by fox, angie
“They don’t call it the Crystal of the Gods for nothing.”
Okay, well, “Can you find what else it does? Other than turn to dust?”
“How about I go do it while you shower?”
Ha, ha. “I’d actually like to go with you.” It was my rock. My responsibility. “I want to hear firsthand what your friends have to say.”
Rodger cringed. “Um. Yeah. I don’t think you’d be welcome with some of these guys.”
He had to be kidding. “I’m not hip enough for rock club?”
My roommate gritted his teeth. “I had to make up a few stories while you were away.”
I had a bad feeling about that. “What kind of stories?” I asked slowly.
He clutched the crystal to his chest, but his eyes were on me. “You were gone for two days.”
“A day and a half.” And he was stalling. “Rodger?”
His eyes grew wider. “Nobody could figure out why I’d come back from vacation and volunteer to work two double shifts.”
“Rodger!”
“I told everyone that you were in the minefield, setting pranks,” he said quickly. “That worked … for a while. But then a bunch of people saw Marius come out of there smiling, so they thought you two were out hooking up.”
Glory be. “And you told them what?”
“I told them maybe you were,” he said, voice rising, shoulders up around his ears, “it seemed like a good cover.” His teeth clenched in a nervous smile. “But then Marius said no way he was with you and he thought he saw you with Shirley.”
“So now I’m a lesbian.” At least I had good taste.
“You were a lesbian,” Rodger said, gaining confidence when he realized I hadn’t tossed him through the tent wall. Yet. “But then Kosta asked Shirley if that was true and you know she was thrilled because she’s been wanting him to get into her for months and so she said that you were out there hiding things.”
“What?” I gaped.
“You know, like storage.”
“Why didn’t she just tell him I was in my lab, working on the anesthetic for immortals?”
Rodger sucked his lips into his mouth. “That would have been a great idea.”
“Okay,” I said, pacing again, “so now I’m hiding shit in the minefield.” I could live with that. Obviously, Kosta didn’t think I was stealing or he would have come after me. Besides, Kosta knew me.
Rodger took a deep breath.
I stopped. “What?”
“It would have been fine, except that things are disappearing all over camp.”
Unbelievable. “I’ve only been gone for two days!”
“A day and a half. And there’s no reason to yell,” he said, getting his hackles up.
“I think there are plenty of reasons.” Rodger had been lying for me, along with Marius and Shirley, and all of their stories completely sucked. “People think I’m a thief.”
“People who don’t know you think you’re a thief,” he said, as if that was supposed to make it better.
“I’m going to kill you,” I said, going after him.
He zigzagged out of my reach. “Not if you want to find out about your rock.”
“I’m going to toss all of your action figures out into the swamp.”
“There’s no need to get nasty.”
“Everyone is talking behind my back.”
“Now, that part is true.”
There was nothing sacred in this MASH camp, nothing private. And that was when we were dealing with boring little details like who switched shifts with whom and who had one too many shots of Hell’s Rain at the officers’ club.
“The gossips are going to have a field day with Petra the vampire lover/lesbian/klepto who spends all of her time in the junkyard.”
“At least you have a sense of humor about it,” Rodger offered.
“I’m going to get a shower,” I grumbled.
* * *
I got more looks than I’d ever gotten walking the fifty feet to the shower tent.
“How’s your boyfriend?” A clerk in a yellow robe winked at me as she ducked out of the shower tent.
I grit my teeth. “Marius is not my boyfriend. Shirley is not my girlfriend and I didn’t steal anything.”
Her nervous laugh made my stomach pinch.
I braced myself and ducked into shower stall number two. I had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Except for shooting Marc.
See? No matter how bad things were, I could always make them worse.
I stood under the lukewarm spray for a long time before soaping up my hair.
“I believe you,” said a southern voice on the other side.
“Who’s that?” I asked, as the stinging soap ran down in my eyes. I hadn’t even known someone was there.
“Fogarty. Cafeteria service.”
I blasted my face and head with water. “You’re from Georgia, right?” She liked to talk about Cajun cooking. I just wished they’d let her make some real food.
“Um-hum. The trouble started when the four-star general and his mama rolled into camp two days ago.”
“Really?” I asked, soaping up. A four-star mama’s boy.
“He’s just a demi-god general, but she’s a goddess so Kosta’s doing it all up. They’re in for a general inspection.” Fogarty’s water shut off. “He’s okay. But I’ve heard she has sticky fingers.”
I placed a hand on the damp wall between us. “Have you told anybody?”
Her towel slipped off the hook. “Now, I think you know that’s treason.”
Right. To accuse a goddess. Damn.
“You’re just going to have to suck it up. But like I said, I know you didn’t do half the stuff I hear.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering just which half she did believe. “How did you find out about this goddess?”
“Her name is Eris.”
I tapped a finger against the wood shower wall. “I should know who that is.” I needed to borrow one of Rodger’s books or something.
“Greek goddess of chaos.”
Lovely. “I’ll bet the next prophecy says something about her,” I muttered, grabbing the soap once again.
“No. The second prophecy already came in.”
My soap clattered to the floor.
“We were all watching this morning. I’d still be there if I didn’t have a shift at nine.”
I braced a hand on the stall door, willing myself to breathe. I said a quick prayer that the next prophecy would give me a glimmer of good news. Some indication that we’d be able to stall the weapon or free Dr. Keller or that—please God—Marc would be okay. I needed it so bad right now. I needed to at least hope. I let out a shaky breath. “What did it say?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” she said, gathering up her shower caddy. “Death comes with a gift.”
chapter fifteen
My heart beat wildly, “Death comes with a gift? What does that mean?”
But she’d left the shower hut.
Marius’s gun wasn’t a gift. He’d take it back as soon as the sun set.
I had to see this.
Hands shaking, I rinsed most of the soap off—hopefully—and grabbed for my robe. No doubt the television in the mess tent would be tuned to the Paranormal News Network. PNN was the only channel it got.
With my shower caddy in one hand and the other clutching my robe closed, I made it all the way to the south side of camp in three minutes flat.
“Is it still on?” I asked one of the motor pool guys as he held the door open for me. I don’t think he’d planned on it. It’s more like I barged past him.
“Nice outfit,” he said, giving me the once-over. “I like the new you.”
“Can it, Lazio.”
“You’d better watch out,” he called after me. “Kosta is wanting us to be a little more buttoned down. Inspection and all.”
Yeah, sure. I had more important things on my mind than polished boots. The mess tent was only half full, which was still pretty go
od for midmorning. The long tables were cluttered with coffee stirrers, confetti, and half-eaten bowls of popcorn. No doubt there had been a fierce Oracle Watch party going on earlier.
God, I was so out of touch. I hadn’t even been gone that long. Worse, I was disconnected from the MASH-19X as well, unable to contact anyone and even ask if Marc was alive. Not that I wanted to cavort with enemy units, but come on, I needed to know.
One way or the other.
The TV blared an ad for the Dyson Werewolf Heavy Duty. With twelve times more suction to capture the thicker, denser hair most vacuums missed.
I never got why those women in the commercials looked so happy to be vacuuming. As far as I was concerned, a lack of housework was one of the main advantages of living in a hutch in the middle of the desert.
Craning my neck past a giggling bunch of corporals, I spotted Shirley sitting on a table near the front, her red hair stuffed into a loose knot.
“Hey, lover,” I said, depositing my shower kit onto the table.
“Smirk all you want,” she said airily. “It got Kosta’s attention.”
“Is that all you think about?” I asked as she cleared off a space for the rest of me.
“Yes.”
Far be it from me to judge. I scooted up next to her. “I hear death comes with a gift.”
“They’ve been analyzing it all morning.”
“And?”
“See for yourself.”
My nerves tangled as I sat and waited through the endless commercials. “You’re not at work?” I asked her.
“I’m getting Kosta a cup of coffee.”
“And doing a mighty fine job of it.”
She snorted. “He’s yelling at a bunch of supply clerks for playing washers with tank parts. General Argus caught them. It’ll be a while.” She reached behind me for the popcorn bowl. “So I’m actually doing a good job. The colonel’s coffee will be hot when I get back in twenty minutes.”
“Way to work it.”
“I’m learning.”
The news came back to the overly tan, large-toothed grin of Stone McKay, lead anchor and the only werewolf to make Non-People magazine’s Sexiest Supe Alive list five years running.
He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “We’re now going to Mount Lemuria where the Oracle of the Gods has delivered the second prophecy in what many are hoping is a three-part drive to curb the violence in the latest immortal war. Prama Nandi is there.”
The camera cut to an attractive young Indian reporter with camera-perfect skin, glossy lips, and hair so shiny that it sent up glints of light. She wore a curve-hugging purple trench coat.
This was serious journalism.
“I’m on the scene where the oracles have just delivered the second prophecy.” She lowered her chin. “Death comes with a gift.”
I ran my hands through my wet hair. Yes. But what does it mean?
The words SECOND PROPHECY: DEATH COMES WITH A GIFT ran on a ticker at the bottom of the screen.
Prama flipped her hair back. “While speculation is running rampant about what sort of gift death would come with, as of yet we have not heard personal commentary from any of the three oracles.”
The camera cut to head shots of the soothsayers. Only these weren’t studio shots. I supposed it was hard to get a twenty-six-hundred-year-old diviner to dress nice and pose. So they had photo stills.
There was Radhiki, in a bloodstained sack and staring in horror at the camera.
There was Li-Hua, her stick-straight black hair tangled around her face as she held up a large femur bone.
There was Ama, with blood-red streaks painted across her ebony cheeks. She’d lost her sack and was instead made decent on top by a black censor’s rectangle.
Shirley nudged me. “Makes you feel better about every bad class picture you ever took, am I right?”
No. I couldn’t believe these were the people directing my life. I’d worked hard in school. Studied when I could have been going to parties. I worked hard to try to become a decent, productive member of society and instead, I was sitting here in limbo, waiting for instructions from a woman who couldn’t even remember to wear her sack.
The camera cut back to Prama Nandi, staggering over large rocks as she tried to get close to a mountain cave. “I’m going to see if I can get any of the oracles to come out and give me their personal take on this latest prophecy. This will be a PNN exclusive.”
A large boulder crashed down the mountainside. She ducked as it landed outside the cave, partially blocking the entrance. “Rocks have been falling like this every time I try to get close,” she said, with a conspiratorial note, all the while moving closer.
Another boulder crashed down, and she made a startled jog forward a foot or so. “There’s a definite growling going on inside as well. Can you hear that?” She held out her microphone toward the dark entrance to the cave, then brought it back, smiling. “My sources haven’t confirmed this, but I’d say these oracles don’t want to be disturbed.”
She held a hand over her head as a shower of smaller rocks began pelting her and anything else within ten feet of the cave entrance. The camera shot shook.
They flashed back to Stone McKay in the newsroom. He held on to something in his ear. “Prama, we’re going to get back with you when you have one of the oracles ready to talk.” He flashed a smile to his viewing audience. “In the meantime, let’s hear what everyone is saying on Twitter.”
A logo zoomed up onto the screen: ORACLE WATCH 2013 it read, in stylized Greek script with a mountain in the background. It landed on the screen with a boom.
Then another smaller logo flashed up next to it and landed with a lighter sound. DEATH COMES WITH A GIFT.
And wouldn’t you know, there was a little present next to it.
I wanted to strangle somebody.
Stone McKay grinned. “BloodSucker1497 says: death can’t possibly come with any kind of a gift because once you are dead, you can’t enjoy presents.”
The comment appeared in a blue box next to Stone’s head. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” the anchor ad-libbed as the next Twitter comment popped up.
“PrincessPeanut says: this oracle is racist against immortals. it completely excludes them and is just one more example of mortals trying to take gifts that aren’t theirs.”
Stone raised his eyebrows. “Interesting theory.”
I groaned. “Why do I care what PrincessPeanut has to say about the fate of the world?”
Shirley shrugged.
Stone McKay waited as another comment flashed up on the screen. “EXfangirl22 says: typical for three immortals to look at death as a gift they don’t have to die.” Stone winced. “Ouch.”
Shirley handed me the popcorn. “You have to admit EXfangirl has a point.”
More like they were all giving me a headache. Didn’t anyone get it? “It doesn’t matter what she thinks or what Stone says or what any of us make up,” I said, “the oracles have spoken. Death comes with a gift. Now we just have to wait and see what happens.” And pray it wasn’t about Marc.
I knew from experience that it was next to impossible to predict how the oracles would come to pass. I just hoped this one hadn’t already come true.
A burly-looking MP clomped up to us. He was a cyclops, like the rest of them. And he didn’t look happy. “Kosta is looking for you,” he grumbled.
Shirley slid off the table. “Whoops.”
“What? Are you trying to get in trouble?” Sometimes I think she riled Kosta just to get his attention.
The guard stepped between us. “Not you. Her,” he said, pointing to me.
My pulse quickened. “Me?” I asked. “What did I do?”
He shrugged.
Please don’t let him find out about my little field trip.
Stomach churning, I let the MP lead me back to Kosta’s office.
Shirley walked next to me, occasionally blowing on the thick mug of coffee she’d poured on the way o
ut of the mess tent. “He likes it hot, but not too hot.”
“Can you please freak out with me?” I asked, pointing to the huge MP in front of us. “What could Kosta possibly want with me?”
“It sure won’t be a fashion consultation.” She grinned, tugging at the sleeve of my robe.
“Yeah, thanks.” Way to get my mind off things. I wasn’t only being summoned to the commander’s office. I happened to be naked except for a thin pink robe. I clutched the top of it with one hand, closing it tighter.
“Let me know if you see General Argus.” I’d duck around a corner.
And I’d forgotten my shower caddy in the mess hall. Great.
The PA system crackled.
Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. We need every available surgeon. Step to it. At least four full choppers are on the way.
“Good luck,” Shirley called as I made an about-face and began jogging toward surgery.
Rodger was pushing the door open when I got there. “You hear?” he asked, his auburn hair sticking every which way. “They’re unloading a special forces unit up there.”
It took everything I had to keep from charging the hill to the helipad. Mind swimming, I pushed into the prep room. It couldn’t be Galen. There were a lot of units out there, doing God knew what.
The only way I could help them was by keeping calm and putting them back together.
I stood at the long sink by the change room and scrubbed my hands until they hurt. Rodger stood on one side and the cranky Dr. Thaïs on the other. Thaïs was happy to jam his elbow into my arm every chance he got.
I didn’t even care.
Hands up, I banged into the OR, still in my pink robe. Like I’d had time to change. Nurse Hume was ready with my gown. He barely lifted an eyebrow as he tied me into it and slipped on my gloves.
“I’ve got one!” an EMT yelled, bursting in through the back.
“Over here,” I ordered, pointing to my table as I rushed to get a look at the soldier’s condition. It was one of ours. Cobra Special Forces unit. Not Green Hawk, like Galen. I felt guilty as hell for being relieved.
He had burns to his chest and left arm. “Wait.” It wasn’t an artillery burn. “This is some kind of napalm.”
“I don’t know what it is,” said the EMT as he and his partner hoisted my patient up on the table. “But don’t touch this stuff. It’s burning every one of them alive.”