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I got up, went through a stretching routine which other people might call ‘yoga,’ and chose a cold shower because you can’t worry about anything else while you’re in one. Then I dressed, faked being a functional human, and shambled out of my chambers in the castle and to the kitchen for breakfast.
“Mister Dresden, on the streets they say that if you need help, you call the police, or the EMTs, or an insurance agent. But when you need a miracle…the only one to call is you.”
HBGB was a propaganda stunt on behalf of the mortal powers-that-be to help cover up the massive presence of the supernatural in Chicago during the attack, and to work to silence anyone who tried to bear witness to what they had experienced. The news was saying that it was a toxin that would linger for a time, and could have long term deleterious psychological effects, but I knew the truth: It didn’t exist. I had just been defeated by a literal hallucination built from denial and the most determined and pettily self-interested stupidity I had ever encountered. I think I had told Bob something
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“So, when you see something wrong happening, you do whatever you can,” I said. “Even if you’re probably going to lose?” “If I don’t do anything, she definitely loses,” I said. “I have to try.”
“The law isn’t really as black and white as everyone thinks,” he said. “Everyone seems to think of the law as a line drawn on the ground. It’s more of a surveyor’s string—one with quite a bit of play in it. Various factors can pull the string this way or that. In this case, that’s what we’d be doing—hauling on that string to make sure you fell on the right side of the law and Mister Gregory on the wrong side. But I’ll be honest with you--they’ll be doing the same thing. It could go against us.”
