of atoms large and far too heavy to be transported through reality's seams with ease.  Which is why we ride.”“You're calling me fat.”“No, I'm calling you material.  Now get on, lamb- here's a helmet,” he said, tossing it to me.  I strapped it on, muttering darkly as I straddled the bike behind him.  His outfit had mysteriously changed to faded

I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, chest heaving.  “Don't scare me like that,” I said hoarsely.“Expect the unexpected, worm.  I'm always unexpected.”“Please get out of my car.”He ignored me, fishing my purse from the space between seats and rummaging through it.  “Phone- no.  Lip gloss- nooo.  Ah, here it is,” he crooned, taking out the blue vial.  “Now, little mortal, have you tried it yet?” “What? No!-”“-close your eyes,” he ordered, about to poke my eyes out.  I shut them reflexively, and he dabbed the liquid onto my lids.  “There,” he said, satisfied.  I blinked back tears as my vision refocused.  The night beyond my car burst into color, everything that had once been darkness was now muted colors, like the world seen through tinted glass.  Will-'o-the-w

Coach's eyes bulged like a fish, pupils boring holes through my head.  I looked up from my quad stretch, attempting to smile.  Nerves turned it into a grimace.“Callie,” he said softly.“Yes, Coach?” I said meekly.  The other girls shot me sympathetic glances.He stood rod-staight like a military general, arms folded behind his back.  “What's in a week?”“Our meet.”“What meet?”“A track meet...”“And what do athletes do before meets?”“Carb load?”“Train, Callie.  Athletes train,” he said decisively.  “And our top varsity runner decided to skip practice Friday.  What sort of message does that send, Parker?  What example does it set for the underclassmen that look up to her?”  He looked down his long nose at me, a slight sn

“But don't agents have to be trained?”Samael grinned, pouring himself more tea.  “Smart girl.  These-” he said, reaching behind the table and withdrawing three leather-bound tomes, “-are for you to memorize.”  He plopped them down in my lap.They smelled musty and looked ancient.  I opened the top one: vellum pages, elaborate hand-inked script, illuminated pictures- it looked like a medieval grimoire.  I read their faded spines: “'THE SECRETIVE HISTORIE OFE DAEMONS AND FEY, bye LORD SAMMAEL MALKIRA.'  'An Inquiry Into the Heavenly Spheres; or, the Spiritual Realms: A Treatise by Dr. Mephistopheles.'  'The Idiot's Guide to Hell- by Aym the Disgruntled, upon Threat of Blackmail by Samael the Git.”  I looked at him questioningly, holding the first one.  “You wrote this?  The handwriting's indecipherable,” I observed, examining the spidery script