Cancer's Curse (The Zodiac Book 4)

by Sating, Paul

  I smiled back at him graciously. "I would like to see Miss Cancer. Can you take me to her?"

  He nodded and turned, hobbling down the street. I shot to my feet, spinning to find Sergeant Jones and ask for permission to follow. But Jones was right in front of me, his eyes wide.

  "How long have you been able to speak Arabic?" he asked cautiously.

  Busted.

  Wanting to avoid further questioning and the dangerous territory those answers would lead to, I answered with more information than he'd asked for. "The entire time, sir. I didn't tell you because I didn't report it during my recruitment process, and I wasn't sure how the Army would treat that, sir. I promise, we were just talking about Cancer. She's hurt, but alive. The boy will take us to her."

  Sergeant Jones didn't react initially, dragging out the torture. Then he glanced at the interpreter and smirked. "I know. Muhammad conveyed the entire conversation while you were having it. You were so engrossed asking about your girlfriend that you didn't even hear us come up behind you, soldier. You'll need to be more careful in the future."

  My chest released the stress at his accommodating attitude.

  Then he snapped at me. "What are you doing standing here? We've got to go find this American."

  The squad followed the one–leg boy for blocks. It was slow-going and drew the attention of locals.

  "Wave and smile, boys. Wave and smile," Sergeant Jones ordered and modeled the behavior he wanted us to copy.

  So we did. Some of the men who had stopped to watch us waved back. Most didn't. None smiled. A boy kicked a soccer ball to Bilba, who tried to stop it by placing his foot on top of it when it rolled up to him. Except Bilba is clumsy on the best of days. His foot slipped over the top and his leg splayed forward, pulling away from his plant leg. He crashed to the ground, landing on his ass and a melody of rattling gear. The boys laughed. So did we. Just below the rim of his helmet, Bilba's ears turned pink.

  "How far away is she?" I asked the boy after we'd stopped laughing at my best friend.

  He pulled up and leaned on his crutch to point down the street. "She's there."

  "Is she in a hospital?" An Iraqi hospital might not even allow us in their front door. I had no idea if it was legal under the terms of military operations. That was way above my pay grade.

  The boy shook his head. "She is with friends."

  We headed deeper into the Khadra neighborhood, a long and empty lot bordered the street to our left.

  "I don't like this," Sergeant Jones mumbled, looking at the lot that stretched for the entire block.

  I agreed. Exposure created vulnerabilities. Insurgents in an abandoned building could attack while we were stuck in the middle of the street without cover. But the one-legged boy was setting our pace, and he was hobbling as fast as possible. I needed to keep Sergeant Jones focused on the good he was doing, and distraction would help achieve that.

  "Can I ask your name?" I asked the boy.

  "Yasin," he said comfortably.

  "Thank you for your help, Yasin. But we need to go home soon. Are we close?"

  He nodded, his small head angled at the sidewalk as he scoped for obstacles while swinging the crutches. His thin body swiveled from back to front.

  I smiled at his determination and turned to Sergeant Jones. "We're almost there."

  We turned the corner, away from the empty lot.

  "There it is, soldier. That big building over there," Yasin said with a jerk of his head.

  Across and down the street, a three-story building towered over the single-story homes surrounding it.

  "Is that somebody's home?"

  Yasin nodded. "Miss Cancer's friend's. She's a very important person. Miss Cancer is lucky."

  That was debatable, but I wasn't going to deflate the hopes of such a courageous boy. We reached the home, a modest but clean structure that dominated this side of the street. Yasin hopped up the steps with ease even after the long walk.

  About to follow him in, Jones stopped me by grabbing my arm. "Let Muhammad go in first. We need to handle this with tact."

  I nodded, and Muhammad walked into the home with Yasin. We waited.

  I paced.

  "You're going to wear a hole in the dirt," Ralrek commented with a wry smile.

  "Anxious," I replied, looking up and down the street for anyone who might be a threat.

  "She's being taken care of, Zeke," Bilba said.

  I knew he was trying to be helpful, but I did not want to hear any of it right now. I could not ignore the convenience of the attack on her and her clinic after she asked for our help and we confronted Chax. Two years. Nearly two years in Iraq and Cancer had not been assaulted before. Within three weeks of talking to us, less actually, she had been. She was not a victim of a senseless crime; the attack was deliberate.

  Muhammad's re-appearance settled my building tension a few minutes later. "Only one may come in," Muhammad said in his typically tight style.

  I turned to Sergeant Jones, begging him to allow me to be the one. "No one can get what I can. Plus ..." I want to see her, I finished silently.

  He sighed. "Go ahead, private. But be watchful."

  "I will, sir," I said and hurried inside before he changed his mind.

  "Whistle if anything is wrong, Sunstone." He called after me. "We'll light this fucker to the sky if they look at you wrong."

  Yasin waited for me in the cramped entry. Next to him was a middle-aged woman as round as she was tall. Her hands were clasped, as if she was trying to keep them from shooting in the air. Noting her caution, I kept my mouth shut.

  "Come with me," she said in a way of greeting and ascended the stairs.

  I followed, taking a second to check the front room for potential threats. If one came from the three middle-aged women sitting there, it wasn't obvious. One of them gave me a flitting smile before returning to her chai tea.

  The stairs creaked as we ascended. The house smelled of fresh bread and my stomach growled, reminding me that wonderful culinary work transcends international borders and those between mortals and immortals—though it definitely favored the species with the shorter lifespan.

  We reached the landing. The woman raised her arm to a doorway with a silk purple and gold curtain drawn across it.

  "She is in there. She has been resting. Do not stay long or I will pull you out by your ear."

  I nodded, failing to keep the smile off my face. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

  She gave me a strange look before rocking slowly down the stairs. I pulled the curtain aside. Cancer was laid in a bed, a compress across her forehead. Her brown skin was paler than normal and there was a bandage wrapped from her elbow to wrist on one arm. One cheekbone shone purple with a healing bruise. Her loose curls were as chaotic as ever. For some reason, it lifted my spirits.

  Her eyes slid over to me. The corners of her mouth curled up in a weak smile. "About time you showed up."

  "Hey." I smiled, walking over to the bed, having no idea what I was doing with my hands, awkwardly going to shake her hand, rub her arm, or move the hair out of her face all at the same time. Instead of making a creepy ass out of myself, I intertwined my fingers and clamped down on them. "How are you feeling?"

  Her head lolled to one side. "I've been better." Her eyes narrowed. "Not to sound ungrateful, but how did you find me?"

  "I don't give up my sources, but he's about this," I said, raising my hand to just above my waist, "tall."

  Cancer struggled to keep the smile off her face. "Yasin is such a brat. When I get better, I'm going to—"

  "You're going to hug him," I said over top of Cancer's insincere criticism. "If he hadn't helped me find you, do you know what that would have done to me, heading back to the base without an idea of whether you were injured, missing, back in the United States, or dead?"

  "The States," Cancer replied weakly.

  "What?"

  "Mortal soldiers don't call it the 'United States.' They just use the single word. Y
ou'll give yourself away if you're always that sloppy." Her smile spread now. "Speaking of, how did you convince your NCO to allow you to come see me."

  "We're all here," I replied. "They're waiting outside, so I don't have long."

  Cancer's eyes grew wider. "Your entire squad came?"

  I nodded. "Of course."

  "Good," she said, all humor wiped away.

  "What's that?"

  "What?"

  I wiggled my finger at her face. "That. Something happened there when you asked that. You didn't want me here alone."

  "Of course not," she answered. I noticed an edge to her voice. "This is still Baghdad and you're still, for all intents and purposes, an American soldier. Not exactly someone who can walk around the streets of the city freely. Plus … there are other reasons."

  "Like the people who destroyed your clinic?"

  She nodded, not offering anything more.

  "Who did it, Cancer?"

  Her head turned, scrunching the poof of black curls to the pillow. "It was the curse, Zeke. I told you, it reaches my family here just as it does in the Second Circle. And with that family—" She couldn't use Chax's family name "—having someone in the Overworld, they have easy access to me. I sent word of what he did to my family, and who knows how they will respond. For all I know, for all I expect, they would have no problem putting these mortals in harm's way." She looked away, her chest rising in a deep, mournful breath. "I'm tired, Zeke. So tired. The curse ... it's wearing me down. I don't have the energy to fight him or, Lucifer forbid, any of his family who might also be here. There's already so much tragedy here. These mortals don't need more."

  Even in suffering, Cancer thought of others. Remarkable.

  "Chax acts like he doesn't know what's going on, denying having anything to do with a curse. In fact, he was pretty frustrating to deal with."

  Her nostrils widened as she snorted. "He's like that. Enjoys playing stupid. Does it quite well. Did you get him the paper?"

  I moved closer. We were speaking English, because that's what anyone within hearing range would expect. But I couldn't be sure that the women in the home weren't eavesdropping or able to speak the language. It wasn't worth the risk.

  "I threatened him with his safety if he didn't end the curse," I admitted with a guilty smirk.

  Cancer laughed heartily at first, and then, wincing, she coughed before catching her breath. Seeing her like this made me want to drag Chax Vicu into this modest room by the throat and hold him accountable for the toll this ridiculous family feud took on its victims.

  "Sorry," she said when she'd recovered enough to speak. "But that was funny. I wish I could have seen his face. I don't imagine he took it well?"

  "I can't get him alone, but we're not giving up," I said and shrugged. "We're always on the look out for him. When he wasn't denying this whole situation, he was telling us we needed to be careful."

  "Really?"

  I nodded. "Yep. Said his family was powerful, and that I had no idea who I was messing with and that we needed to mind our business or his family would make our lives miserable. Not exactly in those words, but in that spirit, for sure."

  Cancer ripped the compress from her forehead and slapped it on the bed.

  "What is it?"

  Her eyes were filling with tears. "I'm so sick of this. I'm so tired of his family bullying us, of doing things like this to us. And they're never held accountable. They just use their connections and do whatever they want. No one cares because everyone is afraid of them."

  "Is it true that your family has done things to his?"

  Cancer's eyes shot to me. "What do you mean?"

  "Chax said your family started this entire feud thing, that it predates the story you told me about your great-grandfather."

  "That isn't a story." Cancer's thick lips twitched. "It's the truth. What? Are you going to believe what he told you? His family is the one cursing mine. The family that has been cursing mine. He is behind the attack on me and my clinic. The one that served thousands in Khadra. Where are they supposed to go now? Between the Americans and the Russians and all their Lucifer-blessed allies, the actual hospitals are being used for their needs, and those needs don't include serving the victims of this war."

  "I get that, Cancer," I said in the calmest voice I could muster. "I'm just trying to understand the context of this entire situation."

  "The context is that the Vicus have terrorized my family for thousands of years and Chax Vicu tried to have me killed," she said in a biting tone. The room felt hotter. "That's the only context needed. Honestly, I thought I could rely on you."

  "You can," I said, hurt.

  Cancer's voice grew quieter, still holding some heat. "Yet after you spoke to Chax, I'm attacked, and my clinic destroyed."

  "That has nothing to do with being able to rely on me."

  "What have you done about him then? What are you going to do when you get back behind your walls on the post? Are you going to help me stop him?"

  Her conviction was substantial, but I needed facts. "Did you see him do it? Was he one of the men who attacked the clinic; who attacked you?"

  "Of course not," she said, shaking her head. "He couldn't put himself at risk. You know that. No, he is working with the insurgents through his family's connections. That's who did the actual attacking, but Chax and his family were behind it. And …" she trailed off.

  "And what?" I asked after a while, not sure that having this conversation now was worth either of our time. Cancer was emotional, and that was blinding her. Her clinic, an extension of who she was, had been attacked by unknown men. She had not seen Chax. I did not know anyone with Hex magic and believed Bilba knew what he was talking about in terms of curses, but men attacking a nurse and destroying her clinic was not a spell. It was a violent display of manipulation to instill fear. Chax could still be—and probably was—guilty. If he was, I would help her. But I needed more than a lifetime of animosity to justify anything I did to the incubus. Heavens, I'd enjoy putting a good scare into him for what she was suffering through, I simply needed Cancer to give me something solid.

  I wasn't going to be like the rest of demonkind and decide to act based purely on emotions.

  "And I'm worried he'll do it again," Cancer said. "You don't know what it's like to live in constant paranoia and worry, that any time you turn around you might face another incident. These … these deliberate acts to terrorize. Do you know how exhausting that is? I don't think you do."

  I stopped myself from grabbing her hand, to show I still stood by her.

  But I didn't. I stood where I stood, making no move to calm her beyond my words. "What do you want me to do, Cancer? If I can help, I will."

  Cancer's head was turned toward the wall. She was quiet for so long I thought she fell asleep. I waited her out.

  "Do you really want to know what you can do?"

  "Yes. I want to help."

  Turning to lie flat on her back, Cancer stared at the ceiling. Thick tears trailed down her cheek. She didn't bother to wipe them away.

  "The next time you see him, if he doesn't recite the counter-spell, I want you to kill him, Zeke," she finally answered. "Kill Chax Vicu. While he's in the Overworld; kill him. That will send a clear signal to his family that the curse must end. Help my family, Zeke. Please help them. Then, we can live in peace, and I can focus on serving the mortals."

  In a million years, I never expected someone like Cancer to ask for the death of another. She was supposed to be different from other demons.

  "I can't do that," I said through a scratchy throat, memories of Taurus's death never far removed. Even the memory of Creed obliterating the Kaiserslautern assassin still haunted me. "I can't kill him, Cancer."

  She huffed. "Then why did you even come see me? If you can't give me that, what can you give me that's worth anything?"

  She didn't mean it; she couldn't. She was injured, angry, and probably scared. But I wasn't going to abandon her. I just had to pr
ove it first.

  "Justice," I said firmly. "I can give you justice."

  15 - Baghdad

  I left the demonic notepad open on the small nightstand next to my bed. The scratching woke me. I pushed myself up on my elbows and squinted against the bright desert sunlight prying itself into our trailer. My eyes were pulled away as the scratching continued, just underneath the constant whir of the small air conditioning unit.

  Words scribbled out with big, reckless loops. No pen, no hand guided the writing, at least one not in the Overworld.

  "You're getting a letter, Zeke," Bilba observed from his bed.

  It was good I shared the hundred square foot Conex trailer with another demon. The magical appearance of letters on the demonic notebook paper would freak out a mortal. But since my roommate was Bilba, I could afford to leave it out on my nightstand.

  The words formed. The letter was from Dialphio. It was the first time I heard from her, or anyone in the Underworld, in weeks. I wasn't the only one. Mortal and immortal, our loved ones at home seemed to worry at the beginning of the deployment, but that tailed off as everyone fell into a routine. Months into our Baghdad-based lives, and Bilba was the only one who had constant communication with anyone from home. His father checked in weekly.

  Watching the words take form, it was nice to see something from Dialphio. I'd been missing her. I didn't pick up the notepad until the words stopped.

  "What's it say?" Bilba asked, sitting on his bed, his legs crisscrossed as he wrote to his father.

  It was the end of the week, a chance for us to catch our breath and prepare for the next six workdays, a time to catch up on everything we didn't have time for during the workweek. Laundry, cleaning up our living space, rest, and, yes, connection with those who were important to us were crammed into the single day in the week we had for ourselves.

  "She's telling me how things are with the store. Sounds like it's going well. But she hired a part-timer. She told me I'm going to have to compete to get my job back, and I'm not sure if she's joking or not."

  Bilba, his head bent as he wrote, jerked with a laugh. "I'm sure you're fine. She needs the help and will keep that demon on until we get home. You'll have your job back and be complaining that you do in no time. Don't worry."