"Honestly, Dresden. I am my OWN skull. Well, I have my own skull. You know what I mean. And proposition seems such an ugly term."

Harry was getting a headache. This was almost like...

"Hell's Bells," he whispered, looking from the skull to the other man and back to the skull. "Are you him? Another him? With a body? This is something out of a really bad dream."
That wasn't entirely fair. His nightmares were usually much worse than this.