Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (24 page)

"Are you nervous?" he asked.
 

"Yes," I said, quickly.
 

It's not that I want to strip you down right here, right now, for an up-close and personal look at what is under that uniform.
 

I scooted back as far as I could on the table, trying to sandwich myself into the crowd, so close to touching him it was killing me.
 

We hovered close, yet apart, the briefest touch separating us. I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the table.
 

The Paranormal News Network was just coming back from commercial. The same perky blond reporter from before smiled down from the television. She'd changed into a furry blue sleeveless sweater, which was entirely inappropriate for the occasion.
 

"I'm BeeBee Connor, reporting live from the Oracle of the Gods, where just one day ago we saw the oracles come out of their intense soothsaying session in order to wail and tear at their hair.
 

"Now we hear that the oracles may have the second prophecy." She paused for effect, her green eyes twinkling. It was just as well, because the peanut gallery around me began to cheer and throw popcorn at the TV.
 

BeeBee smiled as the kernels bounced off her forehead. "Right now, as we speak, the oracles may indeed be using their blood to transcribe the oracle onto the living rock of the cave behind me. Let's go back to the studio."
 

"Right, BeeBee," said Stone McKay from the newsroom. "We're going to show you an illustration of what may be happening as we speak."
 

"Or what may not be happening," I murmured. Was this news or conjecture?
 

The video cut to a green screen of a rock wall. Stone McKay strolled over in front of it like a PNN weatherman. "Now what should happen is that each oracle will take a sacrificial ivory dagger and slash her wrist about half an inch below her palm."
 

The camera got a close-up of Stone's over-tanned wrist, as if any of us had a doubt as to what the underside of a wrist looked like. "They will use a slashing motion," he said, as if this were news, "then they will take turns writing the second prophecy on the wall, like this." He drew his imaginary wound over the green screen.
 

I swear these newscasters thought we had the brains of gnats.
 

Yes. I needed to focus on that and not the fact that the next phase of my life was about to be written in blood, and it was looking more and more like I was powerless to stop it.
 

"Wait," Stone held his hand up to his ear. "We have breaking news from the field."
 

Galen and I traded a glance as the camera cut to BeeBee Connor. "I'm standing here live as the oracles have come out of the cave. Li-Hua has tossed the bone she was holding into the molten lava below me, which we can only take to mean that she doesn't need it any longer. I'd venture to say a decision has been reached."
 

I let out a shuddering breath.
 

The camera caught a close-up of Li-Hua as she crouched outside the cave, way nearer to the cliff edge than I ever would have ventured. Her straight black hair whipped in the wind.
 

She spoke—at least her lips moved—and I felt my throat go dry.
 

BeeBee Conner zipped up to her in an instant, microphone out. "Could you repeat that, please?" she asked, voice quaking.
 

Galen's warm hand closed over mine.
 

Li-Hua stared into the camera with haunted almond eyes. "With the dagger, she will save lives," she said, her voice low and grainy.
 

He gave my hand a small squeeze.
 

Okay, that didn't seem so bad. I saved lives as often as I could. In fact, I'd like to save more lives. Hope flared in my chest.
 

Dang, my heart was beating like crazy.
 

The oracle looked dazed. Her eyes were bloodshot. "And..."
 

Her labored breathing was amplified by the PNN microphone shoved under her nose. "And"—the oracle's lip curled into a hiss—"she will arrest the forces of the damned."
 

The mess tent erupted in cheers.
 

"Oh hell no." I choked. No way was I going anywhere near any forces of the damned.
 

"Petra." Galen slid off his seat and stood in front of me. At least he looked worried as snot.
 

"Did you see that?" I demanded. "I'm not doing that." I wasn't going to start running around, arresting hell spawn. "I don't even know what the damned look like." And I didn't want to find out.
 

People were rushing past like we weren't even there, trying to get closer to the television to see the replays. The rest had started a party.
 

Galen stayed by me, like my own personal port in the storm. "It's okay. I've got you," he said, as if I had any idea what that meant. "We can do this."
 

"Lovely. So we're going to leave camp and you're going to fight off giant killer scorpions while I go around poking the damned on the shoulder and making citizens' arrests?"
 

"Don't be ridiculous," he growled.
 

I leaned back against the table and tried to think. This was so much worse than I imagined.
 

He wore his determination like a second skin. "We're going to approach it systematically, with military precision."
 

My head swam.
 

But he didn't let up. "Let me help you," he said.
 

"Help me do what?" I barked out a laugh. Expose myself? "Get killed?"
 

"We'll go out together. I'll bait the damned. I'll weaken them and then you finish them off."
 

"No," I snapped, voice eight octaves higher than usual.
 

That was the worst plan I'd ever heard, second only to the oracle's plan from about two minutes ago.
 

We were not forcing fate or running around chasing damned creatures.
 

I met his focused glare with wild eyes. "Me and my knife are staying right here."
 

I was doing fine in our MASH unit. Sure, it was a dump and infested with Rodger's swamp creatures and the water in the women's shower was always cold, but this was my home. Besides, there were assassins after me the minute I stepped outside of camp.
 

He stood, resolute. "There are forces at work here that go beyond you or me." He stopped, as if he were afraid to tell me more. He seemed to make a decision. "I believe I was sent here to guide you and to guard you through this."
 

Unbelievable. "You don't care what happens on Earth, do you?"
 

He sighed, exasperated. "I care, but I'm looking at the big picture. There are forces at work, things you don't understand."
 

Oh please. I planted my hands on my hips. "Is this a god thing?"
 

He seemed surprised at that. "Yes, this is a god thing. Sometimes the gods have to make tough choices that lead to bad things. And sometimes we—they—get cursed for it. People blame the gods all the time, and nobody knows what we have to deal with. Bad things happen for a reason."
 

"Now I've heard everything," I grumbled.
 

But he wouldn't let up. "In a way, mortals are lucky. You don't have to make these kinds of decisions."
 

"Oh sure. I'm feeling really lucky right now." Merely dealing with a suicide mission. "Look. I appreciate what you did out in the minefield with the scorpions," I began. A young sergeant glanced at me on the way past and I lowered my voice. "This is totally different."
 

"You're going to do this. This is war," he said, jaw clenched, as if he didn't want to say it. "We have to be willing to sacrifice one for the good of all."
 

"Fuck you." I slid off the table and stepped sideways, away from him.
 

"Where is the dagger?" he asked.
 

"In my pocket." It was always in my pocket. No matter what I did.
 

Horace zipped above the crowd and hovered over us, his wings hitting us with a nice breeze. "Kosta wants to see you, Petra."
 

I lifted my head. "Now?"
 

Horace shrugged. "He's pissed you didn't find him first."
 

Could this day get any worse?
 

I'd tried. "Did you tell him I was outside his office before?"
 

"No," he said, his nose wrinkling. "I'm not your messenger boy."
 

That's right. He was Galen's pet.
 

"I'll go with you," Galen said, leading the way. The crowd parted for him. "If the fates work fast, we may not even have to go hunting."
 

"You think this is our sign?" I didn't want to imagine. "Kosta doesn't control anything outside our unit." And he sure as heck wasn't going to allow any damned inside camp. That's what the guard sphinxes were for.
 

Camp was deserted outside the mess tent. It seemed like everyone really was inside watching. Galen waited outside Kosta's office as I made my way in. What if Kosta asked about my power? Should I lie? Would he turn me in?
 

The colonel sat with his back rod-straight behind his large desk, but I didn't miss the dark circles under his eyes or the hint of fatigue in his voice.
 

"Sit down, Robichaud." He rubbed at his forehead.
 

"Oh no. Do you want to talk about the prophecy?"
 

He reared back in surprise. "Prophecy? What prophecy? I've been trying to make sure people don't die. In the last month, we've seen the biggest increase in wounded that we've had in four hundred years." He shook his head, resigned. "Now we've got something else." He eyed me. "A special assignment."
 

Chapter Sixteen

I stared at Kosta, from his bald head to his wide hands, palms down on the large metal desk. Bronze battle shields lined the wall behind him, like soldiers at the ready. He was a man used to getting his way, and unfortunately I had a pretty good clue what he wanted.
 

"I'm not special," I said, just in case he was getting any ideas.
 

His eyes narrowed. "Not you, slick. The assignment. This one is coming straight from the wilds of limbo." He seemed amused at that, or more likely, energized by the challenge.
 

The drawer at the front of his desk rumbled as he opened it to pulled out a cigar. "We got a call in from an enemy MASH unit. They've got some of our soldiers—four critical casualties." He flicked his eyes up. "They can't treat them."
 

Wait. "They have to help our people. It's in the Waset Convention."
 

The gods didn't always obey it, just like armies didn't always stick to the Geneva Convention back home, but I'd never expected this.
 

Kosta didn't offer an opinion. Either he didn't have one or he wasn't sharing it with me. "They've been put under orders to neglect our wounded despite the conventions." He dug a battered lighter out of his pant pocket. "That doesn't sit right with their commander. He wants to get the injured out, but the situation is tense. We're going against regs." He stopped, his lighter forgotten. "He made us a highly unusual offer," he said. "We can go get our soldiers."
 

It was never that easy. "There's got to be a catch."
 

He pointed the Zippo at me. "Two doctors. No weapons."
 

I about choked. "Oh well, that seems fair."
 

He lit his cigar and took a puff. The caustic smoke carried a hint of cherries. He glanced at me. "You're going."
 

Holy hell. I was going to get thrust out of camp, just like I'd been forced to take the knife from Galen. It was like I had no free will.
 

She will save lives and arrest the forces of the damned.
 

My pulse pounded and my palms began to sweat. There had to be a better way—one that didn't involve me venturing out of camp, trying to dodge the giant scorpion assassins on my tail while trying to decide the best way to get a headlock on the forces of the damned.
 

"You don't understand," I said, as I stood, my chair skittering out behind me. I racked my brain to figure out something,
any
thing to say that might change his mind. "I can't go. I've never been outside of camp."
 

Not that I was opposed to leaving. I'd been dying for some kind of a field position that would take me to strange and exotic places, but meet-and-greets with enemy units didn't count.
 

Besides, I didn't know if I could live up to the weapon's ban. I had this knife I couldn't seem to shake.
 

Kosta stood with great deliberation, his features set in a snarl. "What I understand, soldier, is that we've got men who are dying out there. I don't give a rat's ass whether you want to go. This is your assignment and you're going to get your butt out there."
 

I stood frozen, numb. The prophecy said I was going to leave and bang—I was on my way out.
 

It didn't matter if it was smart or right or if I was walking straight into an ambush.
 

I'd been pissed off more times than I could count since I'd set foot in limbo, but I'd never been this afraid.
 

I tilted my chin up. "Yes, sir," I said weakly. "Fuck, how did this happen?" I muttered, almost to myself.
 

He was asking me to drive an ambulance into hostile territory. Kosta hadn't said as much, but I knew I'd be on my own if something happened out there.