Forbidden War (The Intern Diaries Book 3) Read online

  “Don’t forget your flowers. The gnomes left them for you,” I told him, still giddy.

  “Great.” That was all he said as he struggled to pick up the flowers and keep me up. “You need fresh air and a slushy.”

  I smiled happily at Eugene as he led us out. I loved slushies.

  My head was still fuzzy by the time we made it to Reapers. That was after an hour of Eugene driving us around and feeding me Sonic’s slushies and fries to clear my mind. I was a little jealous of Eugene today. The gnomes’ narcotics didn’t affect him. As one of Pestilence’s Interns, he was immune to any form of virus, bacteria, or any type of drug. That was a blessing with his job. Last thing anyone needed was the scientists dying from their experiments.

  Reapers Incorporated—as the red Gothic letters in front of the metal building read—was our headquarters. We were located in Nash’s Business Park. From the outside, Reapers blended with all the other buildings in the park and was just another metal building. If I had been driving, we would have pulled around the back towards the vehicle entrance. Constantine had a rule that only Reapers vehicles were allowed in the building.

  Eugene parked his company car, a hearse of all things, by the front door and we walked in the front entrance, then moved through the security system.

  Any other day, this would not bother me. Today it was a painful experience. Reapers was a giant bomb shelter with every kind of security installed. The scanning system in the building was more precise than any you would find at an airport. It scanned for metal, explosives, and even spells. Unfortunately, the crazy blue light was giving me an aching headache. By the time we passed all the securities, I was in no condition for the climb up the stairs. In fact, it made me wonder why we didn’t have an elevator.

  Reapers had a first floor and part of a second floor. The first floor housed our shooting range, personal gym, car shop, and Bob’s apartment. The second floor was a combination of bedrooms, kitchen, and central control area. The front of the second floor we called the Loft, since it served as our common area and Command Center. You could see the Loft from the first floor, since the inside wall was made of glass.

  I was still feeling loopy from my interaction with the gnomes. My balance was still off, so I braced myself for climbing the stairs, afraid if I didn’t I might tumble back down them. Eugene grabbed me by the waist and guided me, making sure I didn’t kill myself.

  “I’m pitiful,” I mumbled to him.

  “I’m actually very impressed,” Eugene whispered in my ear.

  “Impressed about what?” The words sounded wrong to me, which made me think I wasn’t was enunciating properly.

  “Most humans are knocked-out cold for at least twenty-four hours due to the narcotics of the gnomes.” Eugene looked me up and down as he spoke. “I can’t believe you are walking.” He gave me a sweet smile.

  “I wouldn’t call this walking,” I replied in a dry tone, but I still smiled back.

  By the time we made it to the second floor and into the loft, I was exhausted. I did a quick check of the area. Constantine and Bob were on the opposite side of the room, watching a movie on the large-screen TV that doubles as our teleconference screen. We had the most comfortable leather couch on that side of the loft. Around the TV we had tons of monitors, which Bartholomew used to hack into the city’s security systems. I had no idea how he did it, and I didn’t want to know.

  Bartholomew sat in front of his computer station across from Bob and Constantine, and I assumed he was playing a video game. In the last five months, Bartholomew had grown another two inches. He was now only an inch shorter than me at five feet eight inches. His curly brown hair was its usual mess and his hazel eyes were glued to the screen.

  Bartholomew was only twelve, but he was a certifiable genius. Last May we made a pact and I verbally adopted him as my little brother. No paper work was required, but everyone knew he was my family. Neither of us had blood siblings, so it worked out perfect. Bartholomew’s parents had died when he was young, and Death had become his guardian. A part of me wanted to give him a normal life—as normal as I could while working for Death and chasing souls around. I just hated how fast he was growing.

  The first one to notice us was Bob. Bob was my first friend in Texarkana, and like me, he was prior military. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but I guessed in his forties. Bob was six feet tall, with sandy blond hair and sea green eyes. He looked like a rugged Daniel Craig. While Bartholomew was our resident arms dealer and supply sergeant, Bob had become our in-house chef and getaway driver.

  “What happened to you?” Bob shouted when he finally realized Eugene was carrying me. He rushed across the room and before I could explain, he grabbed me from Eugene’s arms and sat me down on one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Isis inhaled quite a large amount of gnome dust,” Eugene said in a soft tone. “Don’t worry, though. She is going to be fine. I got her out before the hallucinations started.”

  I was glad Eugene had failed to mention that to me earlier.

  Constantine sprinted from the couch and was sitting on the table in less than two seconds. It impressed me how fast he was for a fifteen-pound cat.

  “Gnomes? They found us already?” Constantine hissed as he spoke. “Who was it? I’ll take care of this.” I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like Constantine was glaring.

  “Relax Constantine, they didn’t do it on purpose,” I managed to say, but not very loudly.

  “They? So it was more than one?” Constantine’s claws were retracted, but he still tapped the table as he spoke. “Great. We have a plague of gnomes in town.” He looked around like the gnomes had invaded Reapers and we hadn’t noticed. “Explain how you looking like hell is not their fault, and why your clothes are dirty.” Constantine demanded me as he took a closer look.

  I took a deep breath before starting, a nervous habit I’d never been able to shake. “Technically we were trespassing on a cemetery. I tripped and landed at their feet.” I was a little embarrassed to admit the last part, even under the influence of all the narcotics.

  “Why were you guys at a cemetery?” It had taken Bartholomew longer than I expected to join the conversation, but when I glanced over at him and saw the headphones around his neck, I understood why.

  “That is a really good question. Please explain,” Bob insisted as he walked over to the kitchen and faced the fridge.

  “Eugene, how about you do us the honor since this was your idea.”

  Fine, so I was a chicken, but I was not going down alone for this little adventure.

  “This better be good,” Constantine told Eugene as he crouched into his favorite Sphinx pose.

  “You see, what happened was…” Eugene trailed off. He was in trouble. I knew it because he always was when he started a sentence that way. His eyes searched the room, as if he wanted to bolt out the door. Eventually, he gave up looking for a way out and slumped into a chair. “It isn’t my fault. The mistress made me do it. She didn’t tell me the gnomes were going to hire a troll as a bodyguard.”

  “Hold up. What troll?” Bob shouted, leaning against the open fridge door, probably looking for something to cook.

  “He was huge,” I told Bob in a serious tone. “I was sure a tree was attacking us.” I spread my hands wide for emphasis.

  “Are we supposed to have trolls in town?” Bartholomew asked, glancing at Constantine.

  “Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time.” Constantine answered, shaking his head. “I probably don’t want to know what Pestilence sent you to get,” Constantine said, his eyes landing on Eugene.

  “Some weird flower that only grows around gnomes,” I told him, rolling my eyes. I started giggling for no reason, and the boys stared at me as if I had turned into a crazy person. I guessed I was still high, so I tried to regain control by rubbing my face. “So, this Haven stuff, do we take a head count of whose moving in? I would like to know which areas might get me killed the next time Eugene wants to trespass.�
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  “A head count?” Constantine asked me.

  “Yeah, like a census,” I answered. That made perfect sense to me in my current condition.

  “That’s an interesting idea,” Constantine said as he eyed at Bartholomew.

  I raised my eyebrows at the boys. “Okay what am I missing?” I was hoping it was the narcotics affecting my thought process, but I feared I was a little slow today.

  “Most Interns avoid Havens like the plague. The fact you want to be involved is unusual,” Bartholomew told me. “They move around every six months to avoid establishing one,” Bartholomew finished with a sad tone to his voice. That sounded like a lot of work just to avoid people.

  “Is this another one of those Intern duties nobody wants to do?” I asked.

  “Isis, like I said earlier, you are now responsible for all the citizens of Haven,” Eugene jumped in. “That’s a huge responsibility on top of everything else you do.”

  “Guys, I don’t like the idea of enforcing random laws or killing anyone,” I told them. “But I’m not planning to run away from my responsibilities because they aren’t fun. I joined the Army to serve and protect those I love. This is not any different. Since I’m in charge, it means you are all coming along with me. Starting today, you can consider yourselves deputies.”

  Their eyes went wide with excitement.

  “Yes! I’m a deputy.” Bartholomew bounced with anticipation.

  “Oh Lord, wait till Shorty hears about this,” Bob said with a smile. Shorty was our resident informant to the Underground—the large network of transient citizens in Texarkana.

  I looked over at Constantine and I swore he winked at me.

  “Sorry Isis, the Mistress won’t let me moonlight,” Eugene told me with a frown. “But can I still get a badge?” He looked like a five-year-old waiting for a present.

  “Of course, Eugene,” I told him. “Bart, sounds like you need to order us some badges and proper IDs.” I giggled again.

  “Bartholomew, add developing a registry for the Haven to your list of things to do,” Constantine told Bartholomew. With a salute, Bartholomew ran to his computer, and Constantine turned to me. “And you need a shower.”

  I looked down at my clothes. He was right. I was filthy. I wasn’t sure how I had gotten this dirty since I was pretty sure I had fallen on my butt. Maybe when I blacked out, I rolled around in the dirt or something. Either way, I saw no reason to argue with Constantine, so I stood from the chair and headed towards my room.

  “Here, drink this.” Bob handed me a glass filled with a strange, green liquid. “It’s an Eric shake to clear your head.” Eric was Reaper’s martial arts trainer, wizard on retainer, local cop, and hunk extraordinaire. The last part I would never have said to his face, of course.

  Eric’s shakes were never bad, they just looked weird. He had an ability to blend magical ingredients with super foods. My first six months at Reapers, I was on a diet of his shakes. It was the only thing that helped me make it through my training sessions, plus it ensured I didn’t die. So, there was that. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate to chug the drink as I made my way to my room.

  When I turned on the light switch, big-band music filled the room. Bartholomew had rewired my room so when I flipped the lights on, the stereo would play. Death’s Interns had certain powers that would affect the dead—also the living, but that was neither here nor there. My powers came through music. Thankfully, my room was sound proof.

  As I walked inside and shut the door, my eyes were pulled to the new guitar I had purchased. It stood against the wall by my dresser. My goal for the weekend was to practice playing that beautiful instrument. Death’s gifts enhanced my natural abilities, and lately I had been able to pick up and play any instrument with very little training. I was dying to see how good I could get. Though, due to my little Eugene adventure, practice was cancelled for the rest of the evening.

  With a soft sigh, I headed towards my bathroom for a long, hot shower.

  By the time I entered the loft again, the boys were sitting at the kitchen table playing a Dungeons & Dragons game. Bartholomew was asked to join a gaming group at Texas A&M after last May’s zombie apocalypse. Unfortunately, he came home and converted the rest of the tribe. Imaginary mission to save or attack some random group always felt too much like work for me, so I just watched from the side.

  “Isis, why didn’t you tell me your birthday is November second, the day of the dead?” Eugene asked me from the table. His eyes were on the game, so he didn’t notice how mine had bugged out.

  “I don’t do birthdays,” I said.

  Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but the front door burst open then, saving me from an explanation. Death walked through, looking radiant in a black and white Armani suit. I was pretty sure Eugene didn’t see the same thing. He looked a bit pale in the cheeks.

  “Constantine, did you give my brother my number?” Death asked Constantine as she crossed the room.

  “Brother? What brother?” If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve sworn Constantine’s voice cracked a bit. “Death, what are you talking about?”

  “Constantine, I’m not playing. He has called me twenty times already.” Death pulled out her cell phone as she spoke.

  The only sibling of Death’s I had met was Pestilence. If the other two, War and Famine, were anything like that crazy witch, I would rather skip the reunion.

  Constantine wouldn’t meet Death’s eyes. Everyone else pretended to be busy with something else, and I made my way to the fridge to look for food. It wasn’t like we were cowards, but Death and Constantine had a special relationship—one the rest of us didn’t get involved in.

  “Isis, your dinner is in the fridge,” Bob told me as he walked in my direction. I almost rolled my eyes since I was already standing in front of the fridge.

  “Death, honestly, why would I do such a thing?” I heard Constantine say. Bob and I were now hiding behind the fridge door. “Hey, what’s that sound?”

  At first, I thought Constantine was stalling for time, but then I heard it. Bob and I met each other’s eyes before I closed the fridge and faced everyone. It was our teleconference system, and it was ringing.

  “Constantine. Do not pick that up,” Death said, her tone more than serious.

  Unfortunately, her words came too late because Constantine had already sprinted across the room and pressed the button. It wasn’t his fault. Constantine was a sucker for blinking lights.

  Death took a deep breath as a broad-shouldered man with an olive complexion and jet-black hair came on the screen, wearing a military uniform.

  “Guerra, what’s up my man?” Constantine said to the stranger with a huge grin on his face.

  “Constantine, is that you?” the man asked as he stared at Constantine. How many talking cats did he know?

  “Hey, don’t hate,” Constantine replied. “This is my North America camouflage. Taking a few pointers from you,” Constantine finished, putting his pointy fangs on full display. I almost laughed out loud.

  Everyone else had a different reaction to the mystery caller. Bob looked a little pale, Eugene was mesmerized by him, and Bartholomew looked like a kid in a candy store. Death, on the other hand, was glaring at her brother. She had her arms crossed and her foot was tapping furiously.

  As for me, I wasn’t too impressed, so I focused on eating my food.

  “Good call, easier to fit in,” the mystery caller said. “Have you seen Muerte? He’s not answering my calls. I really need to talk to him.” The mystery caller’s gaze roamed as if he could see around the screen.

  “What did you say?” Constantine asked the mystery caller. “Guerra, I think I’m losing you.” Before he could reply, Constantine hit the off button, then he turned to face Death. “Sorry, boss.”

  “Constantine, I’m not in the mood for this,” Death replied as she headed out the door. “Fix this.”

  “Death, you know he is just going to keep calling until he fin
ds you,” Constantine told Death.

  “Not today.” That was all Death said as she walked out the door and left us all staring at the spot she had just been standing.

  “Oh wow, please tell me that was War!” Eugene broke the silence.

  “Who else would it be?” Constantine asked as he made his way across the room.

  “Yes! Wait until I tell the guys.” Eugene bounced off his chair and ran out the door. During his weekend visits, Eugene stayed downstairs in Bob’s guest bedroom. I guessed he was heading towards his room.

  “Pestilence’s Interns really do need to go out more,” Constantine said as he stared out the glass wall and watched Eugene run across the first floor.

  “Bob, are you okay?” Bartholomew asked Bob. I turned around and noticed Bob had a greenish hue across his face.

  “I think it was something I ate. I’m going to bed.” Bob was out the door before we could say another word.

  “When I think my days can’t get any weirder, I’m always surprised,” I said out loud. “I’m heading to bed. I don’t think I can process any more today. Goodnight.” I wasn’t sure if I was still suffering the side effects of the narcotics, but whatever just happened had been odd, so before anything weirder happened, I went to bed.

  For most of the residents of the Bible Belt, Sundays were days of rest and worship. That was not the case for me. I was a Christian, technically Catholic, so I did practice my faith. As long as I was in town, I went to mass on Saturdays at five p.m. I even volunteered for the Saturday morning services of the Church Under the Bridge. That was one of the most moving experiences of my life. A dedicated group of volunteers minister to the transient population and share a meal together. Even for those who don’t believe in magic or God, they could feel the power.

  With my Saturday church schedule, Sunday became another training day. This was like being back in the military. If we were not at war, we were training. As Death’s Intern, I trained all the time. Most of my training consisted of running, hand to hand combat, firing range, and of course, music. Nobody could deny I didn’t have a diverse life. I could qualify for a musician spy. Fortunately, I was far enough in my training that I could pick my own routine.