Immortally Embraced (18 page)

“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 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 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.”

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

“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.

Just an arm.

He was an Asian demi-god, built huge, with piercing gold eyes. His left hand was wrapped around his right bicep. Underneath, the entire right arm was black and oozing. “It’s coming off,” he said, through grit 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 demi-god 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 at my wet cheeks.

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

It wasn’t just 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 head. “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 was sitting 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 were shoved up against the back wall, next to a thick wood door. The rest of the room was bare—well, unless you counted the banker’s boxes stacked everywhere.