Blood Rites (The Dresden Files, #6)

by Jim Butcher

“An errand is getting a tank of gas or picking up a carton of milk or something. It is not getting chased by flying purple pyromaniac gorillas hurling incendiary poo.”

Thomas was an annoying wiseass who tended to make everyone he met want to kill him, and when I have that much in common with someone, I can’t help but like him a little.

“You always a wiseass?” “No. Sometimes I’m asleep.”

“Oh, what would you like on your vegetarian pizza?” “Dead pigs and cows,” I said.

“So what’s love look like?” “You can have everything in the world, but if you don’t have love, none of it means crap,” he said promptly. “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love always forgives, trusts, supports, and endures. Love never fails. When every star in the heavens grows cold, and when silence lies once more on the face of the deep, three things will endure: faith, hope, and love.” “And the greatest of these is love,” I finished. “That’s from the Bible.” “First Corinthians, chapter thirteen,” Thomas confirmed. “I paraphrased. Father makes all of us memorize that passage. Like when parents put those green yucky-face stickers on the poisonous cleaning products under the kitchen sink.”

“Look, a ritual spell like that doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s like a cosmic vending machine. You put two quarters in, push the right button, and the curse comes flying out, courtesy of some psychotic otherworldly force that enjoys that kind of thing.

Over the years I’ve learned that ignorance is more than just bliss. It’s freaking orgasmic ecstasy.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The world might be vicious and treacherous and deadly, but it couldn’t kill laughter. Laughter, like love, has power to survive the worst things life has to offer. And to do it with style.