Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (15 page)

"You're up early," she said, her blond twist bun flopping forward as she bent to pull out my patient files.
 

I glanced down at the darkened rows of beds. "Galen of Delphi," I said under my breath, hoping he was asleep.
 

She shuffled through the charts. "I don't see him," she said, as if we were talking about a pencil instead of a person.
 

"He's here." Believe me.
 

"Oh he's here all right." She set a chart down by her laptop. "But he's not yours anymore."
 

"What?" I barked. "I mean"—I brought it down a notch— "of course he's mine." Until I booked him on the first transport out of here.
 

"No...," she said, her voice droning as she ran a finger down his paperwork. "You transferred him."
 

"No, I didn't. He's in bed 22A," I said. Probably awake. And listening.
 

"Let me look." She began clacking keys on her laptop, and I resisted the urge to start drumming my fingers on her desk. This wasn't brain surgery. This was a simple patient release. I'd done it hundreds of times. It wasn't hard.
 

She furrowed her brows. "This is something."
 

"No, it's not." Whatever it was, it was not.
 

She pointed at her screen, edging the computer around for me to see. "You transferred him to Dr. Freierrmuth."
 

Okay. Sure. Maybe that's what the screen said. "But he didn't go to the 4027th," I assured her. I tugged at my collar, starting to get a little desperate.
 

Come on. This had to work. I'd told Galen it would work.
 

The nurse looked at me over her glasses. "Dr. Freierrmuth died in 1812."
 

Of all the... "I talked to Dr. Freiermuth last week!"
 

"Well, yes. I talked to Diane, too," the nurse said, as if she were actually helping. "But you didn't transfer your patient to Dr. Freiermuth. You added an
r,
which makes it Dr. Freierrmuth."
 

"So?" I demanded. My handwriting was messy. Add the fact I'd been writing on a chart braced on my hip. And I'd been a little stressed at the time.
 

"Different doctor."
 

"You said yourself Dr. Freierrmuth is dead!"
 

"Yes. But the transfer paperwork went through."
 

This didn't make any sense. "So what does that mean?"
 

"It means Galen of Delphi is under the care of Dr. Freierrmuth."
 

"The dead woman." I took a calming yoga breath. It didn't work.
 

"He was actually a man," she corrected. "Dr. Helmut Freierrmuth." She glanced up. "Obviously we'll keep your patient here."
 

"And transfer him back to me," I said. They'd have to give him back.
 

"No," she tapped at her computer. "Dr. Freierrmuth would have to sign off on that."
 

I resisted the urge to scream. "You do realize—"
 

"He's dead," she concluded. "Yes. I'm not saying it makes sense, but it is army regulations."
 

I blew out a breath. "I hate the army."
 

"That doesn't change regulations."
 

I wanted to pound my head against the desk. "Okay." Focus. "How do we fix this?"
 

She shrugged. "I'll send a note to headquarters."
 

"A note? No. You're going to send more than a note." Headquarters was notoriously slow. They were still deciding their position on the destruction of Atlantis.
 

She stared at me like I was the crazy one. "It'll be a good note."
 

"No." We needed to do more than that.
 

She continued on as if I hadn't spoken. "In the meantime, the patient stays here."
 

"Absolutely not." I said, backing away, not even wanting to think, dream, imagine Galen could be right on this one. I was going to get rid of him one way or another. Today.
 

I charged out of the recovery room and ran straight into Horace. "Watch it," he demanded, holding up a box as if I were about to mash it to bits. "What's your problem?"
 

"I need somebody raised from the dead."
 

Horace frowned. "I told you to avoid the tough cases."
 

"I didn't kill him," I balked.
 

"Good," he said, as the box in his hand let out a series of squeaks.
 

"That better not be what I think it is," I warned him.
 

The sprite huffed. "It's nothing."
 

Really? Horace wasn't hovering high enough. I flipped open the lid, and a tiny dinosaur head popped out.
 

"You can't have that." I said. "Them," I corrected as a second one shoved its snout out of an airhole.
 

"Rodger gave them to me," Horace said, cramming the lid back on. "He has too many."
 

Did he ever.
 

"Keep them separated," I warned. "Boys from girls."
 

"How can you tell?"
 

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?
 

"I'll figure it out," I promised.
 

He could count on that. But first I had to see a guy about a dead doctor.
 

Chapter Ten

I pushed into Kosta's outer office and nearly tripped over a case of condoms. Ribbed for her pleasure. "What is this?" I asked, nudging it out of the way.
 

The colonel's new assistant poked her head out from behind an entire stack of condom boxes. "Keep it there. I'm counting." Shirley emerged with a clipboard, shaking her curly red head. "That's twenty-four cases . . . eighty boxes per case . . . twenty-five per box . . ." Her head snapped up, horror flooding her delicate features. "How am I going to get rid of forty-eight thousand condoms?"
 

I surveyed the boxes scattered across the otherwise bare office. "First, you're going to need a few nights off."
 

She groaned into her clipboard. "Why do I even ask you these things?"
 

Heck if I knew. "I can set you up with Marius."
 

She peeked out from behind her inventory sheets. "Isn't he gay?"
 

"What? I don't think so." Sure, he was neat, but he was an uptight vampire. What did people expect? Then again, I was usually the last one to know about those kinds of things.
 

I strolled past Shirley and checked the heavy wood door to Kosta's office. It was locked. "Is he in there?"
 

"Yes," she sighed, "and he's going to kill me when he sees these."
 

"Oh no, he's not." I needed the colonel in a good mood. I was about to ask a giant favor, and I didn't need any distractions. "How did you even get so many?"
 

She blew at a lock of curly hair that had fallen over her face. "Supply clerk," she said. "I foisted a bunch of work off on him." She groaned with regret. "I told him to order a pallet of rubbers. You know? Latex gloves. He thought I meant condoms. I mean, whose brain immediately goes to condoms?" she asked.
 

"A man's," I said. Especially around here.
 

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I'm so screwed."
 

It was an honest mistake, for those of us who weren't keen on details. Shirley was more of a big-picture person, or at least she had been when she was in charge of games and recreation. She was an outdoorsy type. The outer office didn't even have any windows.
 

"What in Hades made them transfer you here?" I asked.
 

Sure, they'd needed somebody after Kosta's last assistant went berserk. The poor selkie was asking for signed paperwork before ducking out to the latrine. The colonel could do that to a person.
 

"I requested it," she said, smoothing her uniform shirt and sending a smoldering look at Kosta's closed door.
 

Love could make you do crazy things. It was no secret that Shirley had a crush the size of Manhattan, but I hadn't realized she was that gaga over the colonel.
 

If you asked me, she'd have been better off with someone else. Even Marius. Sure, Kosta was easy on the eyes, in a Vin Diesel I'm-going-to-kill-you sort of way, but he was a Spartan. They lived for discipline and self-denial, not hearts and chocolate.
 

I could hear him shuffling on the other side of the door. Lordy. If he was moving, he might be out here soon. I needed him in a good mood.
 

"Just explain to Kosta that supply messed up."
 

"Except that he specifically ordered me to handle these kinds of things myself."
 

"Oops."
 

"Thanks," she said, miserable.
 

"Hey, why don't you call Rodger? He'll take these off your hands." We could use them. "I'm thinking water balloons."
 

Kosta might get to see them yet.
 

Shirley's eyes widened. "You really think so?"
 

I had no doubt.
 

"It's not like anybody would miss them."
 

She leaned over her desk and flipped on the intercom microphone.
 

Rodger Woflstein, report to Colonel Kosta's office,
she said, glancing back at me.
See if you can't find a couple of orderlies along the way.
 

"That's bound to start some rumors," I told her.
 

"Would you mind helping me move them outside?" she asked.
 

"Now?" I mean, if big, burly men were going to be moving boxes for me, I'd rather leave them to it.
 

"If the colonel hears a commotion, he's bound to come out," she said, glancing at the door.
 

Well, all right. I picked up a box. They weren't too bad. Shirley and I spent the next few minutes banging in and out of the outer office until all twenty-four cases were stacked outside.
 

A trio of supply clerks whistled as they walked past.
 

"Petra," one of them called, "you should have let us know. We could have gotten you a discount."
 

"These aren't for me," I snapped. And why did they always travel in threes?
 

"Nice going, Petra," called the ungrateful jerk I'd given my dessert to last week. In all fairness, pre-packaged, dehydrated ice cream was no real treat, but still...
 

"These are for Rodger!" I corrected.
 

"Well, you can't expect them to believe that," Shirley said. "Rodger is devoted to his wife back home."
 

"Remember, I'm helping
you
."
 

"I know you are," she said, missing the point entirely. "Oh look. Here comes Rodger."
 

"Good. Can we go inside now?"
 

"Impatient," she said, as she followed me back inside.
 

I felt for the knife in my pocket. Still there. It was now or never. "Can you get me in?"
 

"Let me fluff my hair and put on a little lipstick," she said, digging in her desk drawer.
 

"Okay, but I'm not waiting while you stuff your bra."
 

A gorgeous and calm Shirley announced my presence and I heard a gruff, "Enter."
 

Kosta sat behind a desk like Shirley's. It may have been slightly larger, but it was still standard metal, military issue.
 

Ancient battle shields lined the walls of his office, no doubt trophies from a former life. The colonel had been granted immortality after the campaign against Athens, but he sure hadn't let it go to his head.
 

He frowned, the muscles in his shoulders bunching. "You here to talk about the kraken in the officers' showers?"
 

"No." I didn't start it. I just relocated it.
 

He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. "What about the cannabis you planted in my vegetable garden?"
 

"Let's skip over that." I'd told Rodger we needed to hide it closer to the tomatoes.
 

His eyes narrowed. "You want to explain the snails in my combat boots?"
 

"That wasn't even me," I said a bit too quickly. Whoops.
 

Good one, though.
 

"Sit," he ordered.
 

I took the straight-backed wooden chair opposite his desk.
 

"What do you want, Robichaud?" He watched me like he knew. He grunted, leaning back in his chair. "It had better not be more surgery cases. You don't have the rank or the seniority."
 

I squirmed on the hard wood seat. "Not today, Colonel." Although I still hadn't given up on that one, despite all the trouble my last big surgical patient had given me. "I'm afraid it's more serious."
 

He gave me his full attention. "Yes?"
 

I crossed my legs then uncrossed them, fighting the urge to sugarcoat it. Kosta liked things short and to the point. "I'm dealing with a bureaucratic mistake. My patient isn't my patient anymore. He was transferred to a dead doctor. I want him back."
 

"It could take months."
 

"So I've heard. He's special forces," I explained, knowing Kosta preferred facts over emotion. "He needs to get back to his unit in time for a major offensive." One he refused to tell me about. "I have a feeling we may be looking at an unbalanced army."
 

Which meant earthquakes, tsunamis, disaster on Earth.