Takes Harry's gun

As I crossed to her, her black gown and hair became storm-cloud grey, then silver, then white again.
“Yes, my Knight?” she asked me.
I started walking around the base of the tower, away from the cottage. “Could you please come this way?”
She arched a brow but did, moving over the ground with the same approximate weight as moonlight.
I walked until we were out of sight of the cottage and the fae down the hill. Then I thumbed back the hammer on the little gun, spun, and put the barrel against Mab’s forehead.
Mab stopped and regarded me with luminous unblinking eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s still Halloween,” I said, shaking with exhaustion and rage. “And I am in no mood for games. I want answers.”
“I have turned villages to stone for gestures less insulting than this one,” Mab said in a level tone. “But I am your guest here. And you are clearly overwrought.”

Cold Days Chapter 53, Page 498-499


Mab moved so quickly that I literally never saw it. The gun was suddenly, simply gone from my hand and was being pushed into my face—in exactly the same spot where Maeve had been shot.
“I,” Mab said coolly, “am not your servant, Dresden. You are mine.”
“Demonreach,” I said. “If our guest pulls that trigger, take her below and keep her there.”

Cold Days Chapter 53, Page 501