Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(143)
Author: Kim Harrison

"I’m okay," he wheezed, clearly not. "Get the . . . little bastard."

She hesitated in indecision, and he pushed her to go as Hoc limped up to them, his ears down and his tail tucked.

"Get him!" Boyd shouted, shoving her again. "I’m okay!"

Breathless, she stood. Feeling she was making a mistake, she looked at the silent buildings. "Hoc. Who do you love?" she said, using the words for him to find throws among innocent children.

Hoc brightened at the clear order, and he ran to a closed machinist shop across the street. Heart despairing, she followed, thinking of the chocolate bar Boyd had eaten. She couldn’t hide what he’d done, but by the looks of it, he’d been boosting for some time. God! Her partner was playing with fire. How was she going to explain this?

The tip of Hoc’s tail flashed white as he slipped into the building ahead of her, and she followed. The three-story echoing building was dark, the windows boarded up, and she listened as she tried to slow her breathing as her eyes adjusted. Hoc was deep in the building somewhere, and a sharp, angry bark brought her head up to the old offices that ringed the upper floor.

"Upstairs. Why can’t it ever be down?" she panted as she grabbed the cold iron pipe banister and started up. A wave of force passed through her, and she yelped, letting go of the metal. Outside came the pop of a transformer blowing. Shit.

But when Hoc yipped in pain, her heart thumped.

"Hoc!" Scared, she thumped up the stairs, two at a time. The sun made a dirty smear of light through the dirt-caked skylights ten feet above her head. Dusty beams almost a foot wide made a long aisle of empty space where work desks once stood. The sound of breaking glass drew her attention to Zach kicking out a window at the far end of the room. He looked at her, flipping her off before he angled a foot through the new opening and slipped onto the roof of the adjacent building.

Hoc was down on the dusty floor, and she ran to him, sliding to a kneel and gathering his head up into her hands. His gums were pale when she pulled his lips back, and there was no breath coming from his nose.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed after Zach as she dug her hands into Hoc’s fur, finding his skin with hers. Her dog. He had tried to kill her dog!

Pushed by her grief, she sent her thoughts deep into the core of her body. Frantic, she exhaled, willing the energy in her body to shift, to flow in an ever-growing wave from her feet to her hands buried in Hoc’s ruff. A blast such as Boyd’s lacked finesse, and the control for this was exacting. Too much, and she would kill Hoc outright. Too little, and she would fail to restart his heart and he would die. She could have gone into the medical field if she hadn’t had her sights set on the elite.

Between the space of one heartbeat and the next, Grace gathered all the free energy in her, then spun her thoughts around again and again until she had drawn an entire day’s worth of energy into her hands. It had to be perfect, and the strain of holding it back ached through her.

"Hoc!" she cried, releasing her hold. With a tiny pop, the energy dove from her, struggling to equalize. It arced through the dog, jolting him.

Sobbing, Grace felt her hands slip from Hoc as the room dim with the light eking in the dirty windows began to spin. She couldn’t get enough air, but to take a deep breath seemed like too hard a task. Her body was depleted. It had been too much. It hadn’t been enough.

Cold, she fell over.

A wet nose nudged her, wiggling under her arm and snuggling against her. Relief penetrated the thick haze, making it hard to think. Hoc was alive, his back nails digging painfully into her as he tried to get closer. Mumbling, her eyes closed and she shushed him.

It would be okay, she thought, smiling as she slowly lost consciousness, her body struggling to recover. It would be okay.

TWO

The greasy smell of fat-slap layered itself over the scents of antiseptic and latex in a familiar, yet totally unappetizing smell that reminded her of her early days in the Strand, a young girl struggling to find her place and her balance, both in her body and with those around her.

Not much has changed, Grace thought sourly as she adjusted the collar of her borrowed sweat suit and continued down the hospital’s hall in a slow, steady pace to hide her fatigue. She hated sweats, but the gown she’d left in the nurse’s gym was even worse. She couldn’t sneak out wearing a gown. Sweats would be hard enough. Hoc at her heel didn’t help, either, but the dog had refused to leave her side and was known enough in the compound to be allowed to stay. As the only border collie on base, Hoc stood out.

Grace tried to give off an air of health and efficiency as she nodded smartly to the orderly standing at the elevator. Suspicious, he angled to watch her as she passed the nurses’ desk, Hoc’s nails clicking on the tile. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she was still on hospital grounds. She could be down here if she wanted.

The commissary was on this level, and the smell of fat-slap was making her feel nauseated, even as she found her stomach rumbling. The protein-rich slop was full of complex carbs and slow-digesting proteins that would help regulate her body chemistry, but it tasted worse than its name sounded. That she would devour it ravenously when her reserves were depleted as they were now was just disgusting.

Grace breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator dinged, and she snapped her fingers for Hoc’s attention and continued down the hall as the orderly forgot about her. She was looking for Boyd, not having much luck since the nurses on her floor were taciturn and uncooperative, and word got around. She didn’t need coddling; she needed to be moving. It wasn’t the first time she’d depleted herself into exhaustion. It wouldn’t be the last.

Hoc in tow, Grace passed an informal living room with wide windows looking out onto the parking lot and the sun-drenched park beyond. The sterile furniture looked hardly comfortable enough for a quick sit-down to catch your breath before hobbling back to your room. The room was empty, but Hoc’s ears had pricked, his pace expectant as he trotted ahead of her a few doors and nosed one open.

A welcoming hail drifted into the hall, and Grace’s slight frown eased. Recognizing Boyd’s voice, she knocked with one knuckle on the thick, overly large door, smiling as the almost-baby-talk of her partner to Hoc turned into a more confident "Come in, Grace."

Still smiling, she eased in past the door. The low morning sun spilled into the private room. Boyd was up, sitting at the tiny table, his robe showing his hairy legs and bony feet in his bland slippers as he gave Hoc an expert ear rub, the dog happily standing with his front paws on the man’s knees. It was probably the first time she’d ever seen Boyd out of a suit, and he looked vulnerable and tired with his gray hair untidy and uncombed. But that was not why her smile froze and faded.