by fox, angie
I'd been alone ever since.
Galen touched my shoulder. In an absurd moment of weakness I let him.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
I shrugged. "For what? It's not your fault."
He remained 100 percent focused on me. "It will be if I can't stop this," he said, refusing to let me discount my pain.
I glanced away. I didn't want to go there.
"You can't save everyone," I told him.
Deep in the cemetery, a ghostly soul shimmered between the graves. It took me a moment to realize who it was.
Charlie.
The wind ruffled his sandy brown hair as he stared out past the camp, into nothingness.
I squeezed my eyes shut. That's it. I was done. I grabbed the wheelchair, steering it away from the civilian part of the cemetery. I should have tried to get Galen back in it, or at least examined him, but who was I kidding? There was no trace of his injury. And I didn't want to argue with a half-naked demi-god.
Suddenly this place didn't seem like such a good idea.
"Let's get you back. It's cold."
"I'm not cold." He stood in front of me, blocking me. Cripes, he was bullheaded. I'd never known anyone so determined to insert himself into my own personal hell.
He stared down at me, positively dripping with challenge. "I stayed for you," he said, as if he could make me face it by sheer force of will.
"The ambulances broke down," I bit off every word. Maybe if I said it enough, I'd believe it.
"Bullshit." He caught me by the shoulders. "I didn't choose this any more than you did. When I took that poisoned dagger to the chest, I thought I was going to die."
I'd seen. I knew.
"What was it like?" I asked, startling him.
His fingers loosened and he fell silent for a moment, as if he was hesitant to say more.
"It was almost a relief for it to be over." Guilt flickered across his features. "The worst part about war isn't the fighting," he went on, almost to himself. "It's when you're helpless to stop the horror from reaching innocent people. Kids. Families. Not everybody signed up to have their guts torn out. I didn't know how to stop it. But now maybe we can change things."
I didn't understand what he wanted from me. "I hope you do. You're a good soldier."
He made a low sound in his throat. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
Okay, fine. This place was a nightmare, and the stark truth was—there was nothing we could do about it. Well, except pursue a doomed prophecy, which was a surefire way to fail again and get me killed in the process.
He caressed my skin, watching goose bumps erupt on my shoulders. "You're good at deflection, Doctor. Why is that?"
Years and years of practice.
"Let's go," I said, pulling away.
This time he let me.
We began walking again. At the edge of the cemetery, we passed three smoldering funeral pyres. It had been a rough day yesterday.
"Where were you when you were stabbed with the dagger?" I asked.
He owed me that at least, to help me figure out why this thing was following me.
His eyes lingered on the funeral pyres. "It's classified."
"Who stabbed you?" I asked, more tartly than I'd intended. "Is that classified, too?"
"I don't know," he said, frustrated. "It doesn't matter." He stopped. "I understand you're afraid. It's part of the job. But it doesn't mean you can step away and pretend this isn't real."
"Pretend?" That was rich. "Just because I don't happen to agree with you, you think I live in some god damn fantasy world?" I felt every slice of humanity this place cut out of me. I was raw with it. "Do you think I was pretending when I pulled that knife out of your chest?" I'd given everything I had to this job and to him.
He brought a hand up to his chest and ripped the bandage away. An angry red scar sliced across tan skin, the only indication he'd nearly died yesterday. "We were brought together for a reason. I can feel it. You can, too."
Feeling? What did he know about feeling? If I felt any more, it would eat me alive. "Listen, hotshot, this war isn't my fault. What may or may not happen to those kids you're talking about is not my fault. What happened in that OR is not my fault."
"No," he thundered. "It's your fucking obligation."
I turned and walked away.
He followed me.
Fuck. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't take it for one second longer. I spun back to face him. "What the hell is your angle, Galen? What do you want?"
In two rough steps he was right there with me, on me. "I want the right team on my side when the real battle begins. Otherwise there is no hope—for you or my men or anybody else."
He was positively lethal. And frightening. And exactly the man I'd want on my side if all hell broke loose.
"We have to end this," he stated, as if it were inevitable. "Soon."
"Impossible," I said. I could feel the heat rolling off him, and me.
He didn't give an inch. "I know things," he said, his voice low and intense. "I'm out of the loop now," he added, almost to himself.
"Good."
"I think that's fate, too," he continued, as if I hadn't even spoken. He locked eyes with me. "I need to stay here, but my men could be on the move as we speak."
My stomach fluttered. "Doing what?" I didn't like the way his voice sounded, or the fear behind his words.
"It's classified."
I hated the military.
He inhaled sharply. "I can't tell you. I don't need to tell you. You only have to understand that it will be bad for all of us. And disastrous for those on Earth."
I rubbed at my eyes. He would have to say that.
"Listen to me. I'm here for a reason. We came together for something bigger than just saving my life." He was absolutely convinced, driven. On a collision course with death and ruin. "Help me figure this out."
"I'm afraid," I said. Terrified.
The corner of his mouth turned up. "Good. It'll help keep you alive."
Chapter Six
I returned Galen to the recovery ward. I hoped to the gods he'd be out of our camp in the next twenty-four hours. Otherwise I wouldn't know what to do with him.
Holly, the charge nurse, leaned her elbows on her desk. Her mop of blond hair was streaked with red highlights. She'd tied part of it into a ponytail holder and left the rest free.
"Do you have the medical history file on Galen of Delphi?" I asked.
She shook her head. "It hasn't come in yet. You want me to let you know when it does?"
"Please." Knowledge was power, and I needed every bit of it when it came to this man.
She wrote a Post-it note for herself and added it to the flurry on her desk. "You heading to karaoke?"
"No." I stole a Starburst out of her candy bowl and unwrapped it. "I'm going to drop in on Father McArio."
She grinned. "Rumor here is that you already went to the rocks."
Of all the... "I suppose denying it will only make it worse," I said, cringing.
"Guaranteed."
Hades. I felt the sting of it. And a tug of disappointment as well. If I was going to be accused of stripping down a hot, broody special ops officer, I wanted to actually get a taste of something besides his temper.
Or maybe I really was going crazy.
"Hello," Jeffe rumbled. I hadn't even known the sphinx was behind me.
He twitched his nose like a cat, his copper mane swishing at his shoulders. "I can hold my silence no longer."
Oh good. A sphinx was going to lecture me about my love life.
"You listen to me," he said, as if he were divulging the secrets of the Great Pyramids. "It is not a good idea to go through the minefield right now."
When was it ever a good idea? The vacation pot was up to three weeks. The minefield was the perfect place to give a prank a test run. Now it seemed even Jeffe was getting in on the act. "What'd you do, slick?"
He straightened his front legs and stiffened his s
houlders. "I cannot tell you."
I stuffed the candy wrapper into my pocket. "Fair enough." After all, Rodger had gotten the sphinx drunk and encased him in stone last week. Of course it was just plaster of paris and we let him out. Still, Jeffe had his pride.
Jeffe leaned forward. "You will not get me to tell you."
Holly and I exchanged glances.
He was squirming like a kid on Christmas morning. "Okay, I will tell you."
"Remind me never to tell you a secret." Holly grinned.
"I order these baby scarabs from my homeland and then I mummify them. First I had to wait for them to die because they are sacred. But then I mummify them and I hide them in the machines!"
Good on him. "That would definitely scare me"—provided I saw them and knew what they were. But I had to give Jeffe an A+ for effort. "Thanks for the warning," I said, saluting them both as I headed out the door.
Dang, it was getting cold. I stopped by my hutch for my jacket. The place was dark. Both Rodger and Marius were out. At least neither of them had seen me giving my patient the grand tour of camp. I'd never hear the end of it.
Kosta was bad enough.
I grabbed a piece of Fruit Stripe from my candy stash and pulled the dark blue New Orleans Zephyrs jacket from its peg. I was a minor-league baseball freak. Or at least I had been until my dad stopped sending box scores.
We used to go to games all the time when I was growing up. He'd quiz me on state capitals between innings. One summer it was the periodic table.
He told me I was smart, said I could do anything. Of course that didn't stop him from hitting the roof when I'd gotten a "Fleur-de-Z" tattooed on my right hip.
I squared my shoulders against the wind as I crossed the street, away from the familiar bubble of the tar swamps.
Father McArio would have sage advice. And hopefully some chocolate chip cookies. He gave them out every Sunday after mass, which was why he had so many minor gods in attendance. Their supreme deities may have gotten us into this mess, but Father McArio and his God had a direct line to Mrs. Fields.
Torches cast flickering light on the path in front of me. Farther down, shouts of laughter poured from the officers' club. I glanced at the closed door as I passed. From the sound of it, they had the Lounge Lizards in Limbo karaoke contest going in full swing. Rodger was belting out "Like a Virgin" and howling half the notes. He was either throwing the contest or hopelessly drunk.
With Rodger, it was hard to tell.
On the other side of the cemetery, I grabbed one of the last torches lining the path near the funeral pyres. This was the end of the road, at least for the civilized section of camp.
The flame cast flickers of light on the uneven ground in front of me as I entered the minefield. The sign said junk depot, but I knew better.
Hulking skeletons of half-rotted ambulances and jeeps lay rusting on either side of the rock-strewn path. I didn't come back here that often—for obvious reasons. I had no love life, so I wasn't about to take the right fork in the road. And as much as I liked Father McArio, it was easier to see him in camp, when I wasn't in as much danger of having a pot of clams dumped over my head.
But this knife, and whatever I had with Galen, couldn't wait. I hadn't felt this on edge in a long time.
The real kicker was, Galen had gotten to me. Despite the mess. Damn it all. I hadn't let myself get personally involved with a patient since I'd left my practice in New Orleans. Those people I could help. All I could do for these soldiers was send them back to the front.
Of course, the problem was that Galen was no longer just a patient to me. He was a man. A take-charge, daring, utterly fascinating man.
I ran a hand along the charred remains of the last VIP shower tent. Finally, something I understood. It seemed like only yesterday that it had gone up in glorious flames.
The prank had gone wrong, as usual. If only the visiting General Fiehler had stayed in his hutch like he was supposed to. Dale Fiehler was a legendary tactical genius. Still, I had no idea how he even got out. We'd nailed his door shut. He escaped anyway, and then headed to the showers and tripped a Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza.
A minute later and Rodger and I would have gotten Colonel Kosta. But one minute could mean an eternity around here.
I drew the collar of my jacket up and skirted a suspicious-looking van parked in the middle of the path. Gloppy footsteps echoed inside. Uh-hum. Hickey Horns. They were technically a plant. The green, spindly things fed on human hormones, so they'd basically scramble up to your neck and make you look like a teenager in love.
I stopped mid-step and held the torch low. I scanned outward, the firelight traveling over rocky soil and dirt until it hit upon a series of trip wires that ran straight to the door of the van.
Impressive. I'd have to find out who did it.
Rodger and I could use a co-conspirator with an expertise in triggering mechanisms.
In the meantime I stepped lightly and left the hickeys to the next poor fool who wandered this way.
McArio had better be home. He'd talked about moving his hut closer to camp, so that people like me wouldn't have to skirt half a dozen pranks in order to visit. But then there was his "other" ministry. And frankly, I figured he liked living on the edge.
I glanced at the dense maze of shadows behind me.
At least I was still technically in camp. I didn't even want to think of the nasties lurking outside the wards.
When I reached the fork in the road, I let out the breath I hardly realized I was holding. "Hallelujah," I said, taking the wider, safer path to the left.
Jeffe would be disappointed. Well, maybe I'd tell him I was spooked by a few mini mummies.
In the distance, lit by the full moon, I spotted McArio's small hutch. The light was on inside. He'd also left a dinged-up camping lantern out by his sculpture garden. Father liked to work with junk metal, and he had quite a collection of pieces.
Most of it consisted of birds and other winged creatures that appeared as if they'd take flight any second. There was even a beautiful Pegasus, with its mighty head directed toward the sky.
I gave the father's door two swift knocks, sending a multicolored Talavera cross slapping against the wood.
"Come on in," he said, as if I'd braved the minefield a hundred times to come visit him.
I batted at the pine tree air freshener above the door and entered to find Father McArio sitting at his desk. A single lantern hung overhead. He wore army boots and fatigues, topped with a black shirt and a clerical collar. He had to be at least sixty-five, although you wouldn't know it from his thick black hair.
"Petra," he said, his voice warm. He turned toward the darkened corner behind him. "It's okay, Fitz." He pinched two fingers together and waggled them at the shadows. "You can come out."
A coal-black puppy tottered forward, bashful with its head bent. "There you go." Father lifted it onto his lap and grinned as the dog started gnawing on his hand. "He's a little shy until he gets to know you."
"Aww." I reached down to pet the doggy behind the ears. I loved soft puppy fur. The dog licked at my wrist. His red eyes blazed up at me.
I snatched my hand back. "You're keeping a hellhound?" Of all the... Those things came straight from the underworld.
"A friend of a friend's hellhound got frisky and fathered some puppies," he said, as if he were the proud dad.
"What? In Hades?"
The puppy began gnawing on the father's shirtsleeve. "Of course not." He rubbed him on his round puppy belly. "Fitz came from Las Vegas."
It figured. Father used to be an exorcist there. But still, it didn't make it right. "Colonel Kosta will skewer you if he finds out."
Father fed more of his sleeve to the beast. "We're in limbo. How much worse can it get?"
"I'm not sure I want to know."
He shoved a camp chair at me with one foot. "Take a load off. Tell me what brings you here."
Okay, well, if a hellhound couldn't get him goi
ng, maybe this could. I dug into the pocket of my scrubs and withdrew the dagger.
Father leaned forward as I slowly unwrapped it and laid it out on my lap. The smooth metal glowed in the low light of the lantern. The head of the snake looked even more ominous.
"It's bronze," I said.
His eyes flicked to mine. "How'd you get it?"
Guilt tugged at me. I didn't like to be reminded that we'd been in this situation once before. Father was the only one who knew my secret, and what I'd done after I first arrived.
"Don't worry," I said quickly. "I didn't make another mistake, if that's what you mean."
"I didn't doubt you," he said, without a trace of irony.
Father's expression remained neutral as I explained about Galen and the surgery gone wrong.
The Jesuit held still, absorbing each word. It was a gift few of us had—to truly listen without judging.
When I'd finished, he leaned back in his chair. "What do you think?"
"Me?" The blade glistened in the pale light. "I don't know." Science couldn't explain this away.
He lowered the hellhound to the floor, where it immediately began gnawing on Father's pant leg.
"May I?" he asked.
I let him take the dagger. He held it by the handle, touching his fingers to the smooth part of the blade. "This is old. Beautiful as well."
"I think you need to exorcise it," I said.
He gave a small smile. "It's not possessed."
"How do you know?" I answered quickly. Then I remembered whom I was talking with. "Fine." It was a mere technicality. "Is there a way to destroy it?"
The creases in his forehead deepened as he continued his observations. "If you don't mind, I think I'll pray on it."
"Why?" I asked, apprehension creeping up my spine.
He placed a steady hand on my knee. "I'm a Jesuit. It's what we do."
I was all for faith, but, "What about mashing it to bits?"
"Patience," he said, wrapping it carefully. When he finished, he held it out to me.
Heck, no. I didn't want that thing back. "Keep it."
He seemed almost amused. "Do you want it to follow you again?"
