Storm Front (Dresden Files)
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For Harry Dresden, Chicago's only professional wizard, business, to put it mildly, stinks. So when the police bring him in to consult on a grisly double murder committed with black magic, Harry's seeing dollar signs. But where there's black magic, there's a black mage behind it. And now that mage knows Harry's name.
and her face was fair, friendly, with enough roundness of cheek to look fresh-faced and young, enough fullness of mouth to look very feminine. She was wearing a long, full skirt of palest yellow with brown riding boots, a crisp white blouse, and an expensive-looking green cardigan over it, to ward off the chill of early spring. She had to be in good shape to pull off a color combination like that, and she did it. Overall, it was a naggingly familiar look, something like Annette Funicello or
out of the corner of my eye, a twitch of motion from the dried scorpion that sat on my desk. I blinked and stared at it. It didn’t move. Cautiously, I extended my senses toward it like an invisible hand, feeling about for any traces of enchantment or magical energy. Nothing. It was as dry of enchantment as it was of life. Never let it be said that Harry Dresden is afraid of a dried, dead bug. Creepy or not, I wasn’t going to let it ruin my concentration. So I scooped it up with the corner of the
had centuries of experience, and he could extrapolate the most successful components for a given person to make into a potion. He was right about being an invaluable resource—I had never even heard of a spirit with Bob’s experience, and I was lucky to have him. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to crack that skull of his from time to time, though. The escape potion was made in a base of eight ounces of Jolt cola. We added a drop of motor oil, for the smell of it, and cut a bird’s feather into tiny
ready. I put my silver knife in a sheath that hung just under my left arm. I put the escape potion in its plastic squeeze-bottle into my duster’s pocket. I put on my favorite talisman, a silver pentacle on a silver chain—it had been my mother’s. My father had passed it down to me. And I put a small, folded piece of white cloth into my pocket. STORM FRONT 97 I had several enchanted items around—or half-enchanted items, anyway. Carrying out a full enchantment is expensive and time-consuming,
and what sort of things to look for. STORM FRONT 101 The house itself was elegant, very roomy, with the high ceilings and the broad ﬂoors that they just don’t make anymore. A well-groomed young woman with a short, straight haircut greeted me in the enormous entry hall. I was passing polite to her, and she showed me to a library, its walls lined with old books in leather bindings, similar to the leathercushioned chairs around the enormous old dogfoot table in the room’s center. I took a seat