Fool Moon (The Dresden Files, #2)

by Jim Butcher

I was sipping ale and thinking dark thoughts when the door opened again. I didn’t look up, occupied as I was with brooding, a famous pastime of wizards everywhere.

And I knew that there was some dark corner of me that would enjoy using magic for killing—and then long for more. That was black magic, and it was easy to use. Easy and fun. Like Legos.

So I’d gone to the underworld for assistance. They know when you’ve been bad or good, and they make Santa Claus look like an amateur.

I stared at MacFinn for a long moment. I believed that he was telling me the truth. That he didn’t have much control, if any, over his actions when he transformed. Though it occurred to me that if he wanted someone dead, he could probably point his monster-self in the right direction before he lost control. Note to self: Do not cut MacFinn off in traffic.

There was a snarl, and then the creature that had been Harley MacFinn came through the doorway. The loup-garou was a wolf, in the same way that a velociraptor is a bird—same basic design, vastly different outcome.

“They beat him,” Tera explained. “But they kept him alive, as I told you they might.” “Your face looks like a sack of purple potatoes,” Susan said, her dark eyes studying me, the lines in her face deepening. “You say the sweetest things,” I mumbled.

The barrel of Denton’s gun looked bigger and deeper than the national debt as it swung to bear on my face.