Battle Ground (The Dresden Files, #17)

by Jim Butcher

Drakul regarded me for a second. Then he made an exasperated little sound and put one hand on his hip. “I’ll be open with you, starborn. At this point of conversations like this one, I often offer the dark gift of immortality to someone in your position. It’s occasionally a way to obtain a useful tool, but mostly I just want to see how they react. One sees people for who they truly are when they face death . . . but, honestly, five minutes of you in my life has been quite enough. You’ve no . . . gravitas. No decorum. No style at all.” He knelt over me and lifted the knife toward my throat. “But I suppose your blood will call to the dead as well as anyone’s.” “Knock-knock,” I said. Drakul frowned down at me and arched an eyebrow. “Oh, come on,” I said. “Here I am facing death and telling you a knock-knock joke. Why would I do such a thing?” I gave him the best grin I could while clenching my teeth. “Eternity is a long time to wonder about a punch line. Knock-knock.” “Who,” said Drakul, in his mellifluous accent, his eyes narrowed, “is there?” “Thousand-pound gorilla,” I rasped. “Thousand-pound gorilla who?” asked Drakul. And River Shoulders roared and hit him with a twelve-foot-long concrete obelisk.