Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)

by Jim Butcher

“Yeah, one second.” I finally found the folded-up piece of paper with the weekly passphrases on it in the depths of the gym bag. I unfolded it, shook sand off it, consulted it, and read, “‘All of my base are belong to me.’ What does that even mean?”

(The Paranet called them “whampires,” but I refused to cave in to such silliness, unless it became entirely convenient.)

“Only the young think being called old is an insult,” I said, still smiling. “I am what I am, regardless of what anyone calls it. No one can change it, regardless of what anyone calls it. And it mostly means that nothing has managed to kill me yet.”

“When you reach the limits,” I said quietly, “maybe it’s time to change your limits.”

I couldn’t stop her. It would be the same as telling her that she was weak and needed to stay home. That she wasn’t strong enough to help me. It would break her. And besides. You can’t go around making people’s choices for them. Not if you love them.

However inconvenient you might be for them, whether any of them like it or not, you’re a wizard, Harry.” “Yer a wizard, Harry,” I growled. He didn’t smile, but an amused glint came to his eyes.

At the end of the day, people have to be who they are. If you try to take that from them, you diminish them. You reduce them to children, unable to make decisions for themselves. There’s no way to poison your relationship with someone else faster.

“I respect what you can do, Lara,” I said quietly. “You’re one of my favorite frenemies.