“Right,” James said. He observed the six of them, all lounging on storage crates, with the mistrustful resignation of a groom at his shotgun wedding. “I guess this makes us a team from now on.”

Lizzy’s hand shot up, abandoning the stock of black candles. “I call team mascot,” she said instantly.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We are respectable-ass people. No.”

She cocked her head too far to one side and leered like the Cheshire goddamned cat. “I’m not respectable?”

“You’re practically the Whore of Babylon. You’re a publicity nightmare. And we’re criminals, we can’t have a mascot.”

-Black Dragon

Who says writers can’t have fun? I got a hankering for “Whore of Babylon” references sometime before April started, and I’m afraid it came out in my Nano writing.