Consider Small Favor and Turncoat to be one gigantic firestorm of doom and awesomeness. I mean, the last hundred pages or so of Turncoat are just one battle. Say that these two books are an adrenaline rush that makes you wish you were a millionare, so that you could buy every copy available and hand them out on street corners so everyone could share the experience with you. And then say that Jim Butcher is a sadistic freak who likes to toy with his readers. He is an awful, awful man. I’d forgotten how much I hate him over the endings of these two books.
Michael . . .
Thomas . . .
*the sound of me hitting the floor as I pass out*
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