From "Carter Hall Lights the Lamp," in which Petersson is infested with Jolasveinar and turns to his teammates for help with the Icelandic Christmas mischief-makers:
So there we were, sitting around the fire eating hazelnuts and gingerbread and whacking Christmas goblins whenever they stuck their noses up over the couch. "This rocks," said Antozewski.
The rest of us stared at him.
"No, seriously. What has Christmas been missing all this time?" He clobbered Stick-Splinterer and grinned at us triumphantly. The stick emerged mostly intact, still good enough to whack with. "Violence, man!"
"Oh, yes," said Janet, sticking a thumb in her magic book. "Just what Christmas always needed. A good brawl."
"But it's not a good brawl. It's kind of like an arcade game, but, y'know, a better workout."
"You are insane," said Petersson distinctly.
"Oh, chill, man. Janet will figure something out like she always does --" Janet glared at him. " -- and then they'll start leaving tomorrow! We should do this every year. I hope they come back."
"They can come back to your house," said Petersson.
Janet said, "I've found some protection circles, but they're pretty temporary. We should all be able to sleep. Beyond that -- I'll keep looking. And they'll start to go home, right?"
"Sure," said Petersson. "They always have."
And from "Carter Hall Judges the Lines," in which three strange, beautiful Greek ladies with kids in the peewee league where Carter is a volunteer line judge are showing an inordinate interest in him:
"Who do you want to help, Carter?" said Jasmine.
"Yes, Carter, tell us which you prefer," said Wendy.
Ellen folded her arms.
And the weird part of all this? Was that they didn't seem mad. It was scarier than if they'd seemed mad.
"I -- I want to help the kids, of course," I stammered. "That's why we're here, isn't it? For the kids? Come on now, fellas -- let's do sprints. From the blue line to the blue line. Go!"
Like I said before, it is a pity and a crime not to teach a kid to skate until this age. Nick Konstantinopoulos made the best showing, skating doggedly back and forth. He managed to stay on his feet. His turns were ragged, and he wasn't going to set any records, but we could maybe make something out of that kind of determination. Benedict Kephalas fell several times, but he kept getting up with his little jaw set. I liked that kid.
Eli Petalas fell, ripping his wool mitten on the way. He wailed like a little kid. I mean like a littler kid. The other two boys barely glanced at him in their scorn, but his mom was on the ice in an instant, sliding awkwardly over on her boots to hold his hand in her own. She crooned something over it. Eli kept hollering.
I skated over. "Kid, you gotta cut it out. The other kids are going to think you're a wuss if you carry on like that just 'cause you fell. Look, you're not even bleeding."
"Then why is there blood on the ice?" Jasmine Petalas snapped at me.
I looked down. There was. I looked back up, straight at her gorgeous black eyes. "You tell me," I said.
She opened her mouth and closed it again. "It must have been something else," she said finally. She gave the kid a shove. "Go skate with the others, Eli." He gave her this betrayed look, but she was only paying attention to me. He went.