in my life upon whom my glare had no effect. “You aren’t going to muscle your way through this one, and you aren’t going to be able to think your way through it in your current condition. Help your brother. Get some sleep.”
I thought about that one until the frozen chill of Winter had seeped into my arms and chest and I was breathing like a steam engine. Then I put the weight down.
“How many was that?” I asked.
“I stopped counting at forty.” Michael put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Enough, Harry. Get some rest.”
“I can’t,” I said, my voice suddenly harsh. I sat up, hard. “Somebody pushed my brother into this. Somehow. I have to stop them. I have to fight them.”
“Yes,” Michael said, his tone patient. “But you need to fight them smarter, not harder.”
I scowled and glanced back over my shoulder at him.
“You’re no kid anymore, Harry. But take it from someone who did this kind of thing for a very long time: Take your sleep wherever you can get it. You never know when you’ll have no other choice.”
I shook my head. “What if something happens while I’m sleeping? What if those lost hours are the difference between saving him and …”
“What if a meteor hits the planet tomorrow?” Michael replied. “Harry, there is very little in this world that we can control. You have to realize when you’ve reached the limits of what you can choose to do to change the situation.”
“When you reach the limits,” I said quietly, “maybe it’s time to change your limits.”
Those words fell on a very long silence.
When Michael spoke, his voice was frank. “How well did that work out for you, the last time?”
I tilted my head a little, in acceptance of the hit.
“Harry,” he said, “over the years, I’ve talked to you many times about coming to church.”
“Endlessly,” I said.
He nodded cheerfully. “And the invitation is a standing one. But all I’ve ever wanted for you was to help you develop in your faith.”
“I’m not sure how much Catholicism I’ve got to develop,” I said.
Michael waved a hand. “Not religion, Harry. Faith. Faith isn’t all about God, or a god, you know.”
I peered at him.
“Mine is,” he said. “This path is, to me, a very good path. It’s brought me a very wonderful life. But maybe it isn’t the only path. Many children learn things very differently, after all. It seems to me that God should be an excellent teacher enough to take that into account.” He shook his head. “But faith is about more than that. Like Waldo, for example.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s not particularly religious,” Michael said. “But I’ve never, ever met an individual more dedicated to the idea that tomorrow can be better than today. That people, all of us, have the ability to take action to make things better—and that friends always help. Despite all the ugliness he’s seen, in his job and in his other, ah, interests. He holds on to that.”
“Polka in the morgue,” I said.
Michael smiled. “Yes. Yes, exactly. But I think you miss my point.”
I tilted my head at him.
“He has faith in you, Harry Dresden,” Michael said. “In the path you’ve walked, and in which he now emulates you.”
I felt my eyebrows slowly climb in horror. “ He … what now?”
Michael nodded, amused. “You’re an example. To Waldo.” His voice softened. “To Molly.”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“You might think about them, when you consider your next steps. And you might try to have a little faith, yourself.”
“In what?”
“In you, man,” he said, almost laughing. “Harry, do you really think you’ve found yourself where you have, time and time again, at the random whims of the universe? Have you noticed how often you’ve managed to emerge more or less triumphant?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sort of.”
“Then perhaps you are the right person, in the right place, at the right time,” Michael said. “Again. Have faith in that. And get some sleep.”
I glared at him for a minute. “Seems an awfully egotistical way to look at the universe,” I said darkly.
“How can it be egotistical when I’m the one who had to point it out to you?” Michael countered.
Michael was just better at this kind of talk than me. I glowered at him and then sneered in concession. “I’ll try to sleep. No promises.”
“Good,” he said. He limped over to a small refrigerator and got out a couple of bottles of water. He brought one to me and I accepted it.