All We Can Do, Child, Is Follow

Most Problems Look Worse Than They Are. Nothing Is Unfixable.

Met Them. Killed Them. Got The T-shirt.

Families Are Messy. Immortal Families Are Eternally Messy. Sometimes The Best We Can Do Is To Remind Each Other That We're Related For Better Or For Worse...and Try To Keep The Maiming And Killing To A Minimum.

Then There Was Nico Di Angelo. Dang, That Kid Gave Leo The Freaky-deakies. He Sat Back In His Leather Aviator Jacket, His Black T-shirt And Jeans, That Wicked Silver Skull Ring On His Finger, And The Stygian Sword At His Side. His Tufts Of Black Hair Struck Up In Curls Like Baby Bat Wings. His Eyes Were Sad And Kind Of Empty, As If He’d Stared Into The Depths Of Tartarus—which He Had.

At The Rear Of The Bus, The Driver Wrenched A Big Chunk Of Smoking Metal Out Of The Engine Compartment. The Bus Shuddered, And The Engine Roared Back To Life. The Passengers Cheered. Darn Right!" Yelled The Driver. He Slapped The Bus With His Hat. "everybody Get Back On Board!