Addictive Paranormal Reads Halloween Box Set

by Nana Malone

  Her hand reached up and stopped just inches from his cheek.

  “Elisabeth,” Azrael whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

  They both froze, understanding that to touch would mean death. Elisabeth did not fear death. But she did fear losing him. The angel who’d always been a part of her life, even before her accident. The smoke-darkened angel she’d spoken to in the lobby of First Saint Paul’s church as a child. The angel with the yellowed robe and glued wing who’d graced their Christmas tree. The invisible friend she’d imagined sitting across the table as she’d played dolls and tied bandages around her dolls arms and head. Long before Azrael had found her, she’d been calling to him. And he had come. He’d come when she had needed him most.

  If she touched him, she would go where he could not follow. Memory of the nightmare came back to her. The abandonment she’d felt when he’d disappeared. No. She would not lose him a second time. Her lip twitching wistfully with regret, she slid her hand into her pants pocket.

  “I have a present for you, as well,” Elisabeth said. “Not as meaningful as your gift, but I thought you might like it.”

  She pulled out a fragment of clay with symbols pressed into it. She held out her hand, waiting, while he placed his only inches beneath hers for her to drop it in. Azrael closed his eyes and paused, relishing the feel of the small gift in his hand as though she had touched him herself.

  “One of the local Iraqi’s gave it to me after I stitched up a gash on his little boy's foot,” Elisabeth said. “He found it at the ruins of the Great Ziggurat at Ur.”

  “It’s a family seal,” Azrael read the cuneiform off the fragment. “It says ‘Nanna bless our…’ The missing word is probably ‘harvest’. Nanna was an Ubaid lunar god who ruled the planting of the grain.”

  “You can read it?”

  “What you call cuneiform is a grossly simplified form of our language,” Azrael said. “Ur was one of the villages which banded together under the General to defeat Moloch. This seal appears to originate from shortly after that time as it’s our language, but before they started calling their god ‘Sin’ after the son of the Fallen Angelic who’d settled there died.”

  “Died?” Elisabeth said, looking up quickly. “I thought…”

  “Archangels are quasi-immortal by virtue of their advanced genome,” Azrael said. “Angelics are mortal. They’re stronger than humans and can live a thousand years. But they’re as mortal as any human.”

  “Fallen angels?”

  “The Fallen intermarried with your species and died out,” Azrael studied her face as he spoke. “You carry their DNA.”

  “How can you tell?” Elisabeth smiled. “Do I have tiny wings tattooed across my back?”

  “The General took a sample after you survived my touch,” Azrael retreated behind an unreadable expression. “You carry genetic markers from all four Alliance hybrid races as well as Sata’anic DNA, which is curious because you don’t have a tail.”

  “A ... what?”

  “A tail,” Azrael said. “Why do you think Samuel Adams and his men always wear trench coats? They’re 59th generation human, but the genetic marker for the Sata’anic tail is a dominant gene. It’s nearly impossible to eradicate.”

  “A … tail?” Elisabeth asked again. “I … I … I didn’t … see…”

  “They’re good at disguising it,” Azrael said. “Many parents cut off their child’s tail at birth in the hopes they can integrate with humans, but that pesky tail keeps cropping up in their offspring. If they have a tail, the armistice says they’re forbidden to make their presence known to your species.”

  “That’s … awful!” Elisabeth exclaimed.

  “That descendants of the lizard-people walk the earth?”

  “No!” Elisabeth said. “That they’re … outcasts!!! How could your emperor tolerate such an abomination?!!”

  “Why do you think they name their children after civil rights activists and patriots?” Azrael said. “You’ve already met Samuel Adams, George Washington, Malcolm Little, which was Malcolm X’s real name, and Mahatma Ghandi.”

  “I … noticed … it was odd,” Elisabeth said. “I assumed they were using code names because they were under cover.”

  “Those are their real names,” Azrael's expression was serious. “If you’re going to work with them, then you should know who they really are. They’re stronger and their lifespan is a bit longer than pureblooded humans, but they’re as mortal as you are. If they become wounded in this battle … you need to make sure their differences don’t come to the wrong person's attention.”

  “You know I’ll be discreet,” Elisabeth stared up at her changeable friend who shifted personas from stern soldier to egg-headed scientist to the most feared angel on Earth in a matter of seconds. All these facets of his personality were real, but she suspected the sensitive, artistic side of his nature was a side he guarded from all but his closest friends.

  There was a pause, more awkward than the companionable silence they normally shared. Elisabeth had been around the block once before. When a male gave you jewelry, it was usually because they wished to ‘mark’ you as theirs. She meant more to him than some freak curiosity.

  “Thank you for the gift,” Elisabeth clutched the tiny lump beneath her shirt. “I’ll cherish it … always.”

  Although Azrael’s ebony complexion was too dark to show when he blushed, his wings were his ‘tell.’ The dip to one side and way the tiny pin-feathers flared as though sensing wind currents gave him away. Her own heart leaped as she wondered what it would be like to kiss him?

  “You’re welcome,” Azrael's enormous raven-black wings curled forward, encircling her with his deadly feathers.

  Elisabeth froze, not out of fear, but because she understood this was the closest he could come to embracing her. It was a strange sensation, being enclosed in a wall of darkness. She could feel the compulsion radiating from his form. The sensation was … pleasant. As though a thunderstorm had passed and cleansed the air. Not at all what one would expect when surrounded by death.

  She could sense tendrils delicately caress the outer shell of the expanded consciousness Oma had explained surrounded every living creature. It was how she’d always been able to sense he was there. Even as a little girl. All those times she’d cursed him for letting her fall, he’d been reaching out to her, trying to comfort her the only way he could without killing her. The touch he gave her now, however, was not the sympathetic touch of a curious scientist, but the intimate caress of a lover. Her heart sped up as she looked into his bottomless velvet eyes.

  Elisabeth pictured reaching up to touch his cheek, mindful that her real hand did not follow the example of her mind. She felt his consciousness tenderly grasp the ‘fingers’ she’d just used and gently intertwine with hers, her heart leaping with a joy. It was as though she were a musical instrument and he the musician who could make her heart sing.

  “You’re learning.” Azrael's voice was husky with emotion. He trembled with the need to touch her, his breath jagged and raw as control over his emotions slipped. His wings sprang back, slapping against the air as he disappeared without so much as a goodbye.

  Elisabeth sighed. She was falling in love with an angel she could never, ever touch. Impossible! Why should love be any easier than anything else in her life had ever been? Bending for her cane, she picked up the wrapper from the soggy tuna sandwich and what was left of her apple and hobbled back to the combat trauma unit to make sure Major ‘Doc’ Devens didn’t fuck up and kill the patient she’d just worked so hard to save.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 43

  Say: the Angel of Death, put in charge of you,

  Will (duly) take your souls,

  Then shall you be brought back to your Lord.

  Quran 32:11

  Earth - March 30, 2003

  Al-Najaf Airstrip, Iraq

  Elisabeth held onto her seat for dear life. Eyes scrunched shut, she swallowed the bile which had
regurgitated into one sinus cavity, burning as it went. The ear-splitting whump whump whump whump of the blades was not loud enough to drown out the sound of small-arms fire peppering their ride with bullets.

  “I thought they weren’t supposed to shoot at vehicles with the Red Cross on it?” Mary shouted into the mouthpiece of her headphones. “This is a hospital evac chopper!”

  “Last I heard,” Lucy answered, “Saddam Hussein and his cronies weren’t exactly choirboys for the Geneva Convention.”

  “Aren’t we going to shoot back, or something?” Mary asked.

  “Sorry ‘bout that, ladies,” the chopper pilot said calmly as though he were a United Airlines pilot informing passengers what European city they were flying above at the moment. “Just a few stray insurgents. Ground troops are on their way to deal with the problem as we speak.”

  “Easy for him to say!” Mary snapped. “He’s wearing bullet proof underwear!” She referred to the Kevlar body armor most pilots wore to protect their groin from bullets penetrating the chopper from below.

  “Why doesn’t he shoot back at them?” Lucy asked. She pointed at the soldier positioned next to the closed door. A machine gun was mounted on a tripod bolted to the floor, ready to swing out and start shooting the moment he opened the door.

  “Just waiting for the pilot to give the order, Ma’am,” the gunman gave her a grin. “Not sure where the fellow taking potshots at us is located. Don’t want to shoot one of our own men!”

  ‘Az,’ Elisabeth prayed silently, suppressing the urge to vomit as another ‘ping’ hit the chopper. ‘If this death trap drops out of the sky, at least let me give you that kiss I’ve been wanting to give you before we part ways.’

  Azrael couldn’t hear her, of course. He wasn’t here. He’d popped in three times since he’d given her the pendant, but he’d been keeping his distance. Literally. He was back to keeping an inanimate object between them, their talks clinical and impersonal as he discussed the ‘squatter’ hunkered down in the midst of Najaf and what would be expected of her in her new role as gatekeeper for the carnage coming out of the city.

  It was the ultimate irony that now that she’d finally warmed up to him, he’d backed off emotionally from her. She suspected their delicate dance of drawing close without touching had taken him too close to crossing a line they both knew could never be crossed. Since she’d started talking to Azrael, her fear of death was more related to how damned inconvenient it would be rather than death itself.

  The way Azrael described heaven, the place his people called the Dreamtime, it was more of a great big playpen for consciousnesses such as hers that weren’t evolved enough to go out and ride their bicycles on the street alone than the heaven Earth legend made it out to be. Elizabeth had experienced enough of other people’s limitations in her life! The last thing she wanted was to be locked up in some cosmic playpen until She-who-is decided to let her family come out and play again, no matter how well-intentioned the goddess was. Elisabeth liked being her own boss, thank you very much!

  “We’re here,” the pilot called into the intercom. “Al-Najaf Airfield. Saddam Hussein’s old base for keeping the Shiite south in line.”

  “It don’t look like much,” Mary complained, spying nothing but the airstrip and a couple of sheds. “I thought this was an Iraqi military base? Where’s all the buildings?”

  “Ain’t nothing here but the air field,” the gunman at the door said with a grin. “This part of the country is Shiite. Saddam didn’t spend any money here. Just took it away from them.”

  “I see a team unrolling tents,” Elisabeth pointed to troops in the process of raising a large, geodesic DRASH (deployable rapid assembly shelter). “Look at them go!” The troops raised the first shelter as they approached while a second team unrolled a second one.

  “There’s your new hospital, ladies,” the pilot shouted into the intercom as he maneuvered the chopper in for a landing. “You’d better get your gear unpacked in a hurry. I just got a call to medevac more wounded. They’ve explicitly stated they’re to come here. Not the unit you came from.”

  “You just hover above the airfield,” the gunner jested, “and I’ll shove them out the door.”

  Elisabeth went to shout something back at him and shut her mouth when she noticed the intense expression on the gunner’s face. His expression grim, he started arranging additional belts of ammunition to be within easy reload reach. Wherever they were being deployed for medevac, they were expecting heavy fire. Cavalry had their own version of ‘morgue humor’ to keep them sane when deploying into a firefight.

  “Grab your gear,” Lucy ordered. As the highest-ranking nurse in their little triage unit, she was the one who juggled logistics. “Get it out onto the tarmac as quickly as possible so they can take off again. We’ll commandeer someone on the ground to help us move it once they’re back in the air.”

  “Thanks, Ma’am.” The pilot executed an intricate series of maneuvers to get the Black Hawk centered over the crude ‘X’ somebody had spray painted on the airstrip and fought the wind. After several stomach-dropping lurches, he set the machine down so gently Elisabeth wasn’t even certain they were on the ground.

  “Thank you for flying Medevac Air,” the gunman said with a grin as he yanked open the sliding door. “Please place all seats back in the upright position. Remove all personal luggage, barf bags, and soiled underwear. Have a nice day!”

  Within seconds, their crates of medical supplies had been perfunctorily dumped onto the airstrip and the chopper was back in the air, wind from the rotating blades sandblasting dust into Elisabeth’s eyes. They waited until the chopper had risen before grabbing their gear, hauling what they could towards the tent. Several soldiers rushed forward to help them.

  “He said we’ll have incoming in a matter of minutes,” Mary said. “What equipment should we set up first?”

  “Operating table,” Lucy ordered, directing one of the soldiers to haul a large crate to where she wished it set up before turning to a second. “You … get that box labeled surgical supplies. Ladies … start sterilizing equipment and find the bandages … fast.”

  “We don’t have any blood yet!” Elisabeth threw her hands up in frustration. “That won’t arrive until the next shipment.”

  “We’ve got lots of nice, young blood here!” Mary had a feral grin on her face as she grabbed the bicep of a handsome young soldier and gave it a squeeze. “We just have to get it out of them. That’s all.”

  “Good eve-v-v-v-ning,” Lucy said in her best Transylvania accent. “Ve vont to take your blood.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” The soldier was not at all appalled by their macabre humor. “I’ll alert the others.” At some point, every soldier made an emergency field donation. It was a fact of war.

  Two soldiers unpacked and set up the surgical gurney while Lucy dumped alcohol into a metal tray. Elisabeth unloaded surgical instruments and tossed them in for emergency sterilization, alcohol splashing everywhere. They were supposed to sterilize all surgical instruments overnight in a sterilizing oven, but they had no time. Field sterilization was messy, but effective.

  “Anybody got word on what the medevac unit is responding to?” Elisabeth called out, wondering which equipment to grab next.

  “RPG exploded near a special forces unit moving in on foot,” a soldier with a radio called out from somewhere on the other side of the tent. “Got three injured. Two seriously.”

  “We’re not going to be ready,” Lucy shouted. “Tell them to redirect the wounded to the field hospital we just came from.”

  “That’s a negative, Ma’am,” the Radio Specialist shouted. “Major Adams specifically ordered the wounded are to come here. He said Lieutenant Kaiser would understand.”

  Elisabeth glanced up and scrutinized the Radio Specialist relaying orders. He looked normal. No trench coat. The soldier raised one finger and pointed to his tailbone. One of the incoming wounded was not fully human.

  “All right,” E
lisabeth shouted, stepping up to the plate. “It’s us … or nobody. We can do this.”

  “Mary … better get those blood donations going,” Lucy called out. “Who’s got the radio? Ask them if they know what blood type the three incoming are?”

  “O-positive,” the Radio Specialist shouted. “A-positive. And HH-negative.”

  “HH-negative?” Mary said with dismay. “Where the hell will we find Bombay-phenotype blood?” HH-negative was the rarest blood type in the world. So rare that only a tiny percentage of the population possessed it.

  “I have HH-negative blood, Ma’am,” the young Private who had carried in Mary’s crate earlier said. His expression appeared grave.

  “So do I,” another soldier said, a Corporal wearing the telltale long coat Azrael had explained his allies used to conceal their tails. “We’ll donate whatever we can.”

  “But … two?” Mary sputtered. “You’re not … East Indian!”

  “My grandmother had HH-negative blood,” Elisabeth deflected Mary’s question. “And she was full-blooded German. From Germany. Bombay is just where they first discovered it.”

  “Quit yapping and start collecting blood!” Lucy ordered. “You can write your doctoral thesis on HH-negative later!”

  “Yes … Ma’am,” Mary and Elisabeth said together, passing a smile between them. Mary was the outgoing one who could charm the skin off a snake. Elisabeth the talented one. While Lucy focused on the boring details that made their three-ring circus possible. Cracking the whip was one of those details.

  Elisabeth beckoned the Corporal with the trench coat over to a crate and shoved a large, hollow collection needle into his vein. He looked like any American soldier of European descent, tall, dark-haired, handsome, and muscular as those who joined the military were prone to be. His ordinary-looking blood dripped down into the collection bag. If Azrael hadn’t told her Sata’an descendants hid a tail, the thought would never have occurred to her in a million years.