Cold Days (The Dresden Files, #14)

by Jim Butcher

“Now what?” “Go in,” Cat Sith said. “Wait for instructions. Follow instructions.” “I’m not good at either of those things,” I said.

Build a man a fire and he’s warm for a day,” I said. “But set a man on fire and he’s warm for the rest of his life.

This has to do with your feud with Mab?” “Not a feud,” Bob says. “In a feud, both sides fight. This is more like me screaming and running away before she rips me apart.”

“Sometimes I think that’s where most of us are,” I said. “Fighting off the crazy as best we can. Trying to become something better than we were. It’s that second bit that’s important.”

“If the problem was simple and easy, it wouldn’t require wizards to fix it,” I said. “The impossible we do immediately. The unimaginable takes a little while.”

Thomas opened the throttle all the way and passed me, I kid you not, a shiny brass telescope. “Seriously?” I asked him. “Ever since those pirate movies came out, they’re everywhere,” he said. “I’ve got a sextant, too.” “Any tent you have is a sex tent,” I muttered darkly, extending the telescope. Thomas smirked.

Lara was gorgeous, brilliant, and sexier than a Swedish bikini team hiking up a mountain of money.

In Chicago, you can’t swing a cat without hitting an Irish pub (and angering the cat),

I leapt down onto the back of the bike in a single smooth motion, which I felt was cool, and landed with way too much of my weight on my genitals, which I felt was not.

“Warden,” he said. “Asshat,” I replied.