Amanda

“As he spoke, the edges of the clay man began shimmering, like air does in intense heat, and the lumpen form gradually became more manlike. "Something's happening!" I cried. I was paralyzed by shock and hope. "Please let it work. Come back, Vincent. You have to come back, I whispered, pleading.
Red clay became olive-toned skin, and the bald head became waves of raven black hair. The face that Jules had carefully sculpted became a real nose and mouth and eyes, closed as if in sleep. But it lay there, still unmoving, until, focusing on the air just above, Bran yelled, "Come, bardia spirit, inhabit this body!" He made one final sweeping gesture, as if pulling the aura downward, and touching his fingers to the body's side.
The eyes flew open and Vincent took a great gulping gasp, as if trying to swallow all of the oxygen in the room.
"Vincent," I said, my heart in my throat.
His eyes flew to mine. He reached toward me, and I took his hand and pressed it to my cheek. His skin was burning hot, like with a fever. I kissed his fingers, and his skin smelled like fire and rain-soaked earth. Like the boy I thought I would never touch again.”
― Amy Plum, If I Should Die

“When we were together, it had been like one of nature's true and rare beauties; like an impossible beam of sunlight piercing through black clouds, bathing the patch of earth before you in gold.”
― Amy Plum, If I Should Die

“You've heard of vampires?"
I nodded.
"You've heard of werwolves?"
"Of course."
"Had you ever heard of us?"
I shook my head.
"That's called 'staying under the radar,' dear Kate. It's what we're good at.”
― Amy Plum, Die for Me

“I saw a picture of you and Vincent in a 1968 newspaper that said you died in a fire," I said, turning to Ambrose.

He nodded at me with a little smile, urging me on.

"So how can you be here now?"

"Well, I'm glad we're starting with the easy questions," he said, stretching his powerful arms and then leaning toward me. "The answer would be ... because we're zombies!" and he let out a horrible groan, stretching his mouth open and baring his teeth as he curled his hands into claws.

Seeing my terrified expression, Ambrose began cracking up and slapping his knee with his hand. "Just kidding," he cackled, and then, calming down, looked at me sedately. "But no, seriously. We're zombies."

"We are not zombies!" said Charlotte, her voice rising with annoyance.”
― Amy Plum, Die for Me