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1247 LaRuhe, Jr. 

"Don't believe anything dead until you've burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them." --------------------- But if there's one thing I've learned in life it's this: assume makes an ass out of 'u' and 'me'.

the voice of something larger than life, an archangel, perhaps—the one that fell. --------- dormant is just another word for "liable to explode at any moment,"

Why should I care? It was in Dublin, not Georgia! It was Ireland's problem. They could handle their own troubles. --------- "You can call me Mac, er� Jericho. And thanks for saving me." One dark brow rose and he looked amused. "Stick with Barrons, Ms. Lane," he said dryly. 

"My obsession with finding Alina's journal was shaping what and how I chose to write in my own: about everything, and in great detail." -- that, my dear, is not a good idea. it never ends well when someone stores an awful lot of significant (personal) information in a place such as a diary/journal...

I'd snorted. Cities don't just lose entire neighborhoods. That's impossible. He'd smiled faintly. In time, Ms. Lane, you will cease using that word. ------------------- "Amusing, Ms. Lane." Barrons could not have looked more unamused. "Now move."

 "The right to kill me?" I snapped. Was that what they'd thought of my sister, the ones who'd murdered her? That they'd had the right? It studied me. "Not that any of us would." Yeah, right—and piranhas were vegetarians. ------------- I was beginning to think it might be easier to start tallying everyone I knew in Dublin that didn't want the Sinsar Dubh. Gee, that would be nobody. 

"There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth?" Barrons locked his jaw, as if he regretted the admission. 

Everyone's a fashion critic. I knew which song he meant: "She's a Rainbow." Whenever I listened to it on my iPod, I would close my eyes and spin around, pretending I was in a sun-dappled clearing, with my arms spread wide and my head thrown back, while colors of every hue sprayed from my fingertipslike brilliant little airbrush guns, painting trees, birds, bees, and flowers, even the sun in the sky, glorious shades.

"Mallucé asshole," he repeated. "And here I thought your last name was 'fashion nightmare." Score one for Barrons, I thought.