“Finn stood abruptly. "We need to follow 'em." "But aren't they followin' us? If we go after them, the five of us will be goin' around in circles.”

“I wish the Irish had never invented whiskey," Pat said. Mr. O'Malley smirked, "The Irish didn't invent it. God did. It was his way of keepin' the Irish from takin' over the world.”

“He brightened. "Are you Irish then?" "My last name is McNally. I'm as Irish as Paddy's pig.”

“She tipped back her glass and finished it. "Ah, lass. You drink like you're Irish already." She smirked. "I am Irish already. Always have been.”

“Wait," she whispered breathlessly. "I want us to come together." "What's wrong with you comin' twice, luv?”

“If you want to mimic spoons in a drawer, I promise I won't think anythin' of it." She realized that curling the same way they'd fit much better. She sighed. "Okay, but I get to be the big spoon. I ...”

“He took a deep breath. "I'm a dragon, Samantha." "Oh, my God." His lips twitched. "Even when I look like a man." "A dragon," she repeated. "Yes.”

“She went on tiptoe and pecked his cheek with a kiss. Daring of her, she knew. His green eyes went dragon-gold and sharp, the bones of his forehead morphing slightly to suggest the crowned brow of t...”

“Nothing can age a dragon, but you just might be the exception.”

“How foolish of me to have disregarded you, dear goddess. I wont make that mistake again.”

“Gods are cold. War, killing, and stabbing each other in the back is really what we do best.”

“Listen, whispers Dario. How still it is. They stand under a darkened archway, the only sound a whispered squeak where docked gondolas rub against each other. Negative ions from the lapping water re...”