By Jim Butcher
Harry Dresden's confronted a few lovely terrifying foes in the course of his profession. tremendous scorpions. Oversexed vampires. Psychotic werewolves. It comes with the territory if you are the single specialist wizard within the Chicago region yellow pages. yet in all Harry's years of supernatural sleuthing, he is by no means confronted something like this: the spirit world's long past postal. in all places Chicago, ghosts are inflicting trouble--and not only of the door-slamming, boo-shouting kind. those ghosts are tormented, violent, and lethal. Someone--or something--is stirring them as much as wreak unearthly havoc. yet why? And why achieve this the various sufferers have ties to Harry? If Harry does not determine it out quickly, he might finish up a ghost himself . . .
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Additional info for Dresden Files 03 Grave Peril
The power of the blow flung me back against a wall like a toy, hard enough to send my staff and rod clattering to the floor. By some miracle or other, I kept hold of my sack of ghost dust, but my head vibrated like a hammer-struck bell, and cold shivers wracked my body in rapid succession. "Michael," I wheezed, as loudly as I could, but already I could hear doors being thrown open, heavy work boots pounding toward me. I struggled to my feet and shook my head to clear it. The wind rose to gale force, sending cribs skittering around the room on their little wheels, tearing at my eyes so that I had to shield them with one hand.
There were pale scars on her arm—the vertical kind that run along the big veins. The ones you get when you're really serious about killing yourself. They were old and faded. She must have gotten them when she was … what? Ten years old? Younger? I shuddered and secured the little braid of musty cloth and silver chain about her wrist, willing enough energy into it to close the circle once the knot was tied. When I finished, I touched her forearm lightly. I could just feel the talisman's power, a tingling sensation that hovered a half-inch off of her skin.
She seized my hand in both of hers and pressed a tearstained kiss to my knuckles. Her fingers were cold and her lips too hot. Then she vanished out the door. I shut it behind her and shook my head. "Harry, you idiot. Your one decent talisman that would protect you against ghosts and you just gave it away. She's probably a plant. " I glared down at my hand, where the warmth of Lydia's kiss and the dampness of her tears still lingered. Then I sighed, and walked to the cabinet where I kept fifty or sixty spare light-bulbs on hand, and replaced the one that had burned out.