Murphy resisted the urge to put her fingers in her ears--or to glare at Miss Canary--as the big dog's howl filled the tiny apartment. True, she didn't have jurisdiction in whatever City this was, but since when did anyone have jurisdiction Harry's kitchen? Granted, Molly had committed cuisine-o-cide there on a semi-regular basis, but seeing another woman attempting to be all domesticated down here?
Murphy was not prepared for the sudden surge of territorial jealousy that swept through her at the thought.
She patted mouse's head when he stopped howling, and turned her glare instead on the tall, scraggly stick man now standing in their midst. It was the only way that she could keep from crying with relief. She hated getting emotional, and she was especially not going to do it in front of Dinah Lance.
"Harry Dresden, you son of a bitch. They told me you were dead." Which was Martian for Thank God, you're alive.