Death Masks: Book Five of The Dresden Files
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Harry Dresden, Chicago's only practising professional wizard, should be happy that business is pretty good for a change. But now he's getting more than he bargained for: A duel with the Red Court of Vampires' champion, who must kill Harry to end the war between vampires and wizards ...Professional hit men using Harry for target practice ...The missing Shroud of Turin ...A handless and headless corpse the Chicago police need identified ...Not to mention the return of Harry's ex-girlfriend Susan, who's still struggling with her semi-vampiric nature. And who seems to have a new man in her life. Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. No matter how much you're charging.
with bursts of static, but I managed to tell her what was going on. “You’re insane, Dresden,” Murphy said. “Do you know how incredibly irresponsible—and illegal—it is to falsify a bomb threat?” “Yeah. Less irresponsible than letting cops and civilians get in these people’s way.” Murphy was quiet for a second, and then asked, “How dangerous are they?” “Worse than the loup-garou,” I said. “I’ll make the call.” “Did you get in touch with him?” I asked. “I think so, yes. Do you need any more
going to win,” I muttered. But Nicodemus drew a gun from the back of his belt. He shoved it against Michael’s breastplate and pulled the trigger. Repeatedly. Light and thunder made even the rushing train sound quiet. Michael fell and did not move. The light of the two swords went out. I shouted, “No!” I raised my gun and started shooting again. Marcone joined me. We didn’t do too badly considering we were standing on a moving train and all. But Nicodemus didn’t seem to care. He walked
had other things on my mind at the time, and I hadn’t been listening too closely. “How do I know who you are?” There was a rasp of paper on stone, and an envelope slid under my door, one corner poking out. “Documentation, Wizard Dresden,” the voice replied. “And a pledge to abide by the laws of hospitality during this visit.” Some of the tension left my shoulders, and I lowered the gun. That was one good thing about dealing with the supernatural community. If something gave you its word, you
features. Central casting would have placed him as the genial next-door neighbor. He didn’t have the usual boater’s tan, it being February and all, but the crow’s-feet at the corners of his pale green eyes remained. He looked a lot like the fictional public image he projected—that of a normal, respectable businessman, an American tale of middle class made good. That said, Marcone scared me more than any single human being I’d ever met. I’d seen him produce a knife from his sleeve faster than a
a few seconds to creep out, nip the Shroud, and get back into the vents. I almost died when Valmont’s radio crackled again and Marcone’s voice said, “There. As agreed, plus your additional fee. Will that be sufficient?” “Quite. You will find your merchandise in a storage closet in the basement.” Marcone’s voice gained an edge. “Please be more specific.” I slipped out of the vents, thinking silent thoughts. A long stretch put my fingertips on the tube’s carrying strap. “If you wish,” Valmont