Storm Front (The Dresden Files, #1)

by Jim Butcher

People who know diddly about wizards don’t like to give us their names. They’re convinced that if they give a wizard their name from their own lips it could be used against them. To be fair, they’re right.

Paranoid? Probably. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face.

Maybe my values are outdated, but I come from an old school of thought. I think that men ought to treat women like something other than just shorter, weaker men with breasts.

Smiling always seems to annoy people more than actually insulting them. Or maybe I just have an annoying smile.

“Dumb,” Mac said. “I just said she was smart, Mac.” Mac’s face flickered into that smile, and it made him look years younger, almost boyish. “Not her,” he said. “You.” I ate my dinner. And had to admit that he was right.

Have you ever been approached by a grim-looking man, carrying a naked sword with a blade about ten miles long in his hand, in the middle of the night, beneath the stars on the shores of Lake Michigan? If you have, seek professional help. If you have not, then believe you me, it can scare the bejeezus out of you.