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“Wizards and computers get along about as well as flamethrowers and libraries.”
― Changes
― Changes
“So we get a plan," I said. "Any suggestions?"
"Blow up the building," Kincaid said without looking up. "That works good for vampires. Then soak what's left in gasoline. Set it on fire. Then blow it all up again."
"For future reference, I was sort of hoping for a suggestion that didn't sound like it came from that Bolshevik Muppet with all the dynamite.”
― Blood Rites
"Blow up the building," Kincaid said without looking up. "That works good for vampires. Then soak what's left in gasoline. Set it on fire. Then blow it all up again."
"For future reference, I was sort of hoping for a suggestion that didn't sound like it came from that Bolshevik Muppet with all the dynamite.”
― Blood Rites
“Star Trek?” I asked her. “Really?”
“What?” she demanded, bending unnaturally black eyebrows together.
“There are two kinds of people in the universe, Molly,” I said. “Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. This is shocking.”
She sniffed. “This is the post-nerd-closet world, Harry. It’s okay to like both.”
“Blasphemy and lies,” I said.”
― Ghost Story
“What?” she demanded, bending unnaturally black eyebrows together.
“There are two kinds of people in the universe, Molly,” I said. “Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. This is shocking.”
She sniffed. “This is the post-nerd-closet world, Harry. It’s okay to like both.”
“Blasphemy and lies,” I said.”
― Ghost Story
“Gandalf never had this kind of problem.
He had exactly this problem, actually, standing in front of the hidden Dwarf door to Moria. Remember when . . .
I sighed. Sometimes my inner monologue annoys even me. “Edro, edro,” I muttered. “Open.” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose and ventured, “Mellon.”
Nothing happened. The wards stayed. I guessed the Corpsetaker had never read Tolkien. Tasteless bitch.”
― Ghost Story
He had exactly this problem, actually, standing in front of the hidden Dwarf door to Moria. Remember when . . .
I sighed. Sometimes my inner monologue annoys even me. “Edro, edro,” I muttered. “Open.” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose and ventured, “Mellon.”
Nothing happened. The wards stayed. I guessed the Corpsetaker had never read Tolkien. Tasteless bitch.”
― Ghost Story
“I held my hand up, frowning. "Wait a minute. Where did you say this thing was stolen from?"
"The Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist." Father Vincent said.
"In Northern Italy." I said.
He nodded.
"In Turin, to be exact."
"He nodded again, his expression reserved.
"Someone stole the freaking Shroud of Turin?" I demanded.
"Yes."
I settled back in the chair, looking down at the photos again. This changed things.
This changed things a lot.”
―
"The Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist." Father Vincent said.
"In Northern Italy." I said.
He nodded.
"In Turin, to be exact."
"He nodded again, his expression reserved.
"Someone stole the freaking Shroud of Turin?" I demanded.
"Yes."
I settled back in the chair, looking down at the photos again. This changed things.
This changed things a lot.”
―
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