The Transylvania Twist

by Angie Fox

  “He drank our Medusa water.”

  Father’s skin heated. His breath came in pants. “Ohmygod.” 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. Heck, I hadn’t even thought about it until a minute ago.

  I tore through the boxes in the corner, looking for Nerthus’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. Fricking thing was made for superstrength. I dropped it on the floor and stomped on it.

  It burst open, filling the tent with spicy incense.

  A cloud formed and a 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 that? “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 ordered.

  Father had maintained consciousness, but had begun to pant. “His heart rate’s one thirty-five,” Marc said.

  Not good.

  “Doctor?” Medusa hissed.

  I looked back to see her slithering up to the vaporous cloud, which was 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 assumed a water bottle was a water bottle, and this isn’t helping me,” I said, getting a rein on my emotions. “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 kidding me,” he growled as he stood and exited the room. Thank heaven 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.

  “Goodbye,” 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 hell?” I heard Marc holler as I sped south, on my way out of camp.

  Pretty much.

  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 wasn’t like I had a road or a compass or…anything.

  Real smart, Petra. The constellation Hito was in the south tonight. I’d use it as a guide.

  While a lot of the constellations on Earth were named after heroes and gods, the ones down here were 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 God Army, but I sure as heck 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.

  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 wasn’t like I’d brought emergency flares or the disruptor or even a fricking bubble to call a goddess.

  What 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 va
st 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. I’ll kiss him silly.

  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.

  I took a deep, shuddering breath. I never thought I’d be so glad to see a hell vent. This had to be it.

  My arms shook.

  This was it.

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

  “That was…disturbing.”

  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 back seat, 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. 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. 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.

  I knew that knife.

  It was as long as my hand, with a compact handle and a triangular blade. This was no army-issue weapon. It was old and ornate. The grip was wide, wrapped in leather. The top curved to form the head of a serpent.

  I’d seen this knife before. It had been mine. I’d lost it in the desert while fighting for my life. And if I drew it out of the soil, I might never get rid of it again.

  “What is this place?” I muttered, gripping the cross tighter as I left the knife to the desert.

  To my right, I heard a moan. Yikes. I’d left a few soul-sucking Shrouds back here once upon a time.

  I smelled gasoline and death.

  Heart in my throat, I shone my light on the source of the noise. Bodies littered the ground. There had to have been at least a dozen old army soldiers slaughtered. The carnage was sickening.

  Among the dead lay the coiled, smoking bodies of imps.

  Fitz whimpered, sniffing the ground.

  A sweet breeze blew in the palm trees, not ten feet away. With it, I could feel the electric undercurrent of evil slide over my skin.

  “Help…” a woman’s voice called from the mess, weakly.

  I winced, and for one guilty moment, I wished I hadn’t heard.

  I was already in the middle of an emergency medical case, one that involved my friend and my mentor. I was here to save Father McArio, not get involved with whatever the Old God Army was doing right on top of a hell vent.

  Stopping could cost Father his life. Judging from the carnage I’d seen, the injured soldier could easily be too critical to move, or to treat here. She probably wouldn’t survive.

  Merde.

  My light glanced over a smoking, wrecked Humvee. The bulletproof windows were shattered. The tires had been slashed, one completely torn off. There were gouges in the metal sides.

  Then I saw something move. I trained my light down on the crumpled form of a woman. She clutched a bloody towel to her neck. Light brown hair fell from a messy bun into her eyes. They widened when she saw me.

  At that moment, I felt a piece of me crumble. I steeled myself and went to help.

  “Are you a priest?” she asked, her words thick as I knelt down beside her.

  She wasn’t Catholic or she’d know.

  “I’m a doctor,” I said, propping my light up on an ammo case.

  Blood pooled under the injured woman, and I felt my adrenaline surge. Her neck wasn’t our main problem, not if she could still talk. She was pale. Her pulse was thready. I inspected her legs. Her pants were torn and bloody. I probably wasn’t going to be able to move her without opening something up. I had to see more.

  “Do you have a knife?” I said, taking a quick peek at her neck. I was right. It was bad, but it could wait. Her legs, on the other hand… “We need to cut these pants off.”

  “No knife,” she said, every word an effort.

  “None?” Unbelievable. I didn’t know who was equipping these old army soldiers or what they were doing here or how I was going to find a… My stomach plummeted as the truth slammed into me. “Mother Mary on a biscuit.”

  I stood, anger pulsing through me as I grabbed the flashlight. “Just a second,” I said to my patient, horrified, amazed, and resigned. “I don’t believe this,” I muttered, stalking back to the ancient knife right where I’d left it months ago, half buried in the sand.

  A wise man I knew said once that the universe always had a plan.

  Sometimes I really hated the universe.

  I reached down, grasped the leather handle, and yanked the dagger from the soil. Yep. I knew this one. Intricate, time-worn carvings wound down the blade, and there was a sliver missing from the tip.

  Heaven almighty.

  I hurried back to the soldier. “You still with me?”

  She nodded and watched as I used the knife to slice away her pants. It was as if she’d been attacked by wild animals. “Let me see your canteen.” I shrugged out of my scrub top, leaving only my white tank as I dumped water on my shirt and began cleaning the blood away. All of the cuts were deep, jagged. These things had mauled her.

  My patient was edgy, fearful. She could see how bad it was. “You just hold on. I’m going to help you.”

  She gave a weak nod. “I wish you were a priest.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t give up yet.” I found the source of the worst bleeding. The imps had nicked an artery. I reached down for my boot, tugging the laces off.

  She lolled her head to the side. �
��Why do you have a cross on the side of your Jeep?”

  She was talking too much. She shouldn’t be feeling up to talking. It was a bad sign. “I borrowed it from a friend,” I said, hoping she’d let it go. Patients sometimes got a surge of strength at the end. I didn’t want to think I hadn’t reached her in time.

  I tied off the makeshift tourniquet and began treating her other wounds as best I could. She’d lost too much blood.

  “I’m Dr. Robichaud, MASH 3063rd. Our camp is about an hour back. As soon as I get you stable, I’m going to put you in my Jeep and take you there.”

  I glanced back at the hell vent. Maybe I could get Father’s antidote first. No. Guilt swamped me. The delay could kill her.

  Or him.

  Hades.

  But I’d already made my choice, hadn’t I?

  I’d chosen duty over my friend.

  My patient began to shake. She’d lost too much blood. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to try to stand.”

  It was a struggle, but we managed to get her into the passenger side of the Jeep.

  I’d left the dagger behind on the ground, but I wasn’t fool enough to think it would stay there. One problem at a time. I reached in the back for the foam lining of Father’s exorcism kit, letting the soldier use it as a pillow.

  “Thank you,” she said, bracing herself against the pain. “You saved me.”

  I appreciated her confidence, but we weren’t out of the woods yet. “You relax,” I said, starting up the Jeep. Every vibration had to be like razor blades to her sliced-up legs. She was still bleeding.

  We sped away from the hell vent and headed due north to camp. I hoped I was going straight. I’d forgotten to look at the stars.

  Please, God, guide me. Let me find a way to save her and Father, too.

  But even as I drove, I knew I’d chosen. This girl would bleed out if I didn’t get her back. Father would die if I didn’t get the fruit.

  Tears stung my eyes. He was my mentor, my friend, one of the greatest men I’d ever known. He was also here to save people like this young soldier.

  He was Saint Jogues, the martyr.

  Arf! Fitz leapt from the back and into my lap. Dang, I’d forgotten all about the dog.

  “Stop it,” I said, depositing him in the back.