lash saves Harry

Not like that. She could help me.
Silence.
Thud-thump : 1:29.
"I can't," she whispered.
I thought she could.
"I can't," she replied, her voice anguished. "She would never forgive that. Never accept me back into her... just take the coin. Harry, just take the coin. P-please."
I gritted my teeth.
Thud-thump : 1:28.
Again, I said, "No."
"I can't do this for you!"
Untrue. She'd already partially shielded me from the effects of Malvora's attack. The situation was simple, for her: She could do more of what she'd already done. Or she could stand by and do nothing. It was her choice.
Lasciel appeared in front of me for the first time, on her hands and knees. She looked... odd. Too thin, her eyes too sunken. She had always looked strong, healthy, and confident. Now, her hair was a wreck, her face twisted with pain, and...
... and she was crying. She looked blotchy, and she needed a tissue. Her hands touched either side of my face.
"It could hurt you. It could inflict brain damage. Do you understand what that could mean, Harry?"
Never can tell. It might be nice to have brain damage. I already liked Jell-O. And maybe they'd have cable TV at whatever home they wound up sticking me in. Either way, it would be better than having my brains scooped out by ghouls.
Lasciel stared at me for a moment and then let out a choking little laugh. "It's your brother. Your friends. That's why."
If frying my brain got Murphy, Ramirez, Thomas, and Justine out of the mess I'd gotten them into, it would be worth it.
She stared at me for another long moment.
Thud-thump : 1:27.
Then a look of almost childish resentment came over her face, and she looked over one shoulder before turning back to me. "I..." She shook her head and said, very softly, wonderingly, "She... doesn't deserve you."
Deserved or not, the fallen angel wasn't getting me. Not ever.
Lasciel squared her shoulders and straightened. "You're right," she said. "It is my choice. Listen to me." She leaned closer, her eyes intent. "Vittorio has been given power. That is how he can do this. He is possessed."
I wished I could have raised my eyebrows. Possessed by what?
"An Outsider," Lasciel said. "I have felt such a presence before. This attack is drawn directly from the mind of the Outsider."
Gosh, that was interesting. Not relevant, but interesting.
"It is relevant," Lasciel said, "because of the circumstances of your birth - because of why you were born, Harry. Your mother found the strength to escape Lord Raith for a reason."
What the hell was she talking about?
Thud-thump : 1:26.
"There was a complex confluence of events, of energies, of circumstances that would have given a child born under them the potential to wield power over Outsiders."
Which didn't make any sense. Outsiders were all but immune to magic. It took power garnered only from centuries of study and practice, wielded by the most powerful wizards on the planet, even to slow them down.
"Strange, then, don't you think, that you defeated one when you were sixteen years old?"
What? Since when? The only serious victory I'd had over a spiritual entity when I was that young had been when my old master had sent an assassin demon after me. It hadn't turned out the way DuMorne had been hoping.
Lasciel leaned closer. "He Who Walks Behind is an Outsider, Harry. A terrible creature, the most potent of the Walkers, a powerful knight among their ruling entities. But when he came for you, you overthrew him."
True. I had. It was all still a little blurry, but I remembered the end of the fight well enough. Lots and lots of kaboom, and then no more demon. And there was a burning building.
Thud-thump : 1:25.
"Listen," Lasciel said, giving my head a little shake. "You have the potential to hold great power over them. You may be able to escape the power now held over you. If you are sure it is what you want, I can give you an opportunity to defy Malvora's sending. But you'll have to hurry. I don't know how long it will take to throw it off, and they are almost upon you."
After which, we were going to have a long talk about my mother and these Outsiders and their relation to the Black Court and exactly what the hell was going on.
Lasciel - Lash, rather - nodded once and said, "I will tell you all that I can, Harry."
Then she rose and stepped past me and toward the oncoming ghouls and Vitto Malvora. Her clothes made a slow, soft rustle as she stepped away from me, and Marcone's stopwatch went thud  -
Tick, tick, tick...
For just a second, no more than a heartbeat or two, I remained impaled on that horrible pike of psychic anguish. Then an odd sensation fell over me, and I don't know precisely how to describe it, except to say that it felt like stepping from brutal, burning sunlight into a sudden, deep shadow. Then that horrible pain eased - not much, but enough to let me suddenly move my arms and my head, enough to know that I could act.

White Night Chapter 41, Page 441-445


"Well, from what you told me, this psychic attack the entity blocked for you was quite severe."
I shivered, remembering. "Yeah."
"And the process she used to accelerate your brain and shield you was traumatic as well."
"Right. She said it could cause me brain damage."
"Uh-huh," Bob said. "I think it did."
"Huh?"
"See what I mean?" Bob asked cheerfully. "You're thicker already."
"Harry get hammer," I said. "Smash stupid talky skull."
For a guy with no legs, Bob backpedals swiftly and gracefully. "Easy there, chief; don't get excited. But the brain damage thing is for real."
I frowned. "Explain, please."
"Well, I told you that the entity in your head was like a recording of the real Lasciel, right?"
"Yeah."
"That recording was written in your brain, in portions you weren't using."
"Right."
"I think that's where the damage is. I mean, I'm looking at you right now, and your head has been riddled with tiny holes, boss."
I blinked and rubbed my fingers over my scalp. "It doesn't feel like that."
"That's because your brain doesn't sense injuries. It manages sensing injuries for the rest of you. But trust me, there's damage. I think it wiped out the entity."
"Wiped out... you mean, like..."
"Killed it," Bob said. "Technically, it was never alive, but it was constructed. It's been deconstructed, and..."
I frowned. "And what?"
"And there's, um, a portion of you missing."
"I'm sure I would have felt that," I said.
"Not your body," Bob said scornfully. "Your life force. Your chi. Your soul."
"Whoa, wait a minute. Part of my soul is gone?"
Bob sighed. "People get all excited when you use that word. The part of you that is more than merely physical, yes. You can call it whatever you want. There's some missing, and it's nothing to panic over."
"Part of my soul is gone and I'm not supposed to be worried about that?" I demanded.
"Happens all the time," Bob said. "You shared a bunch of yours with Susan, and she with you. It's what protected you from Lara Raith. You and Murphy swapped some pretty recently, looks like - you must have gotten a hug or something. Honestly, Harry, you really ought to bang her and get it over wi - "
I reached under the worktable, drew out a claw hammer, and gave Bob a pointed look.
"Um, right," he said. "Back to business. Uh, your soul. You give away pieces of yourself all the time. Everyone does. Some of it goes out with your magic, too. It grows back. Relax, boss."
"If it's no big deal," I said, "then why is it so interesting?"
"Oh, well," Bob said. "It is energy, you know. And I wonder if maybe... maybe... well, look, Harry. There was a tiny bit of Lasciel's energy in you, supporting the entity, giving you access to Hellfire. That's gone now, but the entity had to have had some kind of power source to turn against the essence of its own originator."
"So it was running off my soul? Like I'm some kind of battery ?"
"Hey," Bob said, "don't get all righteous. You gave it to her. Encouraging her to make her own choices, to rebel, to exercise free will." Bob shook his head. "Free will is horrible, Harry, believe me. I'm glad I don't have it. Ugh, no, thank you. But you gave her some. You gave her a name. The will came with it."
I was quiet for a moment, then said, "And she used it to kill herself."
"Sort of," Bob said. "She chose which areas of your brain were going to take the worst beating. She took a psychic bullet for you. I guess it's almost the same thing as choosing to die."
"No, it isn't," I said quietly. "She didn't choose to die. She chose to be free."
“Maybe that's why they call it free will," Bob said. "Hey, tell me that at least you got a pony ride before the carnival left town. I mean, she could have made you see and feel anything at all, and..." Bob paused, and his eyelights blinked. "Hey, Harry. Are you crying?"
"No," I snapped, and left the lab.

White Night Chapter 43, Page 483-485