“Come on,” Andie shouted, and pulled the dog’s hindquarters into her arms.
“Let me,” said the girl. “I’m stronger.” She lifted him smoothly, without heaving or effort.
They ran for the cars, and the jostling shook Lux out of his stupor; by the time they got him into the backseat of the Mustang he was conscious again, and whining.
When they burst through the doors of the emergency vet on 142nd, it was easy enough to cobble together a story about wild dogs, and in the confusion no one noticed the gash on Henry’s cheek until they were in the exam room.
“Is that a bite?” The vet tech asked. The veterinarian looked up from Lux.
“My god, your face. And your hand. You should be at a hospital.”
“Later,” Henry said. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Listen, kid, you’ve got to get to a doctor yourself.”
“I’ll drag him there right after you answer his question,” Andie snapped. “Promise.”
The vet put his stethoscope buds back in his ears and pressed it to Lux’s abdomen and chest.
“The cuts I can stitch. The bleeding’s not bad.” He paused. “This was a dogfight?”
“Yes. Why?”
The vet looked at the tech doubtfully. “Because there’s fluid in the chest. Maybe blood. You’re sure he wasn’t hit by a car?”
“It was a big dog,” Andie said. “A bunch of big dogs.”
Lux whined and shoved his muzzle into Henry’s hand.
“Just fix him, please? I don’t want to leave him.”
The doctor sighed and scratched Lux between the ears.
“All right. But go to the hospital. Leave your cell number at the front desk, and I’ll call as soon as I know what he needs. It’s probably going to be surgery—”
“Just do it,” Henry said. “Please. Don’t worry about what it costs. I’ve got savings.” He gave Lux one last scratch and let Andie pull him out the exam room door.
The girl who had saved them waited patiently in the lobby. She stood by the windows, humming another song and twisting a brown braid around and around her finger.
“Will he live?” she asked.
“They don’t know yet. But if he does it’s thanks to you.”
“He’ll live,” she said. “He’s strong. I felt it through my arms when I carried him.” She raised a hand to hover over Henry’s cheek. “This is going to scar. And it needs to be cleaned. Stitched. It’s very bad. Almost grotesque.”
“So he looks pretty much the same as usual,” Andie said, and grinned weakly. She stood beside Henry and cupped his wounded arm, forming a human sling. Adrenaline and shock were wearing off, and frightened exhaustion crept in behind. In the lobby mirror, the cut on Henry’s face made him want to pass out. A flap of flesh hung from his cheek and wobbled. His coat was torn and mostly covered in blood. He didn’t even want to look down at his hand.
He stepped close to Andie. She was alive and miraculously uninjured. When the wolves had surrounded her, he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life. He wanted to grab her and shake her, tell her what an idiot she was for coming back, for not running when she had the chance. He wanted to hug her until she ran out of oxygen.
Andie didn’t notice. She stared at the girl, who was wearing an unseasonably light jacket and no boots, jeans soaked to the knees. Not a day over seventeen, except in the depths of her eyes.
“How did you do that?” Andie asked. “I mean, thank you, but what was that?”
“I have a way of hiding things,” she replied. “You might call it a talent.”
“Do you also have a way of finding things? Because you showed up at just the right moment.”
“That was an accident. A lucky one, but still an accident. I was looking for someone else. Odysseus.”
“Why are you looking for him?” Henry asked.
“Because I miss him,” she said. “My name is Calypso. I suppose you could say I’m his girlfriend.”