“Makes my stomach hurt,” he said. “Be more patient with a couple.”
I obliged.
“You could talk to me about it, you know,” Michael said. “I’m here most days.”
“You’re working on getting the castle ready to keep people safe and warm this winter.”
“Try me,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I started flipping a burger for each bullet point, the meat sizzling. “Vampire queen is threatening to be nice to me. My boss wants me to sleep with her and turn myself into a junkie. King Etri wants me to do the impossible or he hounds me to death. Thomas is dying and won’t save himself unless he can do it with a clear conscience. Justine and her baby are still missing. The Black Court has the remains of my friends and is using them for God knows what. The White Council thinks I’m Voldemort and I’m doing stuff to make them sure of it if I get caught. SI wants me to help them stop ghouls from taking about thirty people a night.” I slapped the last few burgers over harder, making flames leap up from the charcoal. “There’s probably more that I’m forgetting.”
“That’s what’s happening,” Michael said gently. “I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
I glowered at him and took a drink from my bottle as viciously as I knew how. “What do you want to hear, man?” I asked him in a dull monotone. “You want to hear how I can only sleep two or three hours a night? You want to hear how I can’t concentrate? Can barely do magic? You want to hear how the Winter mantle is chewing at me night and day and telling me to take advantage of the chaos, go out and conquer and pillage? How I keep waking up from nightmares about turning people into briquettes? How this stupid burn on my arm hasn’t healed? How every time I close my eyes I keep seeing how weird and pale her face looked when she was bleeding out?”
He watched me, his eyes pained, listening.
“I don’t taste anything I eat,” I said. “I move around and exercise and I meditate and I listen to good advice and it doesn’t do a damned thing. When I’m alone at night, I cry. I cry until it hurts. And when I can’t cryanymore, it isn’t better. It still hurts. It’s still all built up inside me. My stomach hurts. All the time.” I looked out at the city, at nothing in particular. “Sometimes I start screaming and I can’t stop. Nothing sounds good. Nothing looks good. Nothing feels good. Nothing tastes good. Nothing smells good. It’s all grey.”
“And?” he said gently.
I was quiet for a long moment. “And I miss her, man.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Go ahead,” I said, an edge coming into my voice. “Tell me how to make it all better.”
“You can’t,” he said gently.
I eyed him.
“Not yet,” he said. “It is going to take time, Harry. Time to heal. Time for the good things you’re doing to help you get your balance again.”
I scoffed and rolled some dogs across the grill.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t believe it yourself. Not yet. But you will, in time.”
“You don’t know that,” I said shortly.
“Of course not,” he said. “How could I?” He smiled at me again. “But I have faith.”
“Oh,” I said. “Faith.”
“I don’t always make the right choices, Harry,” he said. “I don’t always know the right thing to do. But I do know that I have put my faith in you many times over the years of our friendship. And I have never once regretted doing so.” He reached out and took the wooden handle of the turner out of my hands and started expertly flicking burgers onto waiting buns. “You walk in a world of shadows, Harry. But you’ve always carried your own light. Your path has turned dark and winding, and you aren’t sure where you are at the moment. But you’ll find your way. When it’s time. When you’re ready.”
I closed my eyes.
“There’s a little girl who is waiting for you,” he said. “She keeps a little light in her window at night, you know. In case you come to see her and need it to find your way.”
Something in my chest cracked.
“She does?” I whispered.
“She has faith, too,” Michael said. I felt his hand settle on my shoulder and squeeze gently. “Sunday,” he said firmly. “Dinner with my family. And yours.”
Maggie.
Right.
