Leta nodded. “She is the only one I trust.”
“This is coming to a head soon,” I said. I didn’t want to scare her, but she had to know what we were up against.
If we could figure out what to do about the child of the damned, we might have a chance. There was only one more after this. One more thing we needed to do to stop this war for good.
Then Leta would be free. Galen could be with me. We could go home.
“Do it. Contact your grandmother,” I said. She stopped at that. “You’re here for a reason. You’re a telepath, and you’ve been hiding your gift.”
“There is another problem,” she said slowly.
I fought to keep my face impassive. Why couldn’t we just deal with one issue at a time?
“It’s been years since I used telepathy,” Leta said.
I planted my hands on my hips, thinking. “It’s got to be way easier than visions, right?”
“It is a natural skill for me,” she said, wringing her fingers. In the short time I’d known her, I’d never seen her so unsure. “I’ve been so scared to use it. I don’t know if I can talk to her anymore, or if she can still hear me. Maybe I really am alone.”
I took her hands and stilled them. “She’s listening. I don’t think we ever stop listening for the people we care about, even when they forget to speak to us for a long time.”
She blinked hard several times. “I don’t know what I would say.”
“Ask for her help. Tell her you’ve met the healer who sees the dead. Tell her you are the bronze weapon. That the child of the damned will be born soon. Ask her how we can defeat the gods. Today.”
We stood together as my words settled between us.
We were really going to do this—we were at war with the gods. A shiver ran through me.
Leta gripped my hands tighter and closed her eyes, holding them tight as concentration furrowed her forehead and brought beads of sweat to her hairline. She squeezed my fingers harder and I felt the air around us shimmer with energy.
I closed my own eyes, willing her to succeed. Opening myself up to the possibility of this dragon speaking to her kind, clearly, confidently. I pictured her open to the universe and the creatures it contained. I saw her as a pure and perfect communicator. I had no power to give to her, no magic to send her way, but at that moment, I lent her every bit of my will and desire.
Our palms grew slick. I heard her labored breathing and tried to infuse her with calm, with clarity. I willed her to speak.
She jolted and her eyes flew open. “They heard me!”
“How do you know?” I asked, steadying her as she stumbled backward.
Her eyes were wide. “They talked back.”
“Wait.” Dread slicked through me. “Who are ‘they’?”
Leta’s nostrils flared. “I made a mistake.”
My heart threatened to pound out of my chest.
She wet her lips. “I thought I was talking to her. I gave her the message: ‘You are the healer who sees the dead. I am the bronze weapon.’” She looked lost.
“And,” I prodded, resisting the urge to grab her by the arms and shake her.
She drew a hand over her mouth. “And I accidentally sent the message to everybody.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, everybody?”
“Just the dragons,” she said quickly.
I jerked to my feet. My secret was out. I’d kept my ability hidden for almost a decade and now my secret was out. “How many dragons?” I demanded.
She tore her fingers through her hair. “Seven hundred and eighty-three. They know I’m
the
bronze dragon. The gods are going to come after me.”
“Me too!” Terror ripped through me. I couldn’t even think. “Are you sure you did a ‘send all’?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking into a snarl. “I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t thinking clearly enough and it just happened.”
I had to get out of here. Only there was nowhere to run. Once the gods found out, I’d be doomed.
“Tell them it’s a secret,” I told her, although I knew the chances of seven hundred and eighty-three dragons keeping a secret was about nil.
“Take my hands,” she ordered, grabbing them before I had a chance to offer.
She clung to me and we both closed our eyes tight. I shoved every bit of desperate hope at her as I felt the air around us sizzle, and I hoped and prayed and willed her to somehow make this right.
Her eyes flew open. “Okay,” she said.
“Do you think they heard?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shoulders jerking as she broke away from me. “They were all yelling back.” She clutched her forehead.
“Okay, well, maybe they hadn’t heard clearly.” Or maybe they wouldn’t tell. Or maybe I was just screwed.”
A sharp rap sounded outside.
I nearly jumped out of my skin until I saw it was Horace. “Petra, we have an emergency.”
Leta and I shared a glance.
He yanked open the door. “Medusa is in labor and she won’t come into camp. We’ve got her in Father McArio’s tent, but she’s not doing well at all. They need you there. Now.”
chapter nineteen
I pointed to Leta. “You stay here.” I never should have talked her into broadcasting to the dragons. I knew she was still recovering her powers. But damn it, we didn’t have time to wait. She’d looked good. She was talking fine. Damn it! I glanced up at the cloudless sky, half expecting the gods to come crashing down on top of us.
And now we were out of time. I headed back out, buckling my watch on my wrist.
“Horace,” I said, leaning back inside for my stethoscope, “I need you to go to the recovery tent. Get me a half-dozen surgical masks, two gowns, towels, hot water, an emergency field kit, a fetal heart rate monitor, and a Snickers bar.”
Yeah, I felt kind of bad using Medusa’s medical condition to get a Snickers bar, but cripes, it had been a long week.
And I needed breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal we were supposed to be having.
The sprite sped away and I began jogging toward Father McArio’s place, with Leta on my heels.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, nearly running into some supply clerks walking the other way. They looked overly pleased with themselves, and barely minded the jostle. I wondered what they’d been doing with our inspector friends.
Leta kept pace with me. “How are we going to fix the problem with the dragons?”
“Hell if I know.” I ventured another glance at the sky. At least we hadn’t been smited. Yet.
There was nothing to do, except, “You want to help deliver the child of the damned?”
She snarled, baring her teeth. “I will shift into a dragon and devour her!”
“Nope. You’re out,” I said, leaving the path, dodging graves as I headed through the cemetery. I’d have Horace send a nurse up.
I tried to think who. Most of the medical staff had been squeamish of the gorgon even in the early stages of her pregnancy, when she’d been happy. Nobody even pretended to get excited when she’d dropped by with thank-you finger cookies. Yes, the ingredients had been suspect and I didn’t actually eat them either. Still, the nurses could have at least pretended.
I held up near the entrance to the minefield.
Yes, Medusa’s child was bad news, but it was an innocent baby. It was my duty as a doctor and a decent person to give that child the best possible start in this world.
Then I noticed Leta was still next to me. “This is as far as you go.”
She visibly paled. “You can’t leave me to face Marc alone. He will be enraged.”
And then some. He’d told her point-blank she wasn’t ready to use her powers and we’d gone ahead and tried it anyway. In our defense, we were desperate.
We had to find something—anything—to turn this situation around. Besides, when you got down to it, at least it was our butts on the line and not his.
“Talk to him.” Marc was a smart guy. And a dragon. “I also want you to find Galen. Let him know Medusa’s in labor.”
She hesitated. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I told her.
With all my heart.
She watched me for a long moment. “Will you hide with Medusa if the gods come for you?”
“Leta.” She knew as well as I did. “There’s nowhere to hide.”
* * *
By the grace of all that’s good, I made it through the minefield and down the path to Father McArio’s without tripping any pranks. We didn’t have time for me to be wrapped up in a giant spiderweb or fend off dozens of Hickey Horns.
His sculpture garden gleamed in the high midday sun. Father liked to work with junk metal, and he had quite a collection of pieces. Most of it consisted of birds and other winged creatures that appeared as if they’d take flight any second. As I drew closer, I saw dozens of very alive, very sinister-looking black vultures.
They rested on the sculptures and all along Father McArio’s roofline, their bald heads and narrow gazes following me. I didn’t let my guard down for a second, which meant I nearly tripped over the metal sculpture of Pegasus, lying battered on the ground. It seemed Medusa still held a grudge.
I opened the door to the hutch, sending a multicolored Talavera cross slapping against the wood. “What have we got?”
Father stood up from the stool at Medusa’s bedside. She was lying on his cot, with pillows piled behind her and at least two quilts over her.
“I’m burning up!” she said, flinging it all off. The gorgon’s breathing was labored, the snakes on her head twining as she turned to me. “Doctor! I need you.” She gripped Father’s arm as he tried to move away. “Get me another Popsicle.”
It was stifling in there. Fitz the hellhound had abandoned his post at Father’s side and was nosing frantically for my attention. “Has your water broken?” I asked, edging past the snorting beast.
She nodded. “Right in front of some hotshot hero who thought he was going to chop my head off.” Her taloned fingers trailed down her green-scaled torso, coming to rest on her bulging stomach. “Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
I doubt he’d lived to tell about it. “How far apart are your contractions?” I asked, unwinding the stethoscope from around my neck.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.” She groaned as I pulled up a stool and listened to her heartbeat. “Time has no meaning on the Isle of Wrath and Pain.”
Fitz’s cold nose hit my elbow. Yeah, well, this place wasn’t exactly sterile.
Medusa was a little out of sorts, but that was to be expected. Her chest sounded fine. I’d have liked to have taken her blood pressure. “What do you say we get an orderly up here and take you down to the clinic?”
“No!” She turned on me, her eyes ringed with red. “I am not going to expose my baby to dragon pox.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I told her. “It’s just a camp rumor.” Started to keep the inspectors busy.
She hissed. “Of course dragon pox is real. I looked it up on the Internet. Symptoms are elevated breathing, thirst, dry eye, itchy arms … paranoia. I think I might already have it!”
“Gorgons can’t get it.”
“Supe MD didn’t say that.”
Lovely. Another Internet diagnosis. I tried another tack. “You may have some of those symptoms,” I told her, “but I gave you a full checkup at your baby shower and I can guarantee you, you don’t have dragon pox.”
“And I’m not going to get it either.”
“Fine.” Damn it, where was Horace? “We’ll deliver the baby here.”
She’d had a normal pregnancy. I wasn’t expecting any problems. I ignored Father as he went a little green around the gills.
He recovered nicely, though, handing Medusa a Go-Gurt.
“What is that?” I asked as she ripped open the wrapper.
“It’s a Popsicle,” he said, with an overly bright smile on his face.
“O-kay.”
“All the pregnant women get them,” Medusa said, slurping. “I read it online.”
I traded a glance with Father, who was nodding frantically. “So you get them too.” Right. Okay. Because I was willing to bet there wasn’t a Popsicle within a thousand miles from here.
Frankly, I was wondering how Father had gotten yogurt.
“Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?” Father asked. A wicked gleam shone in Medusa’s eyes before he waggled a finger at her. “No heads of your enemies on pikes.”
She sighed, settling back on the pillows. “It’s not like I wanted all of my enemies.”
“I know,” he said, adjusting the blankets over her rattlesnake tail.
Medusa dropped her Go-Gurt, her teeth set in a snarl as she gripped her belly. “Eeeeeee-yeeee…!”
I timed her contraction as the lanterns above our heads swayed. The paperweights on Father McArio’s desk rattled, as did the pens in a St. Louis University mug nearby.
The blankets twined in her tail crinkled and began to fall apart. I watched, rooted to the spot, as they crumbled to dust.
“Gah!” She flung herself back down on the cot.
Holy hell. I shook my head. “Forty-eight seconds,” I said out loud, still not quite believing what I saw.
I’d tried to learn as much as I could about gorgon birth, but this wasn’t in any of the manuals. I sure hoped we weren’t in for any more surprises.
“Did that happen before?” I murmured to Father, as he found a broom and quietly went to work on the mess.
“Yes,” he said. “I have to give her credit, though, she tried to go easy on my Notre Dame stadium blanket.” He smiled at a lumpy greenish mass in the corner.
Maybe I’d have Horace bring me a pair of fireproof gloves. Just then the sprite banged in through the door, followed by two more orderlies with delivery supplies, baby monitoring equipment, and even one of those portable baby warmers.
“Thanks, Horace,” I said, as they started setting up.
“I’m not staying,” he answered, handing me a Snickers bar. It was obviously melted. We were in limbo. I didn’t care.
I shoved it in my pocket for later. “Did you get me a nurse?”
“No,” he said, in a way that brooked no argument. Damn. I wasn’t going to talk about this in front of Medusa. “What about Rodger?”
“In surgery.”
“Send for Galen.”
“Absolutely not!” Medusa shrieked. “I came here to see the professionals. Anyone else will be turned to stone.”
I rested my hands on my hips as Horace and the orderlies fled. “Did you have to do that?” I asked Medusa.