Battle Ground (The Dresden Files, #17)

by Jim Butcher

“I order you to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to your place of origin or to the next convenient parallel dimension.”

HA

I swiped a shaking arm over my running nose and wheezed drunkenly, “I told you, you Black Court bastards! Next time, anvils!”

“Two weeks,” Rawlins muttered as I left. “Gonna die of cliché poisoning.”

A second later, there was a sound you could chew, it was so thick,

“You!” I said, relishing the moment. “Shall not! Pass!”