Last Licks

Shadow dashed after the She as she led him a merry chase, zigzagging down long expanses of corridor, using pieces of furniture and even people as obstacles for him. Sometimes he nearly pounced on her, but she always managed to evade him. Other times, he held himself back, just so he could admire her running form and drink in the fragrance wafting back from her. When he did that, the She would glance back over her shoulder with challenging eyes and slow her own pace so that he’d come closer, closer . . . and then she’d take off running again, leaving that intoxicating scent in her wake.

He didn’t know how long the game went on. The corridors seemed to pass in a golden glow. Then the She charged into one of the rooms. Shadow followed, detecting familiar smells. Was that Sunny he scented?

He almost stopped to investigate, but the thrill of the chase urged him onward. The She was in a small room now. Surely he could catch her in there!

She vanished behind a curtain, and suddenly Shadow heard harsh words, the sound of a thud, and a cry of pain from the She. The golden glow evaporated as Shadow ducked under the curtain. The She lay crumpled on the floor, whimpering. Over her stood a human female with hate radiating from her like a choking, black stink. On the bed lay a familiar two-leg, one who came around the house sometimes. Shadow had named him the One Who Hollers from the way he acted around Sunny.

But the human wasn’t hollering now. He just stared as the Dark One pushed away another female in a white coat while drawing back her leg for another kick at the She.

Not with me here, Shadow thought. With a rumbling battle cry coming from deep in his throat, he leaped to the attack, claws flashing.

The Dark One drew back with a cry as he raked his way along her ankle. Then she turned to aim a kick at him. He jumped out of the way, riposting with an attack on her other foot. The She rose up, angry, and tried to join in. But she moved clumsily, favoring one side.

Snarling, the Dark One ignored them, swinging to attack White Coat, who made a lot of noise. Not a wise choice, turning her back on Shadow. He launched an attack from the rear, this time slashing the human up behind the knee. Reflexively, the Dark One kicked backward, and Shadow caught a glancing blow. He flew back to land in a heap, knocked onto his side. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and shook himself. Good. She hadn’t hurt him.

But the brief distraction allowed the Dark One to close in on him. She limped slightly, but that wouldn’t stop her from another kick . . .

Then, with a loud rattle, curtains suddenly swept open.

*

The billowing fabric

in Room 114 blocked the view, but Sunny clearly heard Dr. Gavrik shouting, “What are you doing here?” The noises of feline and human anger and pain pretty much filled in the rest of the picture for Sunny’s imagination. How often had she heard Dr. Gavrik crabbing about the waste of resources the facility’s therapy animals represented? The notoriously nasty doctor wouldn’t have much patience for a pair of them playing around underfoot. From the sound of shoe striking flesh, Gavrik had given one of the cats a painful welcome.

Was that Shadow?

Sunny had no idea how her cat had turned up here—had he somehow hitched a ride with Mike?—and now he’d followed his nose and hooked up with Portia, his dream girl. But Shadow wasn’t a therapy animal trained to get along with all kinds of people. If Dr. Gavrik attacked, Shadow would strike back. Sunny finished her sprint, rushing into the room, yanking the curtain aside. Dr. Gavrik was fighting, all right, but with Camille, trying to get a hypodermic needle out of her hand. The aide staggered with one leg drawn back, facing Shadow. She looked like a soccer player poised to score a goal—but with a gray furry body instead of a ball.

On the bed, Ollie Barnstable lay blinking his eyes as if trying to decide whether he was awake or still asleep. One arm lay out of the covers, an alcohol swab on his forearm. The cats must have come flying in to interrupt the doctor just as she was sterilizing the site to draw blood.

“Camille!” Sunny called sharply, trying to draw the woman back from kicking Shadow. “What are you—”

“Watch out for the needle!” Dr. Gavrik called, even as Camille flung her off to crash into a visitor’s chair.

As if in response, Camille changed her grip from the three-finger hold for an injection to gripping the barrel of the hypodermic in her fist, stabbing at Sunny.

“Hey! A little help here!” Sunny yelled in Will’s direction as she quickly back-pedaled.

But that help came from an unlikely source. Portia launched herself in a clumsy attack, her claws catching uselessly in the leg of Camille’s surgical blues. But Shadow, more practiced at street fighting, hurtled himself onto the back of the aide’s leg. She stumbled, off balance, her stab at Sunny falling short.