by Angie Fox
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 and 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. The most powerful gods might 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. Dang it. 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 Rohlmann had stayed in his hutch like he was supposed to. Hans Rohlmann was a legendary tactical genius. Still, I had no idea how he even got out. We’d nailed his door shut. He’d 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 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 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 going, 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. Then I told him about the dagger showing up in my locker, and how Rodger and I had tried to get rid of it.
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 me 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. “I can try.”
“Or, wait. Maybe I should take it if it’s evil.” At the very least it was disturbing. I didn’t want Father getting hurt.
I didn’t like how it had followed me. Or that it had seemed to take on a life of its own.
“It’s a tool.” He ran his hand over the bundle, like he was testing it. “Our lack of understanding doesn’t make it evil.”
He would have to say that.
He leaned and placed it in one of the cubbies in his desk.
“As long as you don’t think it will hurt you,” I said, feeling a little guilty for foisting it off on him.
“We’ll leave it be,” he assured me. “This isn’t something you want to rush,” he added, returning to his chair. “We’ll take our time and do the right thing. If this is nothing, it should be clear if we give it time. If it’s more… well, we’ll have to see what happens.”
I groaned. As much as I needed McArio’s advice, there were times when I really didn’t like what he had to say.
He knew it, too. “You’re young.”
“Compared with everyone around here.”
“And in such a hurry,” he continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “Will the world end if you don’t have every answer right away?”
I’d like to think so. “Yes.”
McArio barked out a laugh. “We’re blessed to have you.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“If the Lord can have patience, so can I.” The twinkle was back in his eye. “Now tell me. Is this the only thing you came to see me about?”
I wanted to say yes. “No.”
We watched the puppy settle onto a doggy bed sculpted from a bedpan and topped with one of Father’s old shirts. My thoughts traveled back to Galen. “I took the knife out of a special ops soldier. It broke off inside him.”
Father’s eyes softened. “And he died.”
“I saved his life,” I said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s willing to tell me where he was when he was stabbed—or who did it.” I flushed, caught up in the emotion of it. “He says he doesn’t know that part.”
Father nodded, listening. “What else?”
“What makes you think there’s anything else?” I asked.
Father simply waited.
He wasn’t going to make this easy.
Somehow, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t admit to Father that I’d touched the man’s soul.
It was too deeply embedded, too real to explain. It was almost as if saying it out loud would diminish it. And I wanted to preserve that connection. Treasure it where nothing and nobody could touch it. It was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me.
Galen had affected me in ways I was still trying to understand.
“Petra?” Father asked.
“I’m attracted to him.” There. I’d given him something.
The priest tilted his head as if what I’d just told him wasn’t completely crazy. “What do you think is wrong with being attracted to a man?”
He had to be kidding. “I’m a doctor!”
Father rubbed his chin. “He’s a demigod.”
“Very much so.” I couldn’t believe he might actually like me back.
Father gave me a small smile. “You haven’t allowed yourself to feel. At first, I wondered if it was because of your accident when you first came. Then there is an adjustment to the difficulties of your job and of losing good soldiers. Now I wonder if you’ve just forgotten how.”
He was wrong. I felt plenty. I just couldn’t get it out. I swallowed the memories and the pain. “He’s still my patient.”
“Like that’s ever stopped anyone around here.” McArio’s mouth twisted. “If half the people ‘visiting the good father’ actually visited the good father, I’d have a lot more company.”
“Remember you’re talking to a Cajun Catholic. We were born to feel guilt.”
“It’s more than that,” he said gently.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this place had damaged me more than I knew. I had no idea what normal felt like anymore.
Worse, I realized with a start, this was the first time I’d experienced any real attraction to a man since I’d been with Marc. And he’d been dead ten years.
“Give yourself permission to be human,” Father said. “You deserve to be happy.”
The puppy began to snore, and Father broke out into a big grin. “Besides,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “it’s not against army regulations.”
I stared at him.
He cocked his head. “Let me guess. You’ve never read the handbook.”
“I’ve skimmed parts,” I said defensively.
“Right. Well, look at it this way. Have you seen how some of these creatures who call themselves gods have acted over the centuries?”
“Good point.”
“Some of them have experienced truly tragic attractions. What you seem to be experiencing is quite natural. And healthy.”
Too healthy.
Father bowed his head. “Now let’s pray.”
We bowed our heads as the hellhound lay on his back, dreaming and chasing imaginary hellcats.
I felt a little better as I left McArio’s hut. Sure, I still had more questions than answers, but he’d given me a lot to think about. And I had to admit Fitz was pretty cute.
Shadows rose around me as I approached the fork in the road. Maybe I should have taken McArio up on his offer to walk me home. He always seemed to avoid the pranks. I hoped that wasn’t because he was pulling a lot of them.
A cold wind blew in from the desert as I glanced back at the light in the distance. No, I wouldn’t do it. I’d already left him with a cursed knife. Besides, the man should be retire
d. He didn’t need to be walking me through the minefield in the middle of the night.
I’d made it through once before, and I’d make it again. I tightened my jacket around me and checked my watch. At least it was late enough that most of the loving couples should be back from the rocks. Hopefully they’d sprung most of the traps already.
One step at a time. I edged past the Hickey Horns bus, barely avoiding the skeleton of a helicopter half scrapped for parts. Only this time, it felt different.
Icy cold settled on the back of my neck. It felt like someone was watching.
My torch had burned down while I’d been inside McArio’s hut. The low flame cast deep shadows, barely illuminating the ground in front of me. The minefield seemed taller than before, longer. I could see my breath in puffs in front of me.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I was a doctor. I was logical. Thinking types didn’t get scared of the dark.
My galloping heart disagreed with me.
I searched for the barbecued VIP shower tent. Where was that charred heap of junk? Heaven help me if I got lost in the maze of metal.
It reminded me of being a sweaty-palmed kid in my dad’s basement. I could almost feel the beasts lurking in the shadows.
Skreek!
I lurched forward as something landed with a thud behind me. Pranks be damned. I took off running.
Skreek!
It caught my jacket and yanked me backward.
“Oh my god.” I darted forward, tearing free. It grabbed for my legs.
I zigzagged like Walter Payton, or more like a panic-slapped doctor running for her life. Sweet heaven. This had better be a prank.
Skreek!
I could hear it scuttling behind me as I made a mad dash down the path, leaping over rocks and twisted metal. My torch was useless, but the moon was high. I focused everything I had on the patch of ground right in front of me. No way was I going to fall down like some horror-movie twit.
It was gaining. I had to find cover. I could feel the ground shaking behind me.
There! I spotted a broken-down jeep to my left. It’d have to do. I scrambled inside as an immense claw struck the ground, sending up a shower of rocks.
No prank.
