“What kind of sick bastard burns down a Christmas tree?” Hugh and I exchanged glances. “That’s an excellent question,” I said dryly. Peter looked startled. “Was it you?” he asked Hugh. “No,” said the imp. “It was Carter.” “Your Christmas… — Richelle Mead Copy Share Image
“This is it?” I asked. “This is going to keep away an uber-powerful dream entity? It looks like a prop from The Blair Witch Project .” “It can’t force her away,” he said. “Nothing can. But it might make her… — Richelle Mead Copy Share Image
