Death Masks (The Dresden Files, #5)

by Jim Butcher

“How does he manage to make this place so nice, run his own business, and fight demons on the side?” “He probably watches a lot of those home-and-garden shows,” I said. She frowned. “The grass is green. It’s February and his grass is green. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?” “Sod works in mysterious ways.” She made a disgusted sound, and then followed me up the walk to the door.

“I’m going with you,” Marcone said. “No, you aren’t.” “I can always order Miss Gard to return to O’Hare.” “Where we’ll all die of the plague, since we didn’t stop the Denarians.” “That may be. Either way, I’m going with you.” I scowled at him, then shook my head and leaned back against the seat, shivering. “You suck. You suck diseased moose wang, Marcone.” Marcone smiled with just his mouth. “How colorful.”