ritual cleansing

I parked the car, never looking directly at them, and then got out of it, stuck my hands in my duster pockets, and stood there waiting.
“You’re Harry Dresden,” said the tallest one there, a young man with long black hair and a matching goatee.
I squinted at nothing, like Clint Eastwood would do, and said nothing, like Chow Yun-Fat would do.
“You’re the one who came to New Orleans last week.” He said it, “Nawlins,” even though the rest of his accent was Midwest standard. “You’re the one who desecrated my works.”
I blinked at him. “Whoa, wait a minute. There actually was a curse on that nice lady?”
He sneered at me. “She had earned my wrath.”
“How about that,” I said. “I figured it for some random bad feng shui.”
His sneer vanished. “What?”
“To tell you the truth, it was so minor that I only did the ritual cleansing to make her feel better and show the Paranetters how to do it for themselves in the future.” I shrugged. “Sorry about your wrath, there, Darth Wannabe.”


Side Jobs, Day Off, Page 156-157