Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(148)
Author: Kim Harrison

Oh God. The best for him, the best for her, the best for the Strand. It was not going to add up to an easy sum. Someone was going to lose, and Grace’s pulse hammered when the woman edged out, her tired, weary gaze on the stacks of the distant industrial field. "He’s with his friends," she said. "Over at the gravel pit. It’s about five minutes-"

Grace was already moving. "I know where it is. Thank you." A brief thought flitted through her that she should give the scared woman a hug-or at the very least, a handshake-but she was already down the stairs, her insulated boots hitting the cobbled walk.

"Wait! Ms. Evans?" Grace turned, impatient to be away, and the woman came out onto the porch. "Is your mother proud of you?"

Grace stiffened as she turned. "My mother is dead," she said, forcing her breathing to remain even. "But she would be. I think."

Her head down, she walked back to the car, her first flush of excitement of possibly bringing Zach in and gaining entry into the elite tarnished. Hoc was in the front seat, and she halted, tension slamming into her when she noticed Jason sitting behind the wheel.

"What are you doing here?" she said tightly, conscious of Zach’s mom watching from the porch. "This is still my collection."

"I’m trying to help you," he said, shoving Hoc to get the dog to jump into the back so he could lean across the seat and peer up at her. The silver on his uniform glinted, and his cap was on the dash. "I knew you could get her to tell you where he is. Get in."

She frowned, not reaching for the handle. There was a simple pair of mitten-like mufflers on the front seat and a bang-go, a crass name for the complex techno device that interfered with the ability to organize the energy in your body once imbedded into your skin where you couldn’t easily reach it. "Those aren’t legal on unregistered throws," she said, and he shrugged and started the car.

"They are for me." He looked up at her, his eyes tired. "He tried to kill your dog, Grace. Going after him alone is a bad idea. I can make a call and shut you down in three seconds, but no. I’m sitting in your car trying to help you. Get in before she calls her son and he runs."

Gut tight, Grace reached for the handle. She slid in, feeling his presence. "Gravel pit," she said shortly, and Jason snorted.

"Figures." He put the car in motion, making a slow U-turn. The woman was gone when they turned around, and Hoc settled himself in the backseat, mournfully watching her.

Grace stared at nothing, putting her elbow on the open window to feel the air in her hair and on her hand. It brushed against her, and she relaxed as the balance in her shifted as the wind pulled electrons from her. "When we get there, I want you to stay in the car."

"Okay."

Astonished, Grace pulled her elbow in and stared at him. "Okay? You’re not going to argue with me?"

Jason was silent. He squinted at the red light down the road, and a car coming from the right jerked to a noisy halt when the light changed unexpectedly. Grace’s eyes narrowed at the questionable use of power. His chin was higher than usual, and his finger twitched.

"I’m not going to pass him into the Strand if he’s not suitable," she said, wondering if she could force Jason to leave. If he was there at the collection, his words would be heard at the hearing and what she said might not matter. Besides, there was a reason Jason had moved into the elite and she’d gone into the more delicate task of bringing in older, unregistered throws. He was far more willing to shoot first, shoot second, and forget there was a question at all.

"The Strand wants more powerful throws in its elite, Grace," he offered cryptically, going through the intersection at a cool sixty miles per hour, the sleek black car looking enough like a cop’s to avoid complications. "They’re going to get them one way or another." He glanced from the road and tossed her his cover. "Here, try it on."

He wasn’t talking about just the hat, and she caught it with one hand. The metal in the band felt like tinfoil on her teeth, and she set it on the dash, angry at the decision she faced. "No thanks. I’m good."

Jason said nothing, his grip on the wheel tightening and letting go. Feeling ugly inside, Grace glanced at the bang-go between them, remembering the feeling of it, the disorientation, the headache. It had been hell-and it hadn’t done a thing in convincing her that the Strand hadn’t been lying bastards. Maybe her seventeen-year-old self had been right all along. But Zach was coming in one way or another. If the Strand wanted him, they would have him. Why not help herself out in the process?

Just the thought made her lips turn down, a sick feeling cramping her gut. She’d spent the first half of her life hiding, the second glorying in her freedom. She wanted more, not less.

Jason made a slow turn, his silence familiar. It had bugged her when they were dating, and it bugged her now. "I’ll stay in the car if you want," he said, perfectly in control, perfectly reasonable. "But it’s stupid to go out alone. Hoc can’t call 911."

Her fingers drummed once on the roof of the car. She had a fool’s hope that Zach would be cooperative, make both of their lives easier. So far, she’d managed to convince his mom everything would end happy. Zach would probably not go along with it. A fairy-tale hope had her out here. A fairy-tale hero was what she needed.

"You’ll wait in the car?" she said, and he stared at her, his expression giving nothing away. "Let my voice be the only one raised at his placement trial?"

"If that’s what you want me to do."

A quiver ran through her. A part of her wanted him to be there. He’d speak favorably for Zach, freeing her to say the truth and still allow the Strand to have their way. Grace stared out the window, the heat rushing over her as she quietly panicked.

Suburbia had given away to a dusty, hard-packed road running straight through a young-sapling forest out to the gravel pit. The sound of insects rushed over her as the memory of working with Jason rose through her. There had been twenty of them in the high-needs class, doing mostly team-trust exercises to develop the skills to meld one’s energies with someone else’s. She and Jason had melded easily. It had taken two weeks of practice to harmonize her erg wavelengths to Boyd’s. You could have a partner that you never melded with, but being able to was a huge advantage.

They bumped over a rut, and Grace caught the edge of the window.

"You got quiet," Jason prompted, driving with one hand, and she shrugged. He looked different even if he was still wearing his uniform-casual, relaxed. She knew he wasn’t. He was tighter than a piano string, the faint energy lifting from him making her skin prickle and her watch tick a shade too fast. His control had always sucked.