by Angie Fox
I straightened my shoulders. “I know.” It was the truth. If I didn’t trust him, I would never have moved toward a giant poison scorpion stinger. I gave an involuntary shudder. I would have been crushed in the backseat of that jeep.
He kept his distance as if he were assessing the situation. And me. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Because I’m tired of you lying to me.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t owe you anything.”
He slammed his fist down on the countertop, sending dishes clattering. “This isn’t about either one of us.” With great effort, he collected himself. “Lives are at stake.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I shot back. “I’m the one who put you back together.”
Two large strides and he closed the space between us. “You lied to me. You said you didn’t see me on the table.” He towered over me. “Admit it. You saw.”
“Fine.” There was no use denying it any longer. “I saw you. I held your soul in my hands.”
His anger vanished. “I remember.”
He stood, stunned.
Oh no. It really was coming back to him.
“We touched,” he said. “It was like grabbing on to a live wire. And then I could see inside you. I could feel it, in my hands, your strength and your dedication. The way you care for people you’ve never met before. The way you ached for me. You didn’t even know me.” He stopped for a moment as if he didn’t quite know how to say it. “You’re ashamed of that, but you don’t need to be. You don’t need to hide from me.”
I suddenly felt exposed, raw.
“All I ask is that you respect my secret,” I said, although frankly I didn’t know if he was listening at that point. “You know what they’d do to me if the truth ever came out. I’m just trying to protect myself.”
His expression was soul searing, intense. “Petra,” he said, pure wonder in his voice, “you’re beautiful.”
I cringed. It was as if he were trying to rip down every wall I’d put up, and leave me bare and bloody. “No, I’m not. I’m strong and practical and excellent at what I do.”
His face didn’t waver. “You try to hide it, but I saw. Even before I remembered, I knew.”
It was too hard to explain. Too painful. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“I know. I won’t push you. There’s no need. I already see what’s there.” He watched me with such intensity it hurt. “You don’t know how good it feels to know there’s someone like you in the world.”
Yes. Failed, cranky, and hiding my power.
“So can we keep this between us?” I asked. Because I really didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity pushing a rock up a hill, or whatever the gods would do to me.
“We can,” he said, easing.
I tried not to fall sideways in relief.
“We’ll do this together,” he stated.
“What?” Oh no. “I’m not doing anything else. Listen, other than”—I gestured, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it—“that thing that happened with us, talking to the dead isn’t what you think.” It wasn’t what anybody thought. That was why I kept it to myself. I rubbed my temples as if by mere force of will I could make him understand. “I don’t talk to executed mortals or immortals. I don’t talk to the souls of hell, and I don’t have anything to do with the prophecy.”
“How do you know?” he pressed. “The oracle couldn’t predict who would be chosen.”
“Exactly,” I said on an exhale. I turned my back on him and grabbed a coffee cup from a rack by the sink. I was in desperate need of some distance here. “Do you realize how nebulous the oracle can be?”
He stood stock-still, watching me. “The signs are never exact. That’s why we have to be open to every possibility. Including this one.”
I snapped, “This is my life you’re talking about.”
“This is war,” he countered.
Oh, great. “One sacrifice for the sake of many. How noble of you.”
The kicker was, he thought it would make a difference.
He came from a place that believed in woo-woo predictions. They’d been doing it in central Greece for thousands of years. Of course, I came from New Orleans, so I guess you could say the same thing about me.
Then again, I didn’t always believe in the weather report, much less this.
He was asking me to expose myself—my secret—in the hopes that I might be the one. And if I wasn’t? Well then, there was one more dead doctor in this war.
No, thanks.
I yanked the coffeepot from the brew station. The steeping brew hissed and crackled on the hot plate as I filled my cup with as much of it as I could get. It was a pathetic little cup.
Galen had taken a spot by the counter. Maybe he thought he was giving me some space, but I knew better. The man was a rock.
“Remember the first step,” he said. “The oracle predicts that a healer whose hands can touch the dead will receive a bronze dagger.”
“I didn’t receive a dagger,” I reminded him. “It was thrust into your chest.”
“You took it out.”
“To save your miserable life!”
“And now the first part of the prophecy has come true,” he said as if I’d just confirmed everything he believed. Galen was taking two separate incidents and twisting them all out of order.
“Keep it down,” I hissed. The place might’ve been deserted, but we were still breaking and entering. “You’re asking me to risk eternal torture on a hunch, just because some knife keeps following me around.”
His gaze traveled over me. “I saw your pain,” he said as if he was deconstructing me, “but I didn’t know it ran this deep.”
Glaring at him, I cradled my cup defensively. “I don’t want to hear about my pain.” Or any obligations he thought I had. “You can’t force these things.”
The corner of his lip curled. “Watch me.”
“That wasn’t a dare.” And he wondered why I wasn’t exactly racing to help him. I took a drink and felt the warm liquid ease down my throat. It should have been soothing. It wasn’t.
“You don’t have a choice,” he said as if it were fact. “You’re already in this. You couldn’t leave camp tonight without being attacked by killer scorpions.”
He would have to point that out. “Maybe they weren’t following me,” I reasoned. “Maybe I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Not that I was going to visit Father McArio at night anymore, if at all.
“You want to know what I think?” he asked, leaning a hip against the counter.
“No.”
The man would be perfect if he didn’t have so many theories.
“I think we’re already on this journey. From the moment you pulled that dagger out of me, it was decided.”
I shook my head. “Nobody else saw what happened between us.” If they had, I’d have been taken and punished already. I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but what happened back there feels like a shot in the dark.”
Unless the knife had attracted them to me. If that was the case, there was nothing I could do.
He gritted his jaw as he worked it through. “That’s what I’m wondering, too. They know there’s a doctor out there who sees the dead and who pulled out the bronze dagger. The gods on either side could have sent the scorpions.”
“Wait, so you’re saying our side could be trying to kill me?”
“They’re trying to stop the prophecy. Which means the first part has already come true.”
I brought a hand to my temple. “I think we already had this argument.”
“Discussion,” he countered. “Just because you refuse to see the truth doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”
“Maybe I’ll go back in and face those imps. It’s better than having this conversation.”
The scar across his right eyebrow furrowed as he gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “I have no words.”
Th
at would be a first.
He stood assessing me. Finally, he said, “I was stabbed at a hell vent just north of here.”
I paused over the edge of my coffee cup. “What does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know. It was in the heat of battle. I didn’t see who shoved it into my chest.”
I sighed. “Do you want to see the knife?” I slipped a hand into my scrubs and felt its heavy weight. I removed it slowly and handed it to him.
He held it for a moment as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had.
“I sent it straight to weapons waste after surgery. It’s standard procedure,” I said quickly, trying to soothe his horror. “Anyhow, it didn’t stay gone for long. Someone put it in my locker.”
He studied it like it was a sacred relic. “Then you let a werewolf throw it into a swamp.”
“It came back,” I said stiffly.
Still. “I’m not the one,” I reminded him.
He retreated to the door and studied the knife under the light of the single lantern. Firelight played off the strong lines of his face, casting shadows. “You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can.”
The back of my eyes burned with the memory. He wasn’t going to get it from me. He knew too much already. And I absolutely refused to let Galen twist it around like he had everything else.
I’d give anything for an end to this war, to have a normal life. But I’d been there, tried that, and it had been horrifying.
“I know I’m not special,” I said, moving out of his sight line. His profile was hard and clean. “I’m just cursed.”
He turned to me with warmth in his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
I clutched my coffee cup, embarrassed in a way I couldn’t even express.
“The oracles would see your power. They’d know when it’s time,” he said. “In fact, once they made their discovery, they’d go straight to the gods. Your attack tonight proves it.”
It didn’t look good.
“I stayed to protect you.”
“How do we know that?” How could we prove any of this? The strain of the night seeped into my bones. “Maybe this is crystal clear to you, but I’m used to dealing with facts, science, things that are instead of things that might be.”
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?”
“If you ship me out tomorrow, then it is over.”
My heart caught in my throat. It was exactly what I wanted, and it wasn’t. I had to get a grip.
“You’re healthy as an ox,” I told him. The man was skewering assassins, for pity’s sake. I didn’t understand why he’d make this kind of deal. “I’ll examine you tomorrow,” I said. “And I’ll make it fair,” I was quick to add. “But my guess is you’re going back to your unit.”
“Then you’ll be rid of me,” he said, with too much confidence for my taste.
I dumped my coffee out. “You don’t have to say it that way.” Not after what he’d done for me tonight.
Then unease settled into my gut. “Why aren’t you worried?”
The side of his mouth quirked. “It’s a test of faith.”
“I’m not so good at those.”
The warm light from the lantern played over his features. “I am.”
Damned if he didn’t look delicious.
And smug.
“I don’t believe I’m fated to leave,” he said. He wrapped the knife once more. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we receive the second prophecy soon.”
“Exactly what I need.” Another prophecy.
He finished wrapping the dagger and handed it back to me. “You’ll see.”
I eased the knife into my coat pocket. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I walked Galen back to recovery in silence. We’d said everything there was to say. After that, it was a matter for the fates. Heaven help me.
He shot me a grin, then I watched him disappear around back. I didn’t even want to know how he snuck into bed. From Jeffe’s shouts, I could tell he made quick work of it.
Back at my hutch, sleep was impossible. Not with Rodger snoring and Marius glaring at me. So an hour later I found myself back in recovery.
The charge nurse glanced up at me as I slipped inside.
“I want to prepare some release paperwork,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“You’re up early,” she said, her blond twist bun flopping forward as she bent to pull out my patient files.
I glanced down at the darkened rows of beds. “Galen of Delphi,” I said under my breath, hoping he was asleep.
She shuffled through the charts. “I don’t see him,” she said as if we were talking about a pencil instead of a person.
“He’s here.” Believe me.
“Oh, he’s here all right.” She set a chart down by her laptop. “But he’s not yours anymore.”
“What?” I barked. “I mean”—I brought it down a notch—“of course he’s mine.” Until I booked him on the first transport out of here.
“No…” she said, her voice droning as she ran a finger down his paperwork. “You transferred him.”
“No, I didn’t. He’s in bed 22A,” I said. Probably awake. And listening.
“Let me look.” She began clacking keys on her laptop, and I resisted the urge to start drumming my fingers on her desk. This wasn’t brain surgery. This was a simple patient release. I’d done it hundreds of times. It wasn’t hard.
She furrowed her brows. “This is something.”
“No, it’s not.” Whatever it was, it was not.
She pointed at her screen, edging the computer around for me to see. “You transferred him to Dr. Freierrmuth.”
Okay. Sure. Maybe that was what the screen said. “But he didn’t go to the 4027th,” I assured her. I tugged my collar, starting to get a little desperate.
Come on. This had to work. I’d told Galen it would work.
The nurse looked at me over her glasses. “Dr. Freierrmuth died in 1812.”
Of all the… “I talked to Dr. Freiermuth last week!”
“Well, yes. I talked to Diane, too,” the nurse said as if she were actually helping. “But you didn’t transfer your patient to Dr. Freiermuth. You added an r, which makes it Dr. Freierrmuth.”
“So?” I demanded. My handwriting was messy. Add the fact I’d been writing on a chart braced on my hip. And I’d been a little stressed at the time.
“Different doctor.”
“You said yourself Dr. Freierrmuth is dead!”
“Yes. But the transfer paperwork went through.”
This didn’t make any sense. “So what does that mean?”
“It means Galen of Delphi is under the care of Dr. Freierrmuth.”
“The dead woman.” I took a calming yoga breath. It didn’t work.
“He was actually a man,” she corrected. “Dr. Helmut Freierrmuth.” She glanced up. “Obviously we’ll keep your patient here.”
“And transfer him back to me,” I said. They’d have to give him back.
“No.” She tapped at her computer. “Dr. Freierrmuth would have to sign off on that.”
I resisted the urge to scream. “You do realize—”
“He’s dead,” she concluded. “Yes. I’m not saying it makes sense, but it is army regulations.”
I blew out a breath. “I hate the army.”
“That doesn’t change regulations.”
I wanted to pound my head against the desk. “Okay.” Focus. “How do we fix this?”
She shrugged. “I’ll send a note to headquarters.”
“A note? No. You’re going to send more than a note.” Headquarters was notoriously slow. They were still deciding their position on the destruction of Atlantis.
She stared at me like I was the crazy one. “It’ll be a good note.”
“No.” We needed to do more than that.
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “In the meantim
e, the patient stays here.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, backing away, not wanting to think, dream, imagine Galen could be right on this one. I was going to get rid of him one way or another. Today.
I charged out of the recovery room and ran straight into Horace. “Watch it,” he demanded, holding up a box as if I were about to mash it to bits. “What’s your problem?”
“I need somebody raised from the dead.”
Horace frowned. “I told you to avoid the tough cases.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I balked.
“Good,” he said, as the box in his hand let out a series of squeaks.
“That had better not be what I think it is,” I warned him.
The small god huffed. “It’s nothing.”
Really? Horace wasn’t hovering high enough. I flipped open the lid, and a tiny dinosaur head popped out.
“You can’t have that,” I said. “Them,” I corrected as a second one shoved its snout out an airhole.
“Rodger gave them to me,” Horace said, cramming the lid back on. “He has too many.”
Did he ever.
“Keep them separated,” I warned. “Boys from girls.”
“How can you tell?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
“I’ll figure it out,” I promised.
He could count on that. But first I had to see a guy about a dead doctor.
Chapter Ten
I pushed into Kosta’s outer office and nearly tripped over a case of condoms. Ribbed for her pleasure. “What is this?” I asked, nudging it out of the way.
The colonel’s new assistant poked her head out from behind an entire stack of condom boxes. “Keep it there. I’m counting.” Shirley emerged with a clipboard, shaking her curly red head. “That’s twenty-four cases…eighty boxes per case…twenty-five per box…” Her head snapped up, horror flooding her delicate features. “How am I going to get rid of forty-eight thousand condoms?”
I surveyed the boxes scattered across the otherwise bare office. “First, you’re going to need a few nights off.”
She groaned into her clipboard. “Why do I even ask you these things?”
Heck if I knew. “I can set you up with Marius.”
She peeked out from behind her inventory sheets. “Isn’t he gay?”
