JIM BUTCHER: SMALL FAVOR

“Oh, come on , Harry. All you mortals get all hung up over your precious souls . You’ve never seen your soul, never touched it, never done anything with it. What’s all the to-do?”

“So what you’re saying is that this hand construct was made out of my soul,” I said.

“Your soul and your magic fused together, yeah,” Bob said. “Your soul converted into energy. Soulfire. In this case, the spirit energy drawn from your aura right around your right hand, because it fit the construct so well, it being a big version of your right hand and all. Your standard force-projection spell formed around the matrix of soulfire, and what had been an instantaneous exertion of force became a long-term entity capable of manipulation and exertion to the same degree. Not really more powerful than just the force spell, as much as it was more than simply the force spell.”

I wiggled my tingling fingers. “Oh. But my soul’s going to get better, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Bob said. “Few days, a week or two at most, it’ll grow back in. Go out and have a good time, enjoy yourself, do some things that uplift the human spirit or whatever, and it’ll come back even faster.”

I grunted. “So what you’re saying is that soulfire doesn’t let me do anything new. It just makes me more of what I already am.”

“A lot more,” Bob said, nodding cheerfully from his shelf. “It’s how angels do all of their stuff. Though admittedly, they’ve got a lot more in the way of soul to draw upon than you do.”

“I thought angels didn’t have souls,” I said.

“Like I said, people get all excited and twitchy when that word gets used,” Bob said. “Angels don’t have anything else .”

“Oh. What happens if I, uh, you know. Use too much of it?”

“What’s five minus five, Harry?”

“Zero.”

“Right. Think about that for a minute. I’m sure you’ll come to the right conclusion.”

“It’s bad?”

“See? You’re not totally hopeless,” Bob said. “And hey, you got a new magic sword to custodianize, too? Merlin, eat your heart out; he only got to look after one! And working a case with Uriel! You’re hitting the big-time, Harry!”

“I haven’t really heard much about Uriel,” I said. “I mean I know he’s an archangel, but…”

“He’s…sort of Old Testament,” Bob said. “You know the guy who killed the firstborn children of Egypt? Him. Other than that, well. There’s only suspicions. And he isn’t the sort to brag. It’s always the quiet ones, you know?”

“Heaven has a spook,” I said. “And Mab likes his style.”

“And he did you a favor !” Bob said brightly. “You just know that can’t be good!”

I put my head down on the table and sighed.

But after that I was able to go upstairs and get some real sleep.

I always like the onion-volcano thing they do at the Japanese steak houses. Me and the other seven-year-olds at the table. I got to catch the shrimp in my mouth, too, when the chef flicked them up into a high arc with his knife. I did so well he hit me with two, one from a knife in either hand, and I got them both, to a round of applause from the table, and a genuine laugh from Anastasia.

We had a delicious meal, and the two of us lingered after everyone else at our little table-grill had left.

“Can I get your take on something?” I asked her.

“Certainly.”

I told her about my experience on the island, and the eerie sense of familiarity that had come with it.

“Oh, that,” Anastasia said. “Your Sight’s coming in. That’s all.”

I blinked at her. “Uh. What?”

“The Sight,” she replied calmly. “Every wizard develops some measure of precognizance as he matures. It sounds to me as if yours has begun to stir, and has recognized a place that may be of significance to you in the future.”

“This happens to everyone ?” I said, incredulous.

“To every wizard,” she said, smiling. “Yes.”

“Then why have I never heard about it?” I demanded.

“Because young wizards who are anticipating the arrival of their Sight have an appalling tendency to ignore uncomfortable truths by labeling more appealing fantasies revelations of their Sight. Everything they care about turns into a prophecy. It’s vastly irritating, and the best way to avoid it is to keep it quiet until a young wizard finds out about it for himself.”

I mulled over that idea for a few moments. “Significant to my future, eh?”

“Potentially,” she replied quietly, nodding. “One must proceed with extreme caution when acting upon any kind of precognizant information, of course-but in this case, it seems clear that there is more to that island than meets the eye. If it were me, I’d look into it-cautiously.”

“Thank you,” I told her seriously. “For the advice, I mean.”

“It cost me little enough,” she said, smiling. “May I get your take on something?”

“Seems only fair.”

“I’m surprised at you, Harry. I always thought that you had an interest in Karrin.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Timing, maybe. It’s never seemed to be the right time for us.”

“But you do care for her,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “She’s gone with me into too many bad places for anything else.”

“That,” Anastasia said, her eyes steady, “I can understand.”

I tilted my head and studied her face. “Why ask about another woman?”

She smiled. “I wanted to understand why you were here.”

I leaned over to her, touching her chin lightly with the fingertips of my right hand, and kissed her very gently. She returned it, slowly, savoring the touch of my mouth on hers.

I broke off the kiss several moments after it had become inappropriate for a public venue and said, “Because it’s good for the soul.”

“An excellent answer,” she murmured, her dark eyes huge. “One that should, perhaps, be further explored.”

I rose and held out her chair for her, and helped her into her coat.

As it turned out, the rest of the night was good for the soul, too.

When I was seven years old, I got a bad case of strep throat and was out of school for a whole week. During that time, my sisters bought me my first fantasy and sci-fi novels: the boxed set of Lord of the Rings and the boxed set of the Han Solo adventure novels by Brian Daley. I devoured them all during that week.

From that point on, I was pretty much doomed to join SF F fandom. From there, it was only one more step to decide I wanted to be a writer of my favorite fiction material, and here we are.

I blame my sisters.

My first love as a fan is swords-and-horses fantasy. After Tolkien I went after C. S. Lewis. After Lewis, it was Lloyd Alexander. After them came Fritz Leiber, Roger Zelazny, Robert Howard, John Norman, Poul Anderson, David Eddings, Weis and Hickman, Terry Brooks, Elizabeth Moon, Glen Cook, and before I knew it I was a dual citizen of the United States and Lankhmar, Narnia, Gor, Cimmeria, Krynn, Amber-you get the picture.

When I set out to become a writer, I spent years writing swords-and-horses fantasy novels-and seemed to have little innate talent for it. But I worked at my writing, branching out into other areas as experiments, including SF, mystery, and contemporary fantasy. That’s how the Dresden Files initially came about-as a happy accident while trying to accomplish something else. Sort of like penicillin.

But I never forgot my first love, and to my immense delight and excitement, one day I got a call from my agent and found out that I was going to get to share my newest swords-and-horses fantasy novel with other fans.