“How long have you been a Wiccan?''A what?''A pagan. A witch.''I'm not a witch,' I said, glancing out the door. 'I'm a wizard.'Sanya frowned. 'What is the difference?''Wizard has a Z'He looked at me blankly.'No one appreciates me.' I muttered.”

“My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. I'm a wizard. I work out of an office in midtown Chicago. As far as I know, I'm the only openly practicing professional wizard in the country. You can find me in the yellow pages, under "Wizards." Believe it or not, I'm the only one there. My ad looks like this:HARRY DRESDEN — WIZARDLost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations.Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates.No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other EntertainmentYou'd be surprised how many people call just to ask me if I'm serious.”

“She frowned at me. "You need some rest. You look like hell. And you're obviously tired enough to have gotten the giggles."Wizards don't giggle," I said, hardly able to speak. "This is cackling.”

“Anyway, my office is small - one room, but on the corner, with a couple of windows. The sign on the door reads, simply, HARRY DRESDEN, WIZARD. Just inside the door is a table, covered with pamphlets with titles like: Magic and You, and Why Witches Don't Sink Any Faster Than Anyone Else - a Wizard's Perspective. I wrote most of them. I think it's important for we practitioners of the Art to keep up a good public image. Anything to avoid another Inquisition.”

“I might not have any magic available to me, but that didn't make me any less of a wizard, one of the magi, the wise. That's the true power of a wizard.”

“Okay," I said. "I'm going to do something I know you both hate. I'm going to get direct. And I'm going to get direct answers from you, answers that convince me that you aren't trying to hide anything from me and aren't trying to mislead me. I know you both have to speak the truth. So give me simple, declarative answers, or I assume you're scheming and walk away right now."That made Lily press her lips together and fold her arms. Her gaze turned reproachful. Maeve rolled her eyes, casually gave me the finger, and said, "Wizards are such weasels.”

“Da. This is going very well already."Thomas barked out a laugh. "There are seven of us against the Red King and his thirteen most powerful nobles, and it's going well?"Mouse sneezed."Eight," Thomas corrected himself. He rolled his eyes and said, "And the psycho death faerie makes it nine.""It is like movie," Sanya said, nodding. "Dibs on Legolas.""Are you kidding?" Thomas said. "I'm obviously Legolas. You're . . ." He squinted thoughtfully at Sanya and then at Martin. "Well. He's Boromir and you're clearly Aragorn.""Martin is so dour, he is more like Gimli." Sanya pointed at Susan. "Her sword is much more like Aragorn's.""Aragorn wishes he looked that good," countered Thomas."What about Karrin?" Sanya asked."What--for Gimli?" Thomas mused. "She is fairly--""Finish that sentence, Raith, and we throw down," said Murphy in a calm, level voice."Tough," Thomas said, his expression aggrieved. "I was going to say 'tough.' "As the discussion went on--with Molly's sponsorship, Mouse was lobbying to claim Gimli on the basis of being the shortest, the stoutest, and the hairiest--"Sanya," I said. "Who did I get cast as?""Sam," Sanya said.I blinked at him. "Not . . . Oh, for crying out loud, it was perfectly obvious who I should have been."Sanya shrugged. "It was no contest. They gave Gandalf to your godmother. You got Sam.”