by Kim Harrison
“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.
Jason.
The tall, slim man had pushed himself up from the low dresser he’d been sitting against as she had entered, the sun catching his blond hair and the metallic thread woven into his uniform. His expression was confident, his eyes calmly watching her from under his bangs as he waited to see how she was going to react before he reacted in turn. He was like that, and it irritated her how good he was at putting his emotions aside to get the better of an argument.
They’d entered the Strand on the same day, both of them on the same track of study, both aiming for the elite. They’d come from different paths, hers one of shame and fear, his from the joy of discovery and proud parents. Determined to outdo each other when they realized they had the same goals, they bound their fates together. His love had taken the place of the anger in her soul, but he’d been promoted when she had not, and when he won a place in the elite and she was passed over one too many times, they parted ways. Jason wasn’t her boss, but as a member of the elite, he outranked her, able to give her orders she was required to follow. The fact that he was here chatting with her partner was not good.
“Jason,” she said evenly in greeting, and the two men exchanged an unreadable look. “Good to see you,” she lied, forcing her jaw to unclench. My God, it had been four years.
Hoc whined, dropping from Boyd’s knees to come to her. Grace snuck a look at her hospital wrist monitor as she ruffled his mane, and he lay down almost on her feet. It wasn’t her usual watch hanging about her wrist, the hospital-grade monitor recording milliseconds of erg imbalances. She hadn’t been able to take it off like she had the peekaboo gown, and it was irksome. She wasn’t an invalid, and it probably had an insulated, building-wide GPS in it.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Boyd said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Sit. You want some fat-slap? They gave me enough for six people.”
He’d turned back to his breakfast, and Grace unwedged her feet from under Hoc. “No thanks,” she said as she came forward to give Boyd a hug. He never put his fork down as he gave her a sideways embrace, gesturing again for her to sit. The smell of the fat-slap made her stomach growl, but she wasn’t going to eat it even if she was starving. She’d had three portions already this morning. “You’re looking good.”
Boyd smiled, saluting her with his fork before shoveling in some more. He looked wan, pale with more than the expected drain, especially when his efforts yesterday had been caffeine assisted. The sun coming in made gaunt shadows on his face, accentuating his wrinkles. Sure, he was in his late fifties, but he was sharp as a tack. Three days, and they’d be back on the street looking for Zach.
So
why is Jason here?
“Why are you here?” she said bluntly as the man knelt to pet Hoc. The dog had always liked him. He’d been with her when she’d rescued him from the pound.
Jason looked up, making her breath catch with the memories that came back when their eyes met. “Looking for you,” he said simply, and her jaw clenched at his voice rolling through her, pulling even more memories into existence. “I figured this would be the best place to start, seeing as the women’s nurse desk said you’d left against their orders.”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.” She knew he’d smell like gun oil and leather if she got closer, and she forced her jaw to unclench. Again. “How you doing?” she asked Boyd.
The older man eyed them both, fork never slowing. “Fine. I’m not the one they found passed out.”
Grace reached a hand down to draw the dog away from Jason. “Hoc is my buddy. I’d do the same for you.”
“Almost needed to, from what I heard,” Jason said softly, his eyes averted.
Lips pressed, she crossed her arms over her chest and sat on the edge of the untidy bed, one leg drawn up under her so she could face Jason. “They have you behind a desk yet?”
“No, but they’re trying.”
Damn it, he was smiling at her, and she tried not to fume. It wasn’t his fault he’d been promoted. It was her fault for not keeping up. She enjoyed working with Boyd, wouldn’t have changed anything. And yet . . .
Both men went silent, and a stab of uncertainty went through her. “What,” she said flatly, and Boyd set his fork down.
“Grace,” the older man started, and she stiffened, looking from Boyd to Jason’s unhappy expression and back to Boyd’s resignation.
Shit. “You’re fine,” she said quickly. “Look at you. That unregistered throw was pulling power like he’d been in the Strand for three years, and you used exactly the right force to stop him, no more. It’s only going to take a day or two for you to get balanced.”
“Grace.”
“Hell, it’s going to take me that long just to equalize my balance.”
“Grace, I’m transferring to the Island.”
Her breath went out and didn’t come back in again. Cold, she sat back on the edge of the bed, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the gut. “You’re not that bad . . .” she whispered, hating that Jason was standing there, a pitying expression on his face.
“Short term. For evaluation,” her partner said, but he wouldn’t look at her as he pushed his tray away. He was lying.
“But you look great!” she said again. The Island was where they sent half the kids they brought in. It was part hospital, part mental ward, part butcher where they burned out your abilities if you proved to be a danger to society and wouldn’t work within the system.
Boyd shifted his chair, looking old in his white robe. “I’m great here,” he said, taking her fingers and touching his head with his free hand. “But here is another story,” he added, bringing her cold fingers to his heart.
Jason cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable as he shuffled to the door. “Excuse me, I have to take a call,” he said, closing the door softly behind him.
Coward, she thought, her confusion and dismay turning to anger. “They’re making you do this, aren’t they?” she said hotly, seeing Jason’s presence in a new way. “Boyd—”
“Listen to me,” he interrupted, but she shook her head, pulse racing as Hoc whined. Boyd had been her partner since day one, her surrogate family when she’d lost all but her grandmother. He couldn’t just leave!
“Everyone uses caffeine once in a while. You know when to stop. You’re not a addict!”
“Will you shut up!” he said loudly. “I’m trying to tell you something!”
Grace closed her mouth, wide-eyed and panicking. Her world was shifting, and she could do nothing about it.
“Grace, I’m losing it,” he said softly, his hands taking hers. “I’ve been boosting on and off for the last three years just to keep up. I thought I could handle it. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I know you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” she said, mouth dry.
“I’ve talked my options over with Jason. I’m going to the Island to get detoxed and reevaluated.”
“Liar,” she whispered, and his eye twitched. There was only one reason anyone went to the Island this late in their career. He was leaving her. He was going to get himself burned out and be normal. “You’re my partner,” she pleaded, sitting down in the chair across from him, still holding his hands in hers. “I don’t want another.”
He smiled, looking like the father she wished she had had as he took one of his hands from her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m ready to be done,” he said, his eyes pinched. “And you are ready for a new partner. You’re not too old to train up a new throw. Maybe the same kid who slipped us. Zach has a knack. Lots of power. Just needs some guidance. Like you did not so long ago.”
“Boyd,” she protested, her chest hurting, but he was shaking his head. He was going to burn himself out. “Don’t do this. Please.”
Eyes pained, he took a breath to say something, hesitating then at the soft knock on the door. They both looked as Jason came back in, and Grace wiped the back of her hand under her eye and stood. She was not crying, damn it.
“Ah, can I talk to Grace for a moment?” he asked uncertainly. “Business . . .”
Business. As if he wasn’t part of it anymore. But Boyd was gesturing for her to go, that same sad smile on him he was wearing when she’d walked in.
“Go on, go,” he prompted, pulling his hand from hers and gesturing at the door. “Do good things. I’m proud of you, Grace. You’ll go farther than me. That’s why I took this job. I should have retired a long time ago, but I wanted to have a few years with you, to be able to say I was there when you learned how to be the best operative the Strand has been graced with.”
“Boyd, this is a crock—”
Jason cleared his throat from the door, and Boyd flicked his eyes past her. “Your control is slipping.” He ruffled Hoc’s collar. “Bye, Sport. Keep Grace from being alone, okay, boy?”
Hoc turned and trotted out as Jason snapped his fingers, and Grace warmed, looking at her monitor. “My control is fine,” she said, but Boyd had reached up and pulled her down into a hug. “This is shitty, you know?” She felt as if she was never going to see him again. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“You just did it,” he said, smiling, still smiling as he looked past her. “You’d better go. I’ll e-mail you next week and tell you what a double espresso tastes like.”
Gut tense, she began to turn away. “I’ll get him for both of us.”
“I know. Shut the door on your way out, will you?”
She felt sick. Numb, she turned to the door and left, shutting the door softly. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Seeing him like this was hard. He wasn’t a caffeine addict. He wasn’t! What was she going to do? She didn’t want another partner, and to work alone was not accepted.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes opened, finding Jason waiting for her across the hall with Hoc. Frustrated, she pushed herself up. “He is not a booster,” she said, keeping her voice down lest Boyd hear her. “Everyone does caffeine once in a while.”
“You don’t.”
No, she didn’t. Not since burning her family’s house down when she was sixteen.
Memories of double funerals, of her grandmother steadfastly holding her hand, never blaming and always defending her, hiding her for another year as she rebuilt her life on the framework of guilt and duty.
“Grace, we’ve been monitoring him for the last eleven months. It was his decision to do this. He turned himself in.”
“After you told him you already knew, right?” she snapped, clicking her tongue against her teeth for Hoc as she strode back down the hall.
Jason’s feet were loud in his insulating boots a
s he stomped to catch up. “Why are you mad at me? This wasn’t my idea.”
“I don’t have anyone else to be mad at. God, I’m hungry.”
“Good.” She jerked as he took her arm, but he didn’t let go. “I’m ready for a second breakfast myself.”
Sick at heart, she couldn’t find it in her to keep tugging away from him. Jason hadn’t left her. She had left him. “Since when do you eat a second breakfast?”
Sensing a shift, he smiled. “Since I’ve been brushing up on my joint-operative techniques.”
He had something to tell her. She could tell. Hoc, too, knew something was up, and he padded along, waving his tail happily with his two favorite people beside him as the hall became busy.
“You’ve been working on joint-operative techniques?” she said, looking askance at him as they walked down the hallway, seeing more people the closer they got to the commissary. “Are you taking a demotion?”
“Not exactly, no,” he hedged. “It’s no secret that you’re our best collector in a six-state area, maybe the entire US. The Strand is very interested in you bringing Zach in, especially now. They’re impressed with his ability and rudimentary control, and they’re not willing to let him go free and you to sit idle for the time it takes to become comfortable working with another operative. As Boyd said, we’ve worked together before. I’ve been given leave to help you collect him.”
Her eyebrows rose as he opened the big plate-glass doors to the commissary for her and the smell of starch, fat-slap, and fresh bread rolled out, making her even more hungry. It was noisy with the chatter of people, both professionals who worked at the hospital, patients like herself up and around, and even a few uniforms matching Jason’s from upstairs where the elite’s bosses had their offices. Throws were a close-knit group, and the room was warm and bright with humanity, but she couldn’t help the tiny feeling of warning trickling through her.
She might be the Strand’s top collector in the field, but Jason was one of their best covert agents. Why would they let him go to help her bring in an unregistered throw, powerful or otherwise? True, she’d worked with him before, but there had been complications. That’s why she’d requested a new partner, one old enough to be her father.