like the prophecy had told me what to do with the thing.
It was mid-afternoon, and not a lot of people were out. Johnny Cash music filtered over from the enlisted tents. I’d bet anything it was the mechanics. Lazio had always said he wanted a boy named Sue. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get a date.
I took the shortcut through the maze of officers’ tents, all the way to the edge of the tar pits to my new place.
Rodger was visible through the mesh windows. He sat on his cot, bent over a notebook, no doubt writing one of his endless letters to his wife.
I didn’t bother knocking. “Honey, I’m home!”
Rodger slammed the notebook closed and shoved it under his pillow. “Jesus!” His eyes were wild and his auburn hair was in serious need of a brush.
“What? You didn’t smell me coming?” I ducked around an I BRAKE FOR WOOKIES shirt drying on the laundry line. “I thought werewolves were supposed to know these kinds of things.”
Rodger crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “You think I want to smell any more than I have to around this place?”
Touché. “What’s in the notebook?”
“Nothing.” He gave an exaggerated shrug.
“You’re blushing.” Oh, this was just too good.
His whole face went even redder. “It’s just a letter for Mary Ann.”
Yes, well, that wasn’t enough to get all hot and bothered … unless. “Is it a dirty letter?”
The tips of his ears flared bright red and he started to cough.
“Well done.” I didn’t know he had it in him.
I walked over to the door-turned-desk that Rodger and Marius had set up between their cots. He had a half-dozen delivery boxes stacked on top, along with other assorted junk. “It looks like you made mail call.”
Rodger had brought back a crap-ton of sci-fi geekdom from his time on leave, but now he’d gotten even more stuff.
He had boxes stacked shoulder high next to the front door.
There was Captain Kirk, Spock, Bones, red shirt guys, yellow shirt guys, aliens, the K-7 space station, a Romulan-Bird-of-Prey (I know because it said so on the box). “Must be a bitch not having shelves anymore.”
“Just”—he clenched his fists—“be careful.”
“Says the man who kept swamp creatures in his footlocker.”
He snorted. “At least I resisted the urge to smuggle a few home.”
“Is that true?” I asked.
He gave a half grin. “As far as you know.”
I held up my mystery package. “Look what Horace just gave me.”
Rodger glanced over his shoulder at the box, still mostly wrapped in brown paper. “Okay.”
“It’s freaking me out.” Even if it was the knife, it’s not like I knew what to do with it. Yet. Of course, I’m sure whatever it was would be dangerous and horrible.
Rodger cocked his head. “Why?”
That was the trick. I couldn’t tell him. Rodger didn’t know the real reason the bronze dagger had followed me around all those months before. And he didn’t know anything about me seeing the dead. It was the way I was going to keep it, for his safety and mine.
So I settled on the obvious. “Who sends a stone box? And look at the scrollwork.” Or writing, or whatever it was.
Rodger and I tore the rest of the paper off. “Ahh…” he said, studying it top to bottom. “Ancient Sumerian. And look.” He pointed to a weird-looking owl/eagle creature. “It’s cursed.”
I bolted upright. “Really?”
“Nah. It could be Klingon for all I know.”
“Don’t do that,” I said, taking the box from him.
“Why?” He grinned. “You should have seen the look on your face.”
The box had a simple latch. It shouldn’t be too hard to open. “Don’t look,” I said, forcing him to give me some space. An enchanted dagger is hard to explain.
“Go for it, Pandora.”
I moved to Marius’s side of the room. No sense letting an ancient Sumerian curse loose all over Rodger’s shrine to the seventh fleet.
“Is he in here?” I asked, taking a seat on Marius’s footlocker. Last I heard, the
It was mid-afternoon, and not a lot of people were out. Johnny Cash music filtered over from the enlisted tents. I’d bet anything it was the mechanics. Lazio had always said he wanted a boy named Sue. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get a date.
I took the shortcut through the maze of officers’ tents, all the way to the edge of the tar pits to my new place.
Rodger was visible through the mesh windows. He sat on his cot, bent over a notebook, no doubt writing one of his endless letters to his wife.
I didn’t bother knocking. “Honey, I’m home!”
Rodger slammed the notebook closed and shoved it under his pillow. “Jesus!” His eyes were wild and his auburn hair was in serious need of a brush.
“What? You didn’t smell me coming?” I ducked around an I BRAKE FOR WOOKIES shirt drying on the laundry line. “I thought werewolves were supposed to know these kinds of things.”
Rodger crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “You think I want to smell any more than I have to around this place?”
Touché. “What’s in the notebook?”
“Nothing.” He gave an exaggerated shrug.
“You’re blushing.” Oh, this was just too good.
His whole face went even redder. “It’s just a letter for Mary Ann.”
Yes, well, that wasn’t enough to get all hot and bothered … unless. “Is it a dirty letter?”
The tips of his ears flared bright red and he started to cough.
“Well done.” I didn’t know he had it in him.
I walked over to the door-turned-desk that Rodger and Marius had set up between their cots. He had a half-dozen delivery boxes stacked on top, along with other assorted junk. “It looks like you made mail call.”
Rodger had brought back a crap-ton of sci-fi geekdom from his time on leave, but now he’d gotten even more stuff.
He had boxes stacked shoulder high next to the front door.
There was Captain Kirk, Spock, Bones, red shirt guys, yellow shirt guys, aliens, the K-7 space station, a Romulan-Bird-of-Prey (I know because it said so on the box). “Must be a bitch not having shelves anymore.”
“Just”—he clenched his fists—“be careful.”
“Says the man who kept swamp creatures in his footlocker.”
He snorted. “At least I resisted the urge to smuggle a few home.”
“Is that true?” I asked.
He gave a half grin. “As far as you know.”
I held up my mystery package. “Look what Horace just gave me.”
Rodger glanced over his shoulder at the box, still mostly wrapped in brown paper. “Okay.”
“It’s freaking me out.” Even if it was the knife, it’s not like I knew what to do with it. Yet. Of course, I’m sure whatever it was would be dangerous and horrible.
Rodger cocked his head. “Why?”
That was the trick. I couldn’t tell him. Rodger didn’t know the real reason the bronze dagger had followed me around all those months before. And he didn’t know anything about me seeing the dead. It was the way I was going to keep it, for his safety and mine.
So I settled on the obvious. “Who sends a stone box? And look at the scrollwork.” Or writing, or whatever it was.
Rodger and I tore the rest of the paper off. “Ahh…” he said, studying it top to bottom. “Ancient Sumerian. And look.” He pointed to a weird-looking owl/eagle creature. “It’s cursed.”
I bolted upright. “Really?”
“Nah. It could be Klingon for all I know.”
“Don’t do that,” I said, taking the box from him.
“Why?” He grinned. “You should have seen the look on your face.”
The box had a simple latch. It shouldn’t be too hard to open. “Don’t look,” I said, forcing him to give me some space. An enchanted dagger is hard to explain.
“Go for it, Pandora.”
I moved to Marius’s side of the room. No sense letting an ancient Sumerian curse loose all over Rodger’s shrine to the seventh fleet.
“Is he in here?” I asked, taking a seat on Marius’s footlocker. Last I heard, the
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