by Angie Fox
The crowd surged and pretty soon the entire mob of us made it inside. The television blared the latest from the Paranormal News Network, or PNN—all immortal news, literally all the time.
It was our version of CNN, with a few obvious exceptions.
The only TV in camp was a 1970s cabinet model that my enterprising colleagues had bolted to the make-shift stand on the far right wall.
They’d pushed back all of the tables so that a crowd at least twenty deep flooded the hard-packed ground in front of it. But really, there were people everywhere—on the tables, sitting on the serving areas, standing on chairs along the far wall.
I wormed down the side, along with about four dozen other people. The air inside was hot, and getting worse by the second. At last, I saw a little bit of room on the floor, a few feet in from the serving area.
I about groaned out loud when I saw Thaïs had the same idea. “Isn’t there a segregated demigod viewing area up front?” I asked, edging him out and diving in next to a group of nurses.
“A demigod goes where he pleases,” he said, getting elbowed by the crowd as he took the last available spot—next to me.
Lovely.
It was hard to even hear the television over the din of the crowd. A young-looking reporter with curly brown hair swallowed hard, as if the camera itself were about to attack him. “This is Zach McKay. Stone McKay is on vacation.”
“Ah, nepotism at its best,” I said, trying to edge Thaïs’s knee out of my space.
He gave me a sour look. “You’re just jealous because you come from a family of nobodies.”
Quite the contrary. I was perfectly happy to go home and stay out of this.
The reporter stood at the top of a dusty red stone battlement. His eyes darted to something offscreen, then widened as he returned his attention to us. “I’m here at New Army Base 8C, which this reporter believes will soon be under attack.”
The camera rolled over hundreds, if not thousands of our soldiers in their brick-red uniforms as they readied the cannons and took their battle positions.
Truly? I rolled my eyes. The penalty for spying was death-by-dragon incineration. Yet PNN had a reporter imbedded with our army, sending live footage of troop movements.
It seemed there was no secret as large as the ego of the gods.
The picture shook as we heard a distinct rumbling in the background. The reporter wet his lips. “We’d like to apologize. My camerawoman is on her first assignment as well. Our sources indicated that the armies would not be advancing for some time.”
Thaïs growled under his breath. “Is he kidding? We never should have submitted to a cease-fire to begin with!”
I resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.
The wobbly camera panned over the desert beyond the fort, where the air itself seemed to shimmer.
“Did you catch that radiation?” the reporter half whispered, like it was a secret between us and about three million other viewers. “This is all happening live. We are in quadrant 133.9A where the new god army is defending the Setesh Wastelands. As you can see, there is energy building in the desert. The gods can transport a battalion or less with no impact to the air whatsoever. Any more, and you get glimmers of it like we’re seeing right now.”
Thunder rolled over the desert, the skies darkened, and suddenly at least three battalions of old army soldiers appeared out of thin air. Artillery at the front. Behind them, massive black dragons stomped and fought at their restraints. Then, finally, endless rows of ground troops in old army tan.
The young reporter looked like he was going to be sick.
Explosions boomed and the camera fell to the ground, stuttering black-and-white snow.
PNN cut to a stick-thin blond woman behind the PNN news desk. She clutched her powder-pink-taloned hands in front of her and seemed shocked to even be there. “We’re back in the studio while we deal with…” She paused so long I wondered if she forgot where she was. “Technical difficulties.”
Her eyes widened as she listened to her earpiece. “Is that the only crew we have out in the field? It is the only crew. Okay. I apologize. We’ll try to get them back.” She did her best to buck up and rally, her expression going stern. “Our sources had made it quite clear that the gods had retired to Shangri-la, for their annual mortal death trials and skiing tournament. Obviously, the old gods had other things in mind.”
She wiped a shock of hair from her damp forehead. “I’m former intern Valerie LeMux, filling in for Stone McKay, who is, I’m sure, returning from vacation as we speak. In the meantime, let’s go to commercial and we’ll see if we can get Zach back for you.” She gave a shaky, five-second grin, then opened her pink-glossed lips and let out a high-pitched, keening wail.
I didn’t blame the banshee one bit. I’d have screamed too, if I thought it would help.
The camera lingered for a few moments until it abruptly cut to a commercial for the Basilisk of the Month Club.
I turned to Thaïs. “Nobody was ready for this? We’re in the middle of a war.” A temporary cease-fire was just that—temporary. What part of that had these people not understood?
For once, the demigod and I were in complete agreement. “Oh, we’re ready,” he said, eyes wild.
“I hope.” I mean, I thought we were. We’d stocked up on supplies and made sure gremlins didn’t make off with the generators. We were up a doctor, thanks to Marc, although I didn’t know how we were going to keep his dragon girl or my ex hidden if we had massive casualties in the ER.
Thaïs crossed his arms, thinking. “The Setesh Wastelands are about thirty miles north of us, which puts them close to the 8033rd.”
We took their overflow, along with the 7964th. I hoped our sister units had kept their supplies up and their people focused.
The soldiers around us cheered as an ad came on for The Real Werewives of Vampire County, a new reality show set in Malibu of all places. Heaven knew why anyone cared about a spoiled werevulture and her clique.
PNN came back on and the camera focused on a nervous-looking Valerie. At least she’d combed her hair, although it seemed she’d begun to chew at her talons. “I’m Valerie LeMux, filling in for Stone McKay. Junior reporter Zach McKay is live in the field. In case you’re just joining us, the old army has broken the cease-fire and launched a surprise attack on the new army stronghold in the Setesh Wastelands. From what we understand, the new army took this ground six months ago, as they routed the old army at the Mountain of Flames.”
The camera cut back to the curly-haired reporter. “Zach McKay here and I’ve made it to the highest battlement of Fort 8C,” he yelled over the pounding, screaming sounds of artillery fire.
Okay, he wasn’t just new. He was insane.
At least he had some fear. I could see his microphone hand shaking. It sounded like sonic booms going off behind him. “As you can see, old army bombs are pounding the wards just twenty feet from this fort.” The camera panned to a wall of dense black smoke as searing artillery fire blasted into it.
His face fell for a moment, and then he rallied. “Normally, either side would resort to a glorious field battle to hold this land. This fort was built because the desert floor in this area of limbo can be six feet thick in places—sometimes less—with the natural risk of digging a hole straight into Hades. And as openings into Hades are, by nature, quite unstable and prone to unleash demons, it seems the new army opted to construct aboveground defenses.”
The camera panned out to show the inside of an immense fortress, constructed from desert rock. New army archers and artillery lined the battlements, while infantry amassed on the ground. The soldiers looked hard, focused. They had to be scared.
Zach’s microphone hand shook even more. “It truly is a marvel of engineering for them to not only mine the rock, but bring it here and set it up between two natural obstacles. We have the bottomless sand pits to the east and the glass desert of the Furies to the west. I’m told that is less than an inch thick in plac
es and not very good to walk on.”
We weren’t going to get casualties. These people were going to be incinerated.
The reporter wiped at the sweat streaming down the sides of his face. “I think it’s safe to say that the old army strategy will be to blow holes in the floor of our fortress, effectively sending us into the abyss for good.”
Thaïs grinned
My blood went cold. It could get worse than blood and guts and regular death.
Instead of being a positive change, a time of hope, the cease-fire had made the war even more grisly.
How could these people place such a low value on life? The gods were immortal. Surely if they needed thousands of years to live and have children and be, they could at least try and fathom why some of us would want a simple lifetime. A fucking chance.
The new army had positioned their people straight over Hades. And the old army wanted to open holes and send their troops directly at them.
The cub reporter straightened as a commander worked his way through the lines. “Colonel. May we have a word?”
The crusty solider kept going. “No.”
Screeches pierced the air and we watched as black dragons launched straight at the camera.
“The wards are down! The wards are down!” Zach hollered. Black dragons shrieked straight overhead. “They’re huge!” Cannons fired. Artillery tore through the dragons. I’d seen blood before, but I’d never seen a living creature torn apart.
I watched in horror as they shifted into desperate, bloody men and women, and fell to their deaths.
And holy hell—they were wired with explosives. Dragons streaked straight for the command center, the artillery, the elite forces on the ground, exploding on impact, killing and maiming.
The crowd around me went stone-cold silent.
The camera shook. I tried to see through the blackened smoke rising from the stronghold. They were kamikaze bombers. Dragons. I couldn’t believe it.
Soldiers ran, regrouped, jumped from the fortress, and scrambled into the sand as they burned.
The PA system in our camp crackled to life: Attention. Attention all personnel. All on-duty surgical staff report to the OR immediately. All off duty, sit tight. You’re next.
The mess tent was quiet as death for a split second. Then tables rattled and chairs groaned as anyone who had anything to do with the OR headed for surgery.
Thaïs knocked against me and I didn’t even care. I was used to violence, tragedy. I just didn’t expect to get a front-row seat—or for it all to start again today.
Bodies crowded together as we bottlenecked at the door. I was shorter than most of the people around here and the mass moved against me with claustrophobic fervor.
The air grew thicker, hot.
I shook it off. At least I knew I’d make it out of the mess tent alive. No telling what the start of the violence meant for Galen. He’d be heading back into battle as a mortal.
“Hold up!” someone ahead yelled.
I ran smack-dab into the soldier in front of me as the crowd ground to a halt.
“What is it now?” Thaïs grumbled.
PNN droned above the crowd.
“In breaking news, a new prophecy is being handed down right now by the oracles.”
I stared at Thaïs for the first and perhaps only unguarded moment in our lives. “Now?” They wanted to screw with us now?
He looked as shocked as I felt. It used to take weeks for the oracles to deliver a prophecy. It gave me time to prepare.
I edged past him, toward a chair that had toppled in the fray. I turned it upright and stepped up above the crowd. I wasn’t the only one. Person-by-short-person, heads popped up like gophers.
Valerie was saying something, but I couldn’t hear because the crowd noise had started up again—on-call people trying to get the hell out versus backup medical like me who had to see exactly what was going on. The crowd jostled against my legs.
PNN cut to a shot of people camping out up on a mountain. There were hookah vendors, dancing girls, and tents full of tailgaters.
“Disgusting.” Thaïs grunted next to me. “Ever since Hermes tweeted the location of the hidden continent, it’s been a goddamned hippie party.”
We watched a pink-suited PNN reporter struggle against a conga line as she tried to get in her live shot.
Thaïs made a lewd gesture at the screen. “There are condos going up on the far side of the mountain, for gods’ sake!”
“Pipe down.” He was not my new TV-watching buddy. Besides, I wanted to hear.
PNN cut to a shot of the three oracles emerging from their cave and onto a platform overlooking the sea.
There was Radhiki, in a bloodstained sack, wearing huge round sunglasses that covered half of her face. She looked more like a Real Housewife than a feared oracle as she stared out into the ocean.
There was Lu-Hua, her stick-straight black hair arranged in layers and streaked with blond highlights as she held up a large femur bone.
There was Ama, with bloodred paint smeared over her ebony cheeks, wearing a glittery gold tank top and a censor’s rectangle covering her girly parts.
Lovely. Even the oracles had gone Hollywood.
Ama hissed as the camera panned in on her face. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she began to hum.
A hush fell over the crowd, and our mess tent, as we waited for her to speak. To tell us what came next.
Hell, I’d be willing to do just about anything to prevent a tragedy like the one we’d seen today.
Her lips quaked as she groaned. “The healer who can see the dead…”
Her eyes flew open and I nearly sidestepped off my chair. She began panting, gaze unfocused. “The healer will uncover the bronze weapon,” she snarled.
Hell. Not that thing again. I didn’t know whether to slink to the floor or scream bloody murder. I’d had enough of the bronze dagger to last me a lifetime—quite possibly three or four.
Ama snarled. “With it, the healer shall arrest the gods.”
Oh, sure. Why not go up against the gods?
Ever since I’d been forced to yank it out of Galen’s dying body, the bronze dagger had brought nothing but fear and damnation. I’d had to deal with it while it followed me around. I’d had to use it to fend off soul-sucking Shrouds. The thing had practically stalked me outside of a hell vent.
I was so glad when the goddess Eris swiped it. I thought I’d finally gotten rid of it. But no. I was never done with the bronze dagger. At that point, I was convinced the bloody weapon would follow me to my grave—or worse—put me in it.
But I’d do it. I’d take up the dagger again. I’d do it for every kid out there on the battlefield right now. Every soldier injured and fighting for life. As well as the ones who hadn’t made it.
Ama collapsed onto the ground, spent.
Oh, well, wasn’t that nice? At least somebody could relax around here.
A healer who can see the dead will uncover the bronze weapon.
When? Why?
The least she could do was give me some fucking detail.
Grim, I eased down from the cafeteria chair and made my way out of the tent. No doubt I’d find out soon enough.
chapter six
The yard was clogged with casualties, and I could hear more choppers on the way. I stopped to triage a burn patient. They’d packed dressings on his chest, neck, and on the right side of his face. His left was criss-crossed with so many scars, I could barely tell what he was supposed to look like.
“Hang in there, soldier. I’ve got you.” I eased back the gauze in a few spots to see what we had. Second- and third-degree burns, a mix of mottled black and red oozing wounds.
An out-of-breath EMT drew up next to me. “We’ve given him glucose and saline.”
“Good.” He was losing a lot of fluids. The gauze was soaked. I took a closer look. He was swelling fast. I kept my face carefully neutral as my heart sped up. “He’s going to lose that airway.”
; The soldier watched me, his eyes hard with pain and fear.
We didn’t have much time. I stared daggers at the EMT. “Give me a trach tube. Now.” Before he dilated to the point where we couldn’t get it in.
“We’re going to get you through this,” I said, focusing on the soldier. He was a corporal. Infantry. I glanced down at his neck. His dog tags were gone. Damn it. Was it too much to ask that I actually know about my patients?
A cool shiver ran through me as the ghost of my former nurse shimmered into focus next to me. Charlie looked like a teenager, too skinny for his rusty red army scrubs. “They’re in his left pants pocket.”
I really hated when Charlie showed up. But in this case, I hoped he was right.
One way to find out. I winced. “I’m sorry to do this.” The soldier’s combat fatigues were bloody and torn. Trying not to grimace at the pain I knew I was causing, I slid a hand into my patient’s pocket.
“You got it,” Charlie said, reaching down to help, his hands passing right through our patient. My fingers came in contact with metal. “Jimmy Zern,” he said. “He’s a shifter. Twenty-two years old. Blood type A positive.”
I slid the dog tags out and flipped them over in my hand. Damned if he wasn’t right. I clutched the tags and pointed to the nearest nurse. “Get me three hundred cc’s of morphine.”
The soldier was in obvious distress.
The EMT returned with my trach tube. My patient was starting to gasp.
I glanced at the hard face of the EMT. “You didn’t give this patient a painkiller.”
His eyes flicked up to me as he positioned the soldier’s head. “I’m not allowed to anesthetize immortals in the field.”
“He’s a shifter,” I snapped. Gods be damned. We couldn’t wait.
My patient gasped and gurgled as I inched the tube down his throat, without the benefit of morphine. I felt his pain. It was suffocating both of us.
But we got the tube down. He could breathe.
“Ready?” I asked the EMT as I handled the legs and he took the shoulders. We hoisted the corporal onto a stretcher and rushed him inside.
A half-dozen nurses had turned the walk-in clinic into a makeshift burn unit. They’d cut off his clothing and bandage the burns. We hooked the corporal up to a ventilator and assigned him to a twenty-four-hour watch. He should make it. At least he was in good hands.
