Rogue (Croak, #3) QUOTES

21 " You said I’m a Damning Effect Reverser, too, whatever that means. And that you know why I can unDamn.”
“Oh, my boy,” Grotton said with a grin, “you can do so much more than that.” With that, he disappeared into the basement.
Driggs scoffed. “That was helpful.”
“Seriously,” said Lex. “The guy’s a first-rate douchecrate.”
“Agreed. Shall we move on to the fridge?”
They were well on their way to eating a full spray can of whipped cream between them—one spurt for Lex, two spurts for Driggs, shake well, repeat—when Uncle Mort appeared at the basement doorway and, given the fact that neither of them had ever been allowed to set a single toe on the basement staircase, said the most surprising thing he could have uttered:
“Downstairs, kids.”
Out came the whipped cream. In a perfect spit-take, too—through both mouths and all four nostrils.
Uncle Mort grinned. “If we’re going to smite the bad guys, we’re going to need a few toys first. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

23 " The next twelve hours in the Stiff were decidedly less than pleasant. After several heated rounds of the License Plate Game, Pip decided to invent the Flick Ferbus in the Ear Game, which soon became the Ferbus Yells So Loud He Bursts Eardrums Game. Elysia yelled at him for yelling at Pip, causing Pandora to yell at everyone. “Shut the hell up or I’ll wrap this car right around a tree, and don’t you think for a second that I won’t!”
“But he’s flicking me!” said Ferbus.
Uncle Mort turned around in his seat. “Are we in preschool, Ferb? Is he breathing on you, too?”
“Actually, he is. And he still won’t give me credit for spotting the Alaska plate first.”
“Because you didn’t spot the Alaska plate first,” said Pip.
“PIP, I SWEAR ON ALL THAT IS HOLY I WILL POP YOUR EYEBALLS OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND EAT THEM WITH A SIDE OF YOUR LEFT—”
“Enough!” Uncle Mort yelled. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

25 " His eyes were getting that intense look again, so Lex tapped him on the shoulder. “So,” she said loudly, “what’s our next move?”
He blinked a couple of times. “Well, it should be slightly easier to move now that it’s getting on toward nighttime. Fewer people around, less likely we’ll be spotted. On the other hand, things will be much quieter, and with you elephants stomping around, there’s a greater chance of someone hearing us—”
“Hang on,” said Elysia. “We’re not stopping for the night?”
Uncle Mort paused to stare at her. “We’re a little pressed for time here, Lys.”
“Yeah, but—” She looked to Ferbus for help. “It’s just that we’re kind of, um, exhausted.”
“And hungry,” Ferbus added.
“And some of us really have to pee,” said Pip.
Pandora raised two fingers. “And other things.”
Uncle Mort irritably ran a hand through his hair. “So what are you saying?” he asked. “You want to camp out for the night? Where do you propose we do that?”
“Well, obviously we can’t stay here,” said Lex.
“But we can’t leave until we know where we’re going—”
“For cripes’ sake, enough with the drama!” Pandora said, blowing past him. “Everything is a crisis with you people. Stairs are hard, that tunnel’s too small, my sister died—sack up already! You really want somewhere to sleep?” She flung the front door open. “Come on. I know a place.”
***
“The National Museum of Grimsphere History?” Elysia said, reading the sign before them.
“OH no,” Ferbus said. “We’re not going to have to learn things, are we?”
“And risk pushing out the space in your brain devoted to basic motor skills?” Pandora said. “Heavens, no. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

27 " This has all been in the works for years, Lex.”
“But you said I was the one who started the war.”
“Let me put it this way: I built the bomb. You lit the fuse.” He shouldered his bag and headed for the door. “Now it’s time to blow shit up. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

29 " Driggs, you go out and watch for a break in traffic. Once it’s clear, give the signal, and we’ll scramble onto the escalator as quickly and as quietly as we can.”
“Are you nuts?” said Lex. “People are going to recognize us!”
He withdrew his hand from his bag, something golden glinting between his fingers. “Not with this.”
“The bubonic football?” Lex said. “What are we going to do, sneeze them to death?”
“Oh, if only our paltry weapons were as destructive as Lex’s diabolical wit,” Uncle Mort countered, deadpan.
“I’d say diabolical wit is something that runs in the family,” said Pandora.
“Don’t forget the superiority complexes,” Ferbus added.
“And the bossiness!” Pip threw in.
Uncle Mort cleared his throat. “As fun as it might be for us to all sit here and pick apart all the delightfully whimsical foibles of the Bartleby family, we’ve kind of got a war to fight here, remember? Let’s go do that "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

31 " I don’t get it,” Lex said to Uncle Mort, propelling herself through the air. “Why all these elaborate simulations? And why are the targets so far away from the starting point? When we scythe in to actual targets, they’re always right there in front of us. And time is frozen—and our hoodies protect us from the elements—so why use real fire, real everything?”
“Because the human mind is a tricky little bastard,” Uncle Mort said. “When Grims are thrown into scary situations, their brains still tell them to panic, despite the fact that there is really no need. If the training procedures force you to concentrate on the task at hand while being bombarded with danger from every direction, you’ll be all the more levelheaded when you’re actually in a safe environment.”
“Ah. That makes sense, I guess.”
“Of course it does. I came up with it.”
“With what?”
He gestured at their surroundings. “This.”
“Wait, wait,” said Ferbus. “You designed this?”
“Designed it, no. I don’t know what kind of situations these sadistic Necropolitans have cooked up in the time since I first mentioned it. But it was my idea to establish a training program in the first place.”
“Then why don’t we have one in Croak?” Lex asked.
“We do.” He smirked. “You’re looking at him. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

33 " Well, go in,” said Pandora. “It’s open to the public.”
“So, for once, we won’t have to destroy private property,” Uncle Mort said, opening the door. “Look how far we’ve come, gang—”
A shriveled, bony fist punched him in the face.
Since there wasn’t much force behind the blow, however, it just sort of shoved him off balance for a second. Uncle Mort rubbed his cheek, as if he’d been stung by a mosquito. “Ow.”
“Don’t you dare come in here!” a little man in a bow tie and suspenders yelled. He stared out at them from behind a pair of humongous old-man glasses, his wispy white hairs quivering as he shouted. When the Juniors came in anyway, he got even angrier. “Don’t you dare take another step!” They took another step. “Don’t you dare—”
“Turlington!” Pandora blared, holding up a balled fist of her own. “You shut that pie hole of yours or I’ll stuff it with a hearty slice of knuckle cobbler!”
“Knuckle cobbler?” Lex whispered to Driggs.
“Good name for a band,” he replied.
The man almost fainted. “Pan—Pandora?”
“Damn straight!” She puffed out her chest and trapped him up against the wall. “Now, you’re going to let these friends of mine bunk here for the evening, and you’re going to be real nice and real pleasant about it, and above all, you’re not even going to think of ratting us out. Got it?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, shaking. “Whatever you need. I think I might even have some pillows and blankets left over from the last overnight camp, in the closet behind the—”
Pandora karate-chopped the side of his head.
The Juniors watched as he went down like a sack. “What’d you do that for?” Uncle Mort asked once the poor man stopped twitching.
“He would have ratted,” Pandora said with confidence. “Old Turly was my partner for a brief stint back in our younger days. Thick as thieves, we were. But he’s a squirrelly bastard, I know that much.”
“So are you,” Uncle Mort pointed out.
“That’s why we were such good friends!”
Uncle Mort stared at her for a moment more, then rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Make yourselves at home, kids. Just step right on over the unconscious senior citizen. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

35 " You really think stopping here is a good idea?” Lex asked her uncle, eyeing the buffalo. A strange decoration for a small-town deli, to be sure, but then again Lex wasn’t really up to date on the interior design trends of small-town upstate New York.
“Of course,” Uncle Mort said, counting out a stack of bills and placing them on the counter. “Don’t you think a cross-country run-for-our-lives road trip just screams ‘time for a picnic’?”
“I would not have thought that, no.”
“Well, that’s because you’re a total noob.”
The girl reappeared behind the counter with two bagfuls of wrapped sandwiches. “That’ll be sixty-seven dollars and two cents,” she said, smiling sweetly at Uncle Mort.
“Thanks,” he said, giving her a wink as he handed her the bills. “Keep the change, hon.”
She giggled. Lex rolled her eyes.
“Smooth move, Clooney,” Lex said as they exited the deli. “Do we need to pencil in some time for a sexy rendezvous? I think there’s a motel down the street that rents rooms by the hour.”
“Pop quiz, hotshot: Let’s say someone shows up in this town and starts asking questions about a hooligan band of teenagers accompanied by two ghosts, an ancient woman, and a devastatingly attractive chaperone. Which one do you think that girl will be more likely to remember?”
Lex grumbled. “The chaperone.”
“You seem to have forgotten a couple of key adjectives there.”
“Oh, I didn’t forget.”
“Believe me, that girl won’t dream of ratting us out. Especially now that I’ve bestowed upon her the Wink of Trust.”
Lex snorted. “The Wink of Trust?”
“Has gotten me out of more trouble than you can imagine. I suggest you try it some time. Add it to your already overflowing arsenal of charm. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

37 " We have to get to a hospital,” Elysia said, straining under the weight of Ferbus. “We’re losing him.”
“Your FACE is losing him,” Ferbus confirmed. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)

39 " A twitchy nose popped up underneath her hand, near the rim of the portal. “They’re like this all the time. I can’t bear it any longer. I can’t and I shan’t!”
“Edgar!” Lex’s face melted into a grin as she lowered her hand. “Oh, man. I’ve missed you.”
Edgar Allan Poe smoothed out his frock coat. “Yes. Well. Your absence has been noted as well. I’m left to fend for myself with these simpering nincompoops.”
“Hey, Poe,” said Tut. “Your mustache is showing!” He smiled a jockish grin and gave Cordy a high-five.
“I know my mustache is—that’s not even a joke—” Edgar’s lip quivered. “You see what I mean? It seems the presidents have taught him the ever-popular sport of Torture the Poet. Oh, yes. Taught. Him. Well. "

― Gina Damico , Rogue (Croak, #3)