Immortally Embraced

by fox, angie

  “What is this?” I drew an ornate glass jar out of a box. “It’s filled with bubbles.”

  Marc winced. “Don’t open it or she’ll know we saw it. Just” —he motioned to a stack of boxes near the door—“put it in the bottom of one of those.”

  Fat chance. I rested it on my hip. “What is it?”

  He ran a hand through is hair. “It’s a divine telephone. You break the bubble and call someone.”

  “I like it,” I said, wondering whom I could possibly call.

  “No. The goddess will know if you use one.”

  Gah. And she’d know we didn’t call her. “Fine,” I said, shoving it under a box of slave boy costumes. I wondered just what Eris thought Marc was going to do with those by himself.

  Subsequent deliveries from Nerthus brought us a state-of-the-art fume hood, a lab-grade refrigerator, and two crates of pinecones, blessed by the goddess.

  But no extension cords.

  We couldn’t hook up the lights without them. We’d ask and get binding cord. Or a cord of wood. Or once, even a board. Finally, we had Jeffe draw a picture while he was in for a venom extraction.

  As we worked through our options, we struggled with exactly what kind of solvent to use that would act as a neutralizing agent for the venom. I was beginning to think a natural substance just wouldn’t cut it. As mere mortals, that was frustrating because natural solvents and chemicals were all we had.

  I was careful not to touch Marc as he pored over a medical text. “What about poison?”

  He kept reading, absorbed. “Be reasonable. Eris isn’t that annoying.”

  I leaned up against the lab table, trying to work it out in my mind. “The harshest solvents we have aren’t strong enough. We haven’t even had one substance show real promise.” The sphinx venom was just too strong. I adjusted my stance. “Hear me out. How is it any different from what they’re doing at the University of Buffalo?” Last I’d heard, they’d found a way to use tarantula venom to combat heart attack deaths.

  He was listening now. “Venom as a neutralizer. That could work.”

  “It could,” I said, getting excited. “You think you could score us some?” Both sides had been using poison as a weapon for some time now. I handed him the forms. “Ask for the spittle of the Cerberus first,” I said. Cerberus was the three-headed dog of the underworld. “You know—dogs and cats…”

  “I’m going to get Britney Spears perfume as well,” he said, writing down the second most common poison to the gods.

  “Yes. Perfect.” We could use some good-smelling solvents in this lab. And it wouldn’t kill us if we spilled it.

  Marc glanced up at me as he wrote. “There’s the blood of Medusa.”

  Right. “I’m seeing her the day after tomorrow.”

  Or sooner. It seemed like Medusa was in the clinic every day. She’d reported coming down with the divine plague, blood humors, and flesh-eating bacteria, all of which turned out to be simple morning sickness.

  I prescribed saltine crackers.

  And confiscated the water she boiled. She really needed to watch her temper.

  The next morning, we received our poisons and our extension cords. We got to work on the poisons first. Then, after we’d turned in our eight o’clock report, I sat back to watch Marc work, shirtless. I’d miss this once the air-conditioning started up.

  “The lights look nice,” I told him. He’d installed standard lab fluorescents over our work area, and a tabletop lamp in the back. “You always were good with your hands,” I murmured as he climbed down from the chair he’d been standing on.

  The muscles in his arms worked as he rubbed his hands clean on a white towel. “Are you coming on to me?”

  Of course not. “I’m just observant.”

  He caught my wrist. His eyes glittered as he drew my hand toward him and kissed each fingertip.

  A windup timer on the lab counter dinged.

  “I’ll take a look,” I said. Marc was on the ladder and by this time, I was used to checking off almost-there results.

  But when I slid our latest test formula under the microscope, I froze.

  Our solvent had not only neutralized the sphinx venom, it had eaten our healthy cells, too.

  Motherfucker.

  We were going in the wrong direction. At least with the spittle of Cerberus.

  Marc examined the results on the other lab table. “The Britney Spears perfume ate our sample.”

  I rested my head on the top of the microscope. If our most potent earthly and limbo-based solvents were too weak, and our immortal poisons were too strong—what then?

  My eyes fixed on the water Medusa had boiled on her last visit to the clinic. It wasn’t a poison, like her blood. It wasn’t a natural substance, like gasoline or ethanol.

  Marc followed my gaze and took the bottle. “What?”

  “I’m thinking,” I said slowly. I picked up the nearly full bottle. Turning it over in my hands.

  “It’s just water,” I said, handing it to him. “But it might possibly be enhanced.”

  Medusa boiled it when she got mad. I hadn’t asked her about her household, other than to talk about crib safety. Still, according to myth, Medusa lived on an island surrounded by a toxic lake. So if she was doing something to the water …

  “Let’s try it,” Marc said, taking a dropperful. I capped it and returned the bottle to the table next to me.

  It could work.

  Just then there was a rap on the door. “Hello!”

  Father McArio.

  “Come on in,” I said as he opened the door.

  He backed in, holding two large bags in his hands. “A troop of dancing girls delivered this to me by mistake.”

  He had Krystal’s hamburgers. I could smell the burgers and the onions as I took the bags from him.

  “Stay for dinner,” I said, taking out burgers and onion rings. Eris had sent a ton.

  “Well, I suppose I could try one,” Father said, pulling up a lab chair next to me. “How is your work going?” he asked us.

  “We think we might be on to something,” Marc said, preparing the samples.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Father said, unwrapping a burger. “Wondrous how the goddess kept these so hot.”

  He uncapped the bottle on the table and brought it to his lips.

  Oh no. “Wait!”

  But it was too late. He’d taken a drink.

  “Is there something—?” His question ended on a gurgle.

  He tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  “Father,” I grabbed for him as he started to collapse sideways. No, no, no. “Father, stay with me.”

  I eased him down off the chair and onto the floor.

  Marc joined me. “What happened?”

  “He drank our medusa water.”

  Father’s skin heated. His breath came in pants. “Fuck.” I rushed for my stethoscope.

  His heart was beating at 120. One thirty. It was too fast. His pulse was rapid.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Marc asked, taking his blood pressure.

  Father’s voice slurred. “Can’t feel. My hands.”

  “Hold on,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Nothing in my medical research books ever said anything about medusa water. Hell, I hadn’t even thought about it until a minute ago.

  I tore through the boxes in the corner, looking for Eris’s gift. Where were goddess bubbles when you needed them? Finally, I found them under about a thousand rose petals. I uncapped the jar and squeezed a hard globe, but it refused to pop. Damn thing was made for super strength. I dropped it on the floor and stomped on it.

  It burst open, filling the tent with spicy incense.

  A cloud formed and a golden dove fluttered in the middle of it. “You would like to speak with the goddess?”

  Oh sure. Talking doves.

  Think.

  “No, I don’t want to talk to the goddess,” I told the bird. “Put me in touch with Medusa.” Could it even do th
at? “Please.”

  The bird fluttered. “Medusa the damned, the serpent-goddess, the executioner of men—”

  “Yes, yes. Scourge of Kisthene’s plain.” We didn’t have time for this.

  “One moment, please.”

  “Hurry up.” I shifted uncomfortably.

  Father was still conscious, but breathing hard. “His heart rate’s one thirty-five,” Marc said.

  Shit.

  “Doctor?” Medusa hissed.

  I looked back to see her slithering up to the vaporous cloud, which was now starting to resemble a wall of smoke. She held a basket of skulls in one hand and a trident in the other. “The morning sickness has eased. I was decorating the baby’s room.”

  “Good. Look. I need your help. This man”—I glanced at Father behind me—“he drank some water you boiled back at the clinic.”

  The rattle on her tail shook. “That was very foolish.”

  “Yes, well, he’d assumed a water bottle was a water bottle and this isn’t helping me,” I said, getting a rein on my panic. “What can I do to treat this?” I refused to think that I couldn’t fix it.

  Her eyes widened and the snakes in her hair hissed. “It is deadly. I told you.”

  Just like she told me she’d laid off the chocolate. I knew that look.

  “Medusa,” I said slowly, “this man is my mentor. And my friend.”

  “You do not understand.” She slithered uncomfortably, dropping skulls out of her basket. “My lake must be deadly. My touch is poison. I am the scourge!”

  “You can be the scourge,” I said, voice rising, “I get you are damned. That’s fine. But you can trust me. I’m your doctor. And this time, I need your help.”

  Her expression clouded. “I don’t owe you—”

  “No, you don’t,” I said quickly, “I want to treat you. I care about you and your baby.” Damn the ancient Greeks and their tit-for-tat way of doing things. “I’m not asking because I have some favor stashed away. I’m asking because you can tell me your health issues and I need your help.”

  She snarled, showing off a double row of razor-sharp teeth. The water in our test tubes bubbled behind me. “Fine, but he cannot hear.”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  “The mortal doctor.”

  “Marc?”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled as he stood and exited the room. Thank God he didn’t argue.

  Medusa watched the door close. “Give him the fruit of the finut tree. It grows thirty miles due south from here. One taste and he will be cured.” Her eyes hardened. “Do not tell anyone.”

  Thank you. “I won’t tell,” I said, wishing I could hug her, glad I couldn’t.

  One taloned hand found her rounded belly. “Motherhood is making me soft.”

  Yeah, well, I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. “I need specific directions on the finut tree.”

  She gave me a hard stare. “You will find it growing in hell vents.”

  I choked.

  Medusa rolled her eyes. “It has a long brown trunk and purple fruit. Truly, must I draw an X over my heart where you could stab me and kill me?”

  Okay. “Got it.” I looked to Father on the floor. “How much time does he have?”

  Her lip curled up in a sneer. “I don’t know. I like my poison to work somewhat slowly, so that the so-called heroes who invade my island will wallow in their regret.” She shrugged. “But they usually drown pretty quickly in the lake.”

  “Thank you,” I said, knowing she’d made a sacrifice, willing to make another one as I grabbed for my field jacket and a lantern.

  “Good-bye,” she said as the plume of smoke dissolved.

  No telling how long it would take me to find the hell vent and start climbing a tree.

  Don’t think about it.

  There was no choice here. I rushed to the bedroom and found a pillow for Father’s head. “I’m going to save you,” I promised. He reached for my hand, tried to speak, but couldn’t. I resisted the urge to check his vitals again. It wouldn’t matter, not if I couldn’t come back with the antidote. “Marc is going to be here with you,” I said, standing.

  I found Marc outside, next to Father’s jeep. “Get in there. He needs you.”

  “Why? Where are you going?” he asked as I slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Special mission for Medusa.” I fished the keys out from under the floor mat.

  He grabbed my arm. “Over my dead body. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed.”

  When he put it that way, it didn’t sound all that appealing to me, either. “Stay here,” I said, firing up the jeep.

  “What the fuck?” I heard Marc holler as I sped south, on my way out of camp.

  Thirty miles. Due south. Hell vent.

  God help me when I got there.

  chapter twenty-two

  Palms sweating, I gunned the engine out of the minefield and onto the limbo plains. The night was black and ominous. Of course I had no way to navigate. It’s not like I had a road or a compass or … anything.

  Fuck a duck. The constellation Hito was in the south tonight. I’d use it as a guide.

  I was so screwed.

  While a lot of the constellations on Earth were named after heroes and gods, the ones down here were named for those who strove valiantly and failed.

  My stomach twisted. It had better not be an omen.

  I clutched the steering wheel as the jeep bounced over the uneven ground. I could barely see in front of me in the darkness. Forget headlights. Someone might see. We might not have standing guards or Shrouds like the old army, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to advertise the fact that I was going AWOL.

  Again.

  Focus on Hito. I steered straight for the hero who was beheaded by none other than Medusa. Either the fates were having a field day or I was getting paranoid.

  I hit a big hole, rattling the jeep and my teeth. What the hell?

  I’d never been this far out of camp by myself, on the ground, unprotected. There were packs of wild imps in the desert that would tear you apart in seconds. If they didn’t get me, I could just as easily drive into a sinkhole, limbo’s version of bottomless quicksand.

  It’s not like I’d brought emergency flares, or the disruptor, or even a fucking bubble to call a goddess.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Father. I was thinking about Father and how he was in pain, dying at this very moment. I didn’t have time to pack a bag or plan a trip. My main focus had to be the antidote. There was no choice, no wavering. So I pressed on.

  Death comes with a gift.

  Well, I didn’t want one. Not if it meant losing my friend.

  My pulse raced. I could feel my heart in my chest. I was hyper-aware of the vast desert, cloaked in night. Every rattle of the jeep. Every pounding over rock meant I was one breath closer to the hell vent.

  Please, Lord, let us get out of this and I’ll be a better person. I’ll find the anesthetic. I’ll stop lying to Eris.

  I’ll let Marc know how much I love him.

  My eyes and throat grew dry, my hands stiff from gripping the steering wheel as it vibrated and jolted with the jeep.

  I was going in the right direction. I’d find my way back to him. I had to believe that or I wouldn’t be able to take the next second, much less what would happen afterward.

  And then I saw it—a large shadow looming out of the desert, dead ahead.

  Tears wet the corners of my eyes and I had to swallow a lump. I never thought I’d be so glad to see a hell vent. This had to be it. My arms shook. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

  This was it.

  It was on me before I knew it. I hit the brakes so fast I skidded sideways.

  Holy hell.

  I shoved the jeep into park, glad to survive my own driving.

  Arf!

  I whipped around, ready for imps or flesh-eating locusts or whatever else was out here.

  Fitz sat in the bac
kseat, his tongue lolling out. Arf!

  Of all the creatures I didn’t need out in the middle of the limbo desert … I reached out and petted his furry puppy head. “Stay in the car.”

  I needed to see if I could find a weapon.

  Hand braced on cool metal, I scrambled down the side of the jeep facing away from the hell vent and circled around the rear. Father had to have something in the back. He’d be crazy to go ministering to lost souls unarmed. I yanked open the hatch next to the spare tire, and my hands closed around a large black strongbox.

  “Ha!” I bit down a shout.

  Fitz jumped into the back, sniffing at my hands as I flipped the clasp. I felt around. This thing was custom. The soft foam lining was cut to hold whatever Father would need on the road. My fingers closed on a flashlight—thank you, God. I clicked it on.

  The soft, round beam fell on a large metal cross nestled in the gray foam. There were vials of oil and water, and one of those long purple stoles priests wore around their necks. This one was bloody and torn at the bottom.

  But where were the weapons?

  I didn’t see any. I searched under the stole.

  There was a brown book with gold lettering underneath. Rules for the Roman Ritual of Exorcism.

  Hell.

  “You gotta throw me a bone, Father.” I tore out the foam lining, scattering pictures of saints. I’d known he was an exorcist. Hell, he’d helped me with an enchanted dagger a month or two back, but to think that he was out here in the wilds of limbo, practicing without any real weapons? It was insanity.

  I examined the stole, half tempted to put it on. There was a medal near an embroidered cross at the top. Fingers shaking, I took the medal and pinned it onto my hip. Saint Isaac Jogues. The martyr. Way to go, Father.

  A final scan of the back of the jeep showed no weapons, not unless I wanted to hit something over the head with the wooden cross. I took the cross and stuffed the holy water in my pocket.

  I was a good Catholic.

  Mostly.

  I braced myself. I raised the cross in one hand and the flashlight in the other as I headed for the hell vent. A dark form glinted on the desert floor dead ahead. I about fell over sideways when my light landed on it.

  A bronze dagger thrust blade-down into the desert floor.