pockets“Still disrespectful, aren’t you?”
“I give respect where it’s due,” I said without emphasis.
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“Can you use this?” she asked. “To help Thomas with his Hunger?”
Outsiders.
The Hungers were baby Outsiders.
And I was starborn. I still had little idea of what that really meant, but I did know one thing for certain: I had been given power over Outsiders. My magic could affect them when another’s could not.
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“What do you want?”
“I want to sort out what it’s going to be like between us,” Lara said quietly. “Our marriage. Right now.”
“I’ll expect dinner every evening at six, pipe and slippers at seven…”
Lara’s mouth twitched at the corners, as her expression visibly wavered between annoyance and amusement.
(Twelve Months Dresden Files 18 by Jim Butcher)
“Nah,” I said. “That’s an illusion, explained by my Perfect Idiot Hypothesis.”
She lifted a raven-dark brow. “How so?”
“Everyone has a talent, yeah? Something they’re naturally good at. It might be something weird and off-putting, or just strange, or something really useful, or something really spectacular that makes them a lot of money. But everyone’s got something.”
Lara actually spent a moment thinking about that before answering. “I am not one of the elder beings of this world. But I have seen many generations of humans come and go. Yes, I would find that statement to be largely true, by long-term observation.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Here’s my hypothesis: Everyone has something they particularly suck at, too. An anti-talent, if you will. Something at which they have the ability to be the Unchosen One.”
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“You look like you’ve stopped losing weight.”
“Yeah,” I said. “If I can figure out how to get more sleep, I should be fine.”
“Best I can do is thirty-year stretches,” she said. “And you might have things to do before that spell came undone.”
“Yeah, I don’t need to be Van Winkled.”
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“You should use ‘pew pew pew’ for your magic words for those little fireballs,” Maggie told Fitz.
“Why not?” Maggie asked. “You said the words weren’t important as long as they didn’t have”—she scrunched up her nose—“intrisic, instinctive meaning.”
“Intrinsic,” I corrected her, sounding out the word carefully. “It means something is pretty much baked into the cake along with something else so they can’t be separated.”
“That,” she said. “ ‘Pew pew pew’ should work.”
“It should,” Fitz mused, wiping sweat from his brow. He peered at me. “Right?”
“You have your reputation to think of,” I told him. “I mean, you can’t just go around saying ‘pew pew pew’ or ‘bang’ or ‘zing.’ ”
Fitz began to chuckle. “Why not?”
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“Well,” I said, more lightly. “If you do it again, I’ll just have to beat you in another duel.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“Someone once taught me,” I said slowly, “that winning a fight and surviving a fight were the same thing.”
He snorted. “Suppose I did.”
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“Sometimes you just find your poison. The one that goes right past your reason. Your logic. Your morals. I’ve seen it plenty, over the years. Sex. Opium. Heroin. Alcohol.”
“This is a world that hurts,” I said. “Sometimes you get tired of that. You’ll take whatever you can get to get away from it for a while.”
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
She glanced at me, and her smile faded a little. “You’re asking for a lot of trust.”
“And you’re not, Miss Smoochie Face?” I demanded.
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)
“I recognize knowledge when I see it. What do you need?”
“Some quiet. And a little luck.”
Brazell frowned in thought. Then he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a ring of car keys, and detached an old rabbit’s foot that dangled from it. He offered it to me, his expression serious.
(Twelve Months, Dresden Files 18, by Jim Butcher)