The Transylvania Twist

by Angie Fox

  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 did 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’d 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 2021 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 fails to consider the greatness of 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 out 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 Lord 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 had been arrested for about five minutes after he’d nearly gotten me killed on my last adventure. It hadn’t stuck. The immortals had way too much pull around here, and he’d used every bit of his.

  At the moment, 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 stood 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 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,” the EMT said 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.”

  I glared at him over my mask. Our patient could hear him. They all c
ould.

  “Don’t listen to him,” I said to the man on my table. A sheen of sweat coated his face, and blood gurgled from his lips. “I’ve got you.”

  “Get his uniform off now,” I ordered Hume. I readjusted the large silver light over my table, aiming it at his chest. I tried to keep the emotion out of my eyes as my nurse peeled the cloth away.

  Kosta stood next to me. “Basilisk venom.” He cursed under his breath.

  I’d studied it, but I never thought I’d see it. The hellish creatures were supposed to be extinct. The black goo had eaten into the soldier’s chest cavity, through it.

  “Make him comfortable and move on,” Kosta said into my ear.

  Goose bumps skittered up my arms. “I’m going to need blood and saline,” I ordered. He was going to be losing fluids. In a few minutes, there wasn’t going to be any skin left to contain them.

  My gaze flicked across the crowded ER. I didn’t want to look down at my patient. I didn’t have time to bond with him. There were more coming in.

  But I did it anyway. His eyes were unfocused, his skin cold. He was in shock, which was almost a blessing. I took his shaking hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

  He deserved to know.

  The soldier squeezed my hand back.

  I caught Father McArio’s eye and he hurried over.

  I dragged off my gloves as Father leaned close and murmured something in the man’s ear.

  “Robichaud,” Kosta hollered. “Over here.”

  I jogged down two rows of tables, hands bare. Kosta stepped back as they lifted one onto the table in front of him. “It’s just an arm,” he said, leaving to meet another case coming in the door.

  Only an arm.

  He was a Japanese demigod, built huge, with piercing gold eyes. His left hand wrapped around his right bicep. Underneath, the entire right arm lay black and oozing. “It’s coming off,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  My heart pounded in my ears. “It has to,” I said, accepting gloves from Holly.

  His face reddened. We didn’t have much time. As it consumed his lower arm, the venom was moving up, looking for more.

  “We’re going to need to tie you down,” I said. Anesthetic didn’t work on immortals. He’d be awake as I sawed his arm off.

  “No. Don’t tie me.” He came as close to pleading as a demigod could. He swallowed. His head came off the table. “I have a fear.”

  “Okay,” I said quickly, accepting the bone saw from Holly. We didn’t have time. “I won’t do it. But you’re going to have to lie still for me.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.”

  There were tears in his eyes. “I deserve it. I’m a killer.”

  “You’re a soldier.” We all were. “We do the best we can.” Sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

  He screamed as I cut.

  When the arm was severed, I tied off his wound, careful to make sure none of the venom touched his skin. He was clean. In fact, he was healing as I stitched.

  It was a good sign, a textbook case.

  He lay heaving, staring at the ceiling.

  I pulled off my gloves. “You’re going to be okay.”

  The tidal wave of patients had ebbed. And as I took in the bodies on the tables, I realized most of them were dead or dying.

  “Doc,” my patient said, his voice dry, his eyes pleading, “does it even matter, what we did out there today?”

  I had to think it did, but I wasn’t sure. “We matter,” I told him.

  An orderly wheeled him away, and I stood for a moment, eyes closed. This was awful. Inhuman. The official line was always the same. Immortals had to stay awake during surgery. It was impossible to put them under.

  I refused to believe it.

  I was on the verge of discovering how. I knew I was close. I had to figure this out. I would do it.

  I opened my eyes to find Holly watching me. “Do you really believe that?”

  “What?” I asked, wiping my wet cheeks.

  “That we matter.” She watched me as if the answer meant a great deal.

  It wasn’t only the soldiers. It was all of us. We needed to know that we suffered for a reason. That death had a purpose.

  But did we make a difference? I didn’t know.

  “Of course we matter,” I said, dragging off my cap, plopping it onto her hand. “Now leave me alone. I have to go see Kosta.”

  Whatever heinous crime he wanted me for, I was almost glad. I’d pay whatever price he wanted, and then I’d argue my case for anesthetic research. I needed more time to focus, more resources, at least a decent lab.

  I charged into Kosta’s outer office. Shirley sat on the floor with a stack of files. “How’d it go?”

  “It was surgery,” I said, walking up to her.

  Shirley’s desk and filing cabinets occupied the back wall, broken by a thick wood door. The rest of the room lay bare, well, unless you counted the banker’s boxes stacked everywhere.

  I gave her a hand and she stood. “Kosta in?” I asked.

  “He was just about to send our friend after you,” she said, glancing at the MP by the door. I hadn’t even seen him when I came in. Shirley dug through the top drawer of her desk and came out with lipstick and a small compact. The MP and I exchanged a look while she did her face.

  “You look gorgeous,” I said, wishing we could hurry it up. I wanted to find out exactly what Kosta had on me: going AWOL or theft.

  Then I’d ask him for a favor. This was going to go just dandy, I could tell.

  Shirley rapped on Kosta’s door.

  He gave a grunt and she entered, with me behind her and the MP taking the rear.

  The colonel’s office was straightforward, just like the man. He sat behind a standard military-issue desk, his shaved head bent over a stack of documents waiting for his signature.

  Ancient battle shields lined the wall behind him, trophies from battles won. He’d been granted immortality after the campaign against Athens, but he sure hadn’t let it go to his head.

  “Thank you, Shirley,” he said, without looking at her. “Stay outside, Kryon. Sit your butt down, Dr. Robichaud.”

  I took the hard wooden seat opposite him.

  Just what kind of trouble was I in? I wished he would just come out with it.

  The door clicked closed behind me, and Kosta kept writing.

  No doubt this was an ancient Spartan war tactic. Freak them out until they spill.

  I sat straight, shoulders back, and realized I’d forgotten to change after surgery. I was still wearing my pink robe.

  Merde. I gave in to the urge to retie the belt.

  At last, Kosta raised his head. A raised scar sliced down his right cheek and over his lip. The word in camp was that he’d gotten it in the Battle of Thermopylae.

  He looked me up and down, scowling. “This is out of uniform, even for you.”

  I gave up on proper military form and crossed my legs. “If I’d known the wounded were coming, I would have dressed up.”

  He tossed his pen down onto the desk. “Where have you been, and what have you stolen?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “You know me.” He hadn’t exactly been a mentor, but we’d worked together for seven years now. He’d seen me with patients. He knew my character.

  “I was doing research,” I said, “working on the sphinx venom anesthetic.” It was almost true. I would have been doing that if Marc hadn’t convinced me to wander over to the dark side.

  Kosta grunted. “For thirty-six hours?”

  “I got caught up in the work,” I said, beginning to warm to my role. “It’s important. You saw what just happened in that operating room.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “So your colleagues simply made up stories.”

  “We’re talking about Rodger, here. He didn’t know where I was, so he improvised.”

  Kosta chewed on that one. Rodger could have earned a PhD in bedlam, and we both knew it.


  He leaned back in his chair, still watching me. “Then who is the thief?” he asked, hands folded over his chest.

  Like I was going to accuse the goddess of chaos. “I think you know,” I said slowly.

  He watched me for a moment. Kosta had a solid-gold BS detector. No question I’d set it off and it was pinging like crazy. Only my explanation made a lot more sense than anything else he’d probably heard.

  He gave a sharp nod. “We won’t speak of it again.”

  I tried not to look too happy. “Gladly.” Treason wasn’t at the top of my to-do list.

  He scratched his chin. “It’s good you’ve been keeping up with your research.” His gaze wandered to the shields lining the wall. “Terrible scene back there. I’d give anything if we could find another way.”

  Kosta glanced at me, his fingers drumming on the desk. “The visiting general was in the OR just now.”

  “Good.” I’d been trying to get HQ interested in what I was doing.

  It turned out, before I’d sicced Jeffe on an immortal, none of the sphinxes had dared to ever raise a hand—or I suppose in this case a paw—against a warrior.

  Good thing Jeffe and I never realized that.

  And that the immortal he’d attacked was the forgiving type.

  We’d learned, quite by accident, that sphinx venom could knock out an immortal.

  I thought the discovery would get some attention, or at least some research money. I’d applied for an office, supplies, for any kind of help the New God Army could give me. So far, my requests had been met with stone-cold silence.

  “General Argus of Rhodes wants to talk to you,” he said.

  I stood. “Perfect. My paperwork is in the lab. I’ll meet with him anytime. Anywhere.”

  “Stick around. He’ll be here any minute.”

  I blew out a breath. Okay. Fine. I could do this. From the stories I’d heard, Argus seemed to be a fairly logical guy. Hopefully, I’d be able to talk him into a trip to the lab.

  Kosta crossed his arms over his chest.

  I fought the urge to rearrange my robe again as the silence stretched between us.

  “The Argus, huh?” I asked, just to make conversation. I’d studied him back in mythology class in undergrad. Argus had one hundred eyes. And he was here, in camp. “I thought he was supposed to be off guarding Zeus’s lover.”