explains how Harry survived attack

"Bob," I said, as soon as she was gone. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," Bob said, keeping his voice down. "Either she's been working out, or else she's started using some kind of cosmetics on her arms. She still had some baby fat when she got the tattoos, and that's always bound to make any kind of changes more noticeable, and - "
"Not her," I growled, images of genuine mayhem floating through my agonized brain. "Me. "
"Oh ," Bob said. "Something hit the model, hard. There was an energy surge. Boom. The psychic backlash lit up your mental fusebox. "
"How bad?"
"Hard to say. How many fingers am I holding up?"
I sighed. "How bad is Little Chicago, Bob?"
"Oh. You've got to be more specific with this stuff, Harry. Could be worse. A week to fix, at most. "
I grunted. "Everything's too loud and bright. " I tested my arms and legs. It hurt to move them, an odd and stretchy kind of pain, but they moved. "What happened, exactly?"
"You got lucky, is what. Something you met out there threw a big blast of psychic energy at you. But it had to come at you through your threshold and the model. The threshold weakened it, and Little Chicago shorted out when the blast hit, or. . . "
"Or what?" I asked.
"Or you wouldn't have that headache," Bob said. Then his eye-lights winked out.


White Night Chapter 16, Page 153-154