“I kept a straight face while my inner Neanderthal spluttered and then went on a mental rampage through a hypothetical produce section, knocking over shelves and spattering fruit everywhere in sheer frustration, screaming, 'JUST TELL ME WHOSE SKULL TO CRACK WITH MY CLUB, DAMMIT!”

“I choose my battles, Dresden. Not you." She looked up at me calmly. "Let me put this in terms that will get through your skull: My friend is going to save a child from monsters. I'm going with him. That's what friends do, Harry.”

“Bob," I said over my shoulder. "Tell her it's me.""Can't," Bob said in a dreamy tone. "Boobs.”

“All right. Tell me what I'm looking at."From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, "A giant pair of cartoon lips."I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible.A big goofy magic nerd!" Bob said.”

“It isn't a club," I said calmly. "It's a walking stick.""Six feet long.""It's traditional Ozark folk art.""With dents and nicks all over it."I thought about it for a second. "I'm insecure?""Get a blanket." He held out his hand. I signed and passed my staff over to him. "Do I get a receipt?"He took a notepad from his pocket and wrote on it. Then he passed it over to me. It read: Received, one six foot tall traditional Ozark walking club from Mr. Smart-Ass.”

“A bolt of warmth, fierce with joy and pride and gratitude, flashed through me like sudden lightning. I don’t care about whose DNA has recombined with whose. When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching—they are your family. And they were my heroes.”

“I was sitting in my lab, my hand spread open on the table, while the skull examined my palm.I'd worn a mark there for years--an unblemished patch of skin amidst all the burn scars, in the perfect shape of the angelic sigil that was Lasciel's name.The mark was gone.In its place was just an irregular patch of unburned skin."It looks like there's no mark there anymore," Bob said.I sighed. "Thank you, Bob," I said. "It's good to have a professional opinion.""Well, what did you expect?" Bob said. The skull swiveled around on the table and tilted up to look at my face. "Hmmmmm. And you say the entity isn't responding to you anymore?""No. And she's always jumped every time I said frog.""Interesting," Bob said."What's that supposed to mean?""Well, from what you told me, this psychic attack the entity blocked for you was quite severe."I shivered, remembering. "Yeah.""And the process she used to accelerate your brain and shield you was traumatic as well.""Right. She said it could cause me brain damage.""Uh-huh," Bob said. "I think it did.""Huh?""See what I mean?" Bob asked cheerfully. "You're thicker already.""Harry get hammer," I said. "Smash stupid talky skull.”