I called it a yap, one yap being enough vestigia to be apparent even when I wasn't looking for it.

And he talks science! ' I had jokingly developed my own scale for vestigia based on the amount of noise Toby made when he interacted with any residual magic.

He is shown actually working on his skills, practicing them and experimenting with new approaches. He actually contemplates the nature and the origins of magic instead of just accepting it as a given. He performs controlled experiences with his newfound magic, forms hypotheses that he proceeds to test, and applies scientific principles. Still, it was a close call.' How can a true nerd like me NOT love this book and its protagonist? Peter Grant, a wisecracking apprentice magician is not only incredibly funny, self-deprecating, non-misogynistic in the slightest, intelligent, and an actually good representation of a real early twenty-first century young man, but also has all makings of a natural-born scientist. ' For a terrifying moment I thought he was going to hug me, but fortunately we both remembered we were English just in time. Should I call myself a Grantite now? How about a hug then? Oh wait. And that's not an easy thing to say for me, a devout Dresdenite. With the help of his superior officer, Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, the last practicing Newtonian wizard in England, and the questionable assistance of voluptuous but old-fashioned jazz groupie Simone Fitzwilliam, Peter will uncover a deadly magical menace-one that leads right to his own doorstep, with an unexpected connection to the squandered promise of a young jazz musician: a talented trumpet player named Richard 'Lord' Grant-otherwise known as Peter’s dear old dad.ĭear Peter Grant, you are about to knock Harry Dresden off his pedestal. They’re also what Peter will risk, as he investigates a pattern of similar deaths in and around Soho. Abdul Haqq Walid, hears the distinct notes of an old jazz standard emanating from the body-a sure sign that something about the man’s death was not as normal as it might first have seemed, since only something supernatural leaves such an imprint. That’s what apprentice wizard and London Metropolitan Police Constable Peter Grant first notices when summoned to the local morgue to view the corpse of Cyrus Wilkinson, part-time jazz drummer and full-time accountant, who dropped dead of a heart attack while playing a gig at Soho’s 606 Club.

Midnight riot aaronovitch