The Transylvania Twist: A dead funny romantic comedy (The Monster MASH Trilogy Book 2)

by Angie Fox

  “Oh, no. Do not pull that on me.” He could at least give me the facts so that we could argue about them.

  His jaw was tight, his expression guarded, and I realized I was talking to Galen the warrior instead of Galen the man. “If there was another way, I’d find it. You know I’d fight for you. I’d do anything to be with you. But I’m not going to lose you. I’m not going to be the one who unleashes the gods on you.” He spoke as if he were in physical pain. “We have to cut it off. Now.”

  “Just tell me what changed.” I needed to understand. “And why is this your decision?” He had to throw me a bone. I was stronger than I looked. “Tell me what’s going on, and we can fight this.” Whatever this was, we could face it together.

  He bristled. “This isn’t up for debate. I’m not going to let you do anything stupid that could get you killed.”

  Oh, sure. Fine. “But it’s okay for you to die.”

  He cleared his throat, and suddenly I felt horribly guilty. There was a real chance I would never see him again, even if he wasn’t being an idiot and breaking up with me.

  He said the words slowly, as if he’d gone over them so many times in his mind that they were permanently fixed. “We knew when I lost my powers that eventually it could end badly,” he said. “Please. Don’t let this be the way we say goodbye.”

  I planted my hands on my hips and stared him right in the baby blues. Too bad for him I was terrible at letting things die. “I’m sorry to screw up your noble moment here, but this is war. We’re soldiers. We fight. And I’m going to be with you until the end whether you like it or not.”

  “You are in danger,” he said, his words clipped. “Every second I stay here in this camp with you, you are at risk.”

  “Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.” He’d known from the start I was the loyal type. The prophecies had worked in strange ways last time, but we’d made it precisely because we’d stuck together. “Why don’t you let me choose whether or not I want to risk it?” I’d been through enough already. This was war. I’d lost my first love, Marc, to the senseless violence. I never regretted sticking with him until the end, and I wasn’t about to abandon Galen, either.

  He glared at me. At least he wasn’t arguing anymore.

  “So it’s a risk,” I prodded. “What kind of risk?” I’d chanced the wrath of the gods themselves last month. I could handle whatever Galen had to face. I could see him working to close himself off.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have even told you that much.”

  “But you did,” I pointed out. We didn’t have secrets. “You’ve let me in on things before.”

  He broke. “Not this time,” he thundered.

  Why did I go for the stubborn ones? “You said you loved me,” I pointed out.

  He cursed under his breath. “I do,” he stated flatly.

  “Boy, every girl dreams of a guy saying it that way,” I mused.

  He reached out slowly, deliberately, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

  “I want you to be happy,” he said simply.

  “Then don’t be an asshat.” If I had to get out the hand puppets, I would.

  Galen ran a hand through his short, clipped hair. His jaw ground tight. “If I somehow make it back in five, ten, fifty years and you’re still here and still available—then it’s fate. But if I come back and find you happy, I’m okay with that, too.” He was intense, almost pleading. I’d never seen him like that before.

  “Galen—”

  His eyes glittered. “If I die, I don’t want to go knowing this time we had only caused you misery in the end.”

  Well, then he was doing a crummy job of it. “You realize you’re making me miserable right now.”

  His expression softened. “Don’t hold back your life the way you did before I met you. You were only existing.” His fingers skimmed my cheek. “More than anything, I want you to live, even if I can’t be there with you.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He brushed his lips against my forehead. “Goodbye, Petra,” he said before he walked out of my life.

  Chapter Two

  So this was it.

  “Un-fricking believable!” I kicked a tombstone, which was a really bad idea. It hurt like a mother. “Son of a…” Tears stung the back of my eyes.

  I liked the pain. I liked being ticked. Otherwise, I was going to curl up on the ground and cry like a baby.

  Galen had no right, no business deciding anything for me. I didn’t care if he was protecting my secret or if he was shielding me from some other abomination of the gods. We’d tackled both of those things on our first adventure—together.

  We’d won, too.

  I didn’t see why it couldn’t be the same now. And I wouldn’t know because he’d shut me out. Cut me off. He’d ended our partnership in the cruelest way possible, because he refused to even tell me why.

  He’d decided for me, for us. Now he had peace. He had resolution, and I had a gaping hole where my life used to be.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I mumbled to myself, weaving through the tombstones, kicking up a small cloud of dust and decay. I ignored my aching right toe. It would heal.

  As for the rest of me?

  I wasn’t so sure.

  I had to move, think. Get away.

  I couldn’t imagine what kind of military order Galen could get that would make him destroy me, end us.

  Unless he really didn’t want to be with me. The horrifying notion settled in my stomach like an ugly black rock.

  Maybe I’d been just a fun diversion, something pleasant to pass the time while he was stuck here, a trophy to be won.

  I barreled onto the main path and almost ran into a supply clerk. She reached out to steady me. “Hey,” she said, “sorry to hear about Galen.”

  “You and me both,” I said, stepping around her, the apology dying on my lips as I wondered how she knew. She had to be talking about the transfer, not the way Galen had just ripped my heart out. Still. Did the whole camp know?

  The petite blonde lingered. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Right,” I said, taking off for my hutch.

  A cold wind whipped in from the desert. Daytime was stifling hot, but we had to fire up the heaters at night. I wrapped my physician’s coat around my body and hugged my arms tight as another gust of wind blew straight through me.

  “Petra.” A few of the nurses clustered outside the officers’ club, waving at me to get my attention.

  I took the long way around. I didn’t want to talk.

  Galen had left me. Just like Marc. Only Marc had had an excuse—he was dead.

  It was full darkness by now, which was good. I wanted to hide.

  Torches lined the walk, casting scattered pools of light.

  We’d talked the new gods into a generator for the hospital, but otherwise they insisted we go old school with lanterns and anything else we could set on fire. And we were supposed to be on the progressive side. Ha.

  I trudged past the OR and the recovery tent. A few soldiers crouched outside the enlisted quarters, laughing as they raced baby swamp monsters and did shots of Hell’s Rain.

  The laughter died down as I passed. Holy Hades. I was a walking party killer.

  “Gentlemen.” I nodded to them as I passed.

  I probably should have warned them that Colonel Kosta would skewer them for harboring illegal creatures, or that as a doctor I didn’t recommend drinking the 180 proof precipitation that fell from the Limbo sky. But that would mean talking to them.

  Yes, Galen is gone.

  Yes, he left me to pick up the pieces.

  Yes, I’ve been through it before.

  I made my way to the officers’ quarters and banged into the hutch I shared with a moody vampire and an overemotional werewolf. Luckily for me, the werewolf was home on leave. The vampire was another story.

  Marius stood preening in front of a mirror we’d tacked up to one of the main hu
tch poles. He’d lit every lantern in the place.

  He wore a black leather jacket, black leather pants, and knee-high swashbuckler boots. His blond hair draped roguishly over one eye, and he gave himself a smoldering look before frowning at me. “I’m sorry to hear about Galen.”

  “Does the whole camp know?” I asked, thumping down on my bed.

  “Yes.”

  “He also broke up with me,” I said, pulling a blanket up to my chin. It was rough and scratchy. I hated it. Maybe I could sleep for a year.

  The vampire tucked a six-pack of Oreos next to me.

  “Where’d you get these?” I grudgingly inspected the pack. They certainly weren’t from his private stash. Marius didn’t eat. And the PX never had chocolate anything.

  He showed his fangs. “I threatened to devour Phineus, the deliveryman.”

  “You don’t even like werewolves,” I said, sitting up.

  “Phineus doesn’t know that.”

  I sampled a cookie while Marius opened a bottle of red wine and poured us both a glass. “Drink,” he said, handing it to me. “Doctor’s orders.”

  I tried to give him a grin and failed.

  Marius took a seat on his footlocker, and we drank in silence. The wine was good, smooth. Very Marius.

  He didn’t ask questions or try to talk to me, which was a relief. We just sat and listened to the tar swamp bubble out back. If he’d been on his way out the door before, he didn’t let on.

  I swirled the liquid in my glass. “Men suck.”

  Marius held up his glass in a mock toast. “Yes, they do.”

  Shirley rapped on my door early the next morning. “Did you hear?”

  I rolled over in bed. “I don’t want to know.”

  She let herself in. Shirley wore her red hair in pigtails today. It was very…Heidi. “The armies are gearing up again,” she said. “It’s all over the news. They say there’s going to be a new prophecy.”

  “Lordy.” My head felt like it was filled with cotton, but I sat up anyway.

  I ground my fingers over my eyes.

  “Come on,” Shirley said, inspecting one of the wineglasses from last night. “The prophecies are exciting.”

  I stood slowly. “Not the word I’d use.”

  It was quite a trick—trying to save the world while being sneaky about it.

  But eventually, it was said that the prophecies would bring lasting peace. I had to cling to that.

  In the meantime…

  “I need a shower,” I told her, using my foot to dig the caddy out from under my cot.

  My towel hung on the clothesline strung across our hutch. I was tired of blood and guts and war. Now Galen had skipped out, the armies were gearing up, and I’d bet my last Oreo that the oracles were going to give us a prediction that would cost a lot of soldiers their lives.

  I managed to make it in and out of the shower tent without anyone giving me any sympathetic clucking about Galen. Probably because everyone was in the mess tent, watching the Paranormal News Network. PNN was our answer to CNN. It was Immortality’s never-ending news source. Or so they said. I supposed we mortals would simply have to take their word for it.

  We owned one television for the entire camp, an ugly, 1970s cabinet model with the carved wood and the curved gray screen.

  We loved it.

  A few of the mechanics had it bolted to a makeshift stand on the far right wall of the mess tent. Today the place was packed. It seemed like everyone who wasn’t on shift was sitting on one of the long cafeteria tables or in one of the chairs clustered up front. An undercurrent of fear whispered through the room.

  Shirley and I wound through the crowd as we worked toward one of the back tables.

  “Petra.” Holly waved from the front. “Come on up.”

  People scooted aside as Shirley and I slid in next to her. I was surprised at the way people let us through. PNN watching was usually a full-contact sport.

  “We heard about Galen,” Holly said, commiserating.

  Ah, so this was a pity seat.

  I could feel people watching me. I lowered my head and scooted in. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “We all liked him,” said someone behind me.

  Yeah, me too.

  “Here. You need this more than I do,” said a round-faced nurse in front of me as she turned and handed me a Bloody Mary with a limp celery stick.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying not to knock the bendy straw. I wasn’t about to turn down liquid fortification.

  Her lips pursed. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  “This is plenty,” I said, pulling out the celery stick. Any more of this sympathy and I was going to jam it in my eye.

  PNN came off commercial break, and everybody cheered. It was like feeding time at the zoo. The picture started skipping, and an orderly sitting on a stool next to the television stood up and pounded on the side of the set a few times.

  A skinny young reporter huddled under an umbrella next to a sheer cliff face. I could tell he was new, and slightly terrified. Volcanic ash and bits of glowing embers rained down, but he pasted on a newsy smile in spite of it. Scalding winds whipped at his bright yellow lava-coat, and he gave a slight cringe as the ground under him vibrated.

  “I’m Fletcher Turley reporting live from the Oracle of the Gods, where the sky is purple and the lava is flowing,” he said breathlessly. “My sources tell me we haven’t had a magma shower like this since they buried Pompeii.” He braced himself as the wind nearly blew him sideways. “PNN was the first on the scene then, just as we are now as the oracles get ready to reveal the next chapter in the war of the gods.”

  The news anchor’s voice boomed from the studio. “Can we get a close-up on that lava shower, Fletcher?”

  “Sure, Stone,” he said, microphone shaking. The camera panned down to the glowing embers bouncing off his polished brown dress shoes.

  I knew what fiery stone looked like. I was more interested in how young Fletcher was going to make it out of that lava field.

  The wind buffeted his umbrella and blew his hair sideways as he held out against the storm. “The crowds are growing out on the water, even though Lemuria is a lost continent,” he hollered, voice rising above the fracas as the camera panned out. Everything from barges to sailboats to kayaks bobbed out on the water. “Officials are warning that observers not use wooden boats, as they are flammable.”

  The camera cut back to the PNN studio, where a slickly coiffed, overly tanned werewolf sat behind a news desk. “Thanks, Fletcher. You’re doing a fine job out there,” he said in perfect news monotone. “As you can see, we have some severe eruptions in the south. Let’s check in with PNN Weather for the update.”

  The camera cut to a skinny redhead in front of a radar screen. “Thanks, Stone. We have a severe eruption warning from Lemuria all the way to the Atlantean islands.” She flipped back her hair as she posed in front of a map of the lost islands dotting the Indian Ocean. “We’re getting reports of falling lava rocks the size of golf balls. PNN Lava Radar shows continuing storms for the next two days, suggesting that the oracles will indeed be shaking things up for a while longer.”

  I turned to Shirley. “I don’t want to wait a few more days.” Then again, maybe I did. Who knew what disaster they were going to predict?

  Shirley chewed her lip as the reporter droned on.

  “The heat index in the impact zone is one eighteen. But where we are, Stone, you’re looking at a breezy seventy-five.”

  A restless stir wound through me. I needed to know what might happen next. It might even give me some clue as to what was going on with Galen.

  The newsman smiled, his teeth blazingly white. “Thanks so much. This is Stone McKay, and you’re watching PNN twenty-four-hour live coverage of Oracle Watch 2021. More after this break.”

  They cut to a commercial for Fang-zite. The all-natural male fang enhancer. A handsome vampire held up a bottle and winked at the camera. “Show her you’ve got a
little something extra…with Fang-zite.”

  Ew. I slid off the table. “I need to move.”

  Shirley caught my sleeve. “Are you sure you want to be alone right now?”

  I glanced at half a dozen pairs of sympathetic eyes. “I’m sure.”

  There were no secrets around this camp, which meant I’d be hearing about the prophecy about a minute after Fletcher Turley, junior reporter.

  The last batch of oracles had threatened my life and my sanity. Maybe this time, they’d go easier.

  And maybe I’d grow wings and fly.

  The TV blared behind me. “Tune in tonight, when we take a special look at supernatural hoarders. We’ll visit a voodoo queen buried in bones. A vampire who can barely fit into his coffin. And a pet-hoarding MASH surgeon. The doctor is in, but she can’t even get into her hutch!”

  I winced. Would they quit it with the reruns? My roommate had accidentally bred a gaggle of swamp creatures, and in doing so scored the only successful prank ever pulled on our camp commander. Rodger snagged the prize—three weeks’ leave. I’d gotten cleanup duty, and a reputation.

  My dingbat colleagues could never resist a practical joke. When PNN showed up, my friends made me out to be some crazy cat lady of the swamp. I was both impressed and horrified.

  Add that to the footage PNN shot of me wrangling the beasts and Supernatural Hoarders had their best ratings in years.

  I had to believe they’d stop running it. Eventually.

  Ever since peace broke out, PNN seemed to be having trouble filling the twenty-four-hour news cycle. There was no slow period for them, no downtime. Not with vampires, werebats, and other nocturnal creatures in the audience.

  Maybe they’d have more to report on after the prophecy.

  What an unpleasant thought.

  Luckily for me, the clinic was busy. I spent the next several days focusing on my patients rather than dwelling on gods, newsmen, or my less-than-stellar personal life.

  Just as bad as Galen leaving me was my complete inability to understand what had made him do it. We’d faced down the prophecies before—what made this any different? I turned it over and over in my mind until I was sick.