Grave Peril

Neen, dit is ook nog geen goed boek. Maar vóór ik iets anders zeg, eerst wat statistiek:



In boek één heeft Harry Dresden drie keer “Hell's bells” gezegd. In boek twee heeft hij 3² keer “Hell's bells” gezegd. In boek drie was het 3³ keer “Hell's Bells”.

Ik weet hoeveel woorden er in de boeken zitten. Een kleine berekening leert ons:



Tegen boek 11 zal het boek gewoon één langgerekte “Hell's bells” zijn. Ik weet al waar ik naar uit kan kijken.

Ook in dit boek blijven vrouwen, voor het grootste deel, een werkpuntje voor Jim Butcher. Dit is een meisje dat Dresden om bescherming vraagt.

“All right,” I said. “If you want my protection, I want a few things from you first.”

She pushed back her asphalt-colored hair with one hand and gave me a look of pure calculation. Then she simply crossed her legs, so that the cut of her dress left one pale leg bare to midthigh. A subtle motion of her back thrust out her young, firm breasts, so that their tips pressed visibly against the fabric. “Of course, Mr. Dresden. I'm sure we can do business.” The look she gave me was direct, sensual, and willing.

Nipple erection on command—now that's method acting. Oh, she was pretty enough, I suppose. Any adolescent male would have been drooling and hurling himself at her, but I'd seen acts a lot better. I rolled my eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

Her sex-kitten look faltered. “It . . . it isn't?” She frowned at me, eyes scanning me again, reassessing me. “Is it . . . are you . . . ?”

“No,” I said. “I'm not gay. But I'm not buying what you're selling. You haven't even told me your name, but you're willing to spread your legs for me? No, thanks. Hell's bells, haven't you ever heard of AIDS? Herpes?”

Susan had to bend down far over the fire to thrust a long candlestick's tip down into the small flames. The orange light curved around the lean muscles of her legs in a fashion I found positively fascinating, even as wearied as I was.