Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don't feel it.

I didn't want to believe that killing was deep inside of me. I didn't want to think about the part of me that took a dark joy in gathering all the power it could and using it as I saw fit, everything else be damned. There was power to be had in hatred, too, in anger and in lust, in selfishness and in pride. 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.

Where is your unit?" Murphy asked. I wiggled my eyebrows at her. "Right where it's always been, dollface.

All right, you primitive screwheads. Listen up. I'm Harry Dresden. I'm the new Winter Knight.

Caring about someone isn't complicated. It isn't easy. But it isn't complicated, either. Kinda like lifting the engine block out of a car.

He gave me an inscrutable look that said maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't. Mister was a cat, and cats generally considered it the obligation of the universe to provide shelter, sustenance, and amusement as required. I think Mister considered it beneath his dignity to plan for the future.

I like to think of it less as embezzling and more as an involuntary goodwill contribution.