Page 14

Chapter fourteen

T he juice from the apple ran down Bartholomew's chin, and he wiped it with his shirt. If his sister ever caught him doing that, she would ground him for a week. He smiled at the thought and realized he missed her. They shared a telepathic connection, but he hated to bother her when they were across the world from each other. She also needed to stay focused on the moment when dealing with her godmother and the Order of headstrong witches.

Bartholomew was glad he didn’t have to spend too much time with the Order. They were exhausting on a good day and infuriating on others. He blamed their insane superiority complex for having lived for hundreds of years hiding from the humans. All that power probably did something to their psyche. Organized witches always looked pissy.

Please don’t let me get that way, Lord, Bartholomew prayed.

That was something else he found interesting. Before his death, he hadn’t been a religious person. Knowing that the supernatural world was real and being Death’s ward had a way of destroying theology. But in that moment when he died and met God, he felt peace. The religions of the world didn’t get it all wrong, but they sure weren’t right. God was love and peace and every emotion humans felt, but all harmonized into perfection.

Bartholomew took another bite from his apple and busted through the double doors of the morgue like he was the new contestant on The Price is Right .

“What’s going on with the fabulous fantastic duo?” Bartholomew shouted as he entered.

Angela turned around to face him, holding the spleen of the body she was operating on. TJ held a tray with other body parts over the body. They both stared at Bartholomew through their face shields.

“Jesus Christ, doc.” Bartholomew covered his face from the sight of body parts. “Have you considered putting a sign on the door?”

Angela dropped the spleen on the tray and raised her shield to give Bartholomew her greatest glare.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “You walk into the morgue side of the hospital, and I need to put a sign for your convenience?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Bartholomew but took another bite as he strolled over. “You should consider those blinking lights that they have on movie sets when they are recording. Right outside the door. It would be perfect.”

“Or you can just stay outside my operating room all the time,” she informed him.

Bartholomew glanced over at TJ, who shrugged as he placed the tray on the table. Angela leaned over Bartholomew and took a bite out of his apple.

“Hey,” he shouted, but held the apple firm for her. “This is why you don’t have any friends. You know it’s a rule you shouldn’t be eating a man’s food. I could have rabies.”

“Do you?” she asked him. “I have shots for that.”

“I really think you are just looking for excuses to see me naked.” He moved away from the doctor with his apple.

Angela winked at TJ, who held back the laughter.

“But what do we owe the pleasure of your great visit?” Angela teased him.

“I don’t even know why you are pretending, it’s not like I’m not your favorite Reaper,” Bartholomew fired back.

“I don’t know, I really like Isis.”

Bartholomew stopped and glanced back at the doctor.

“Isis is pretty cool,” TJ added, making Bartholomew flip him off.

“But you are both right. Isis is pretty cool,” Bartholomew conceded. “I’ll give you that. But I’m your favorite male Reaper.”

“You are the only one,” Angela informed him.

“Not I’m not.” Bartholomew shook his head. “Just because the others are back chilling in the river Styx does not make me the only one. TJ has met them.”

“Really?” Angela turned.

“It was like meeting an army of three hundred pissed off Spartans straight out of hell,” TJ told her. “That group is the scariest thing you will have to meet.”

“They are pretty intense,” Bartholomew agreed. “And technically, the river Styx is in the same dimension as hell, so you are not totally wrong. I’m just glad when the apocalypse comes, they are on our side.”

“Well, in that case, I’m not sure if you are my favorite Reaper after all.” Angela took off her gloves. “I might like intense.”

Bartholomew eyed her up and down and shook his head. “Then they say men are weird.”

Angela took the rest of the apple from his hands and started eating. “Back to business. What do you need?”

“Obviously, not my apple.”

“Obviously,” TJ confirmed.

“Bob wants an update,” Bartholomew went back to business.

“Next time you should bring two apples and maybe some oranges, and a grilled cheese sandwich,” Angela told him.

“You know we have a five-star chef manning our kitchen, right?” Bartholomew informed the doctor.

“We do?”

“I swear, you are not new.” Bartholomew pointed at TJ. “I expect those types of questions from him. What have you been eating this whole time?”

“Leftovers.” Angela munched on the apple.

“Do you need a tour of the place?” Bartholomew placed his hands over his hips, in a great imitation of Peter Pan, and was tapping his foot.

“I never had time,” Angela confessed. “Besides, I figured the meals were pretty pricey here.”

Bartholomew held the doctor by the shoulders and stared at her directly in the eyes. “I have the urge to shake some sanity into you, but I’m afraid of rattling your brain. So, I’ll explain very slowly.”

Angela punched him in the stomach, and Bartholomew released his hold on her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“All jokes aside.” Bartholomew faced Angela. “All meals, snacks, and even fancy coffees are free to all staff and volunteers. We really should make sure everyone knows that. Also, while on duty, if you cannot stop for lunch, call the main desk and food will be brought to you.”

“Has that always been the case?” TJ jumped in.

“Yes,” Bartholomew replied, turning to face his friend. “Let me guess, that douchebag George never told you?”

Angela shook her head.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Bartholomew told her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“You are going to get blood all over you.” She pushed him away.

“Won’t be the first time.” Bartholomew kissed the top of Angela’s head, and for the first time he felt like the older one between the two of them.

Bartholomew would make it a point to find George and have a few chosen words with him. Or even better, he would tell Isis and have her talk to him. His sister was terrifying when she put her mind to it.

“I’ll have Pete stop by and go over the process with both of you,” Bartholomew told them.

“Does it have to be Pete?” Angela mumbled.

“He is not that bad,” Bartholomew defended the Pixie. “But he is going to be furious when he learns that you two didn’t know the procedures. It would also help explain why the medical staff never ate with the team.”

“Were we supposed to?” TJ asked.

“Everyone on duty does supper together,” Bartholomew added. “Rumor has it you guys think you are too good to eat with the rest of us.”

“Wait, what?” Angela almost dropped the apple. “For the last month I was eating nothing but ramen noodles, instead of a five-star meal, and I think I’m too good? Somebody better save me a plate tonight, or I’ll eat Pete’s.”

“You will fit right in.” Bartholomew gave her a fist bump and Angela returned it. “But can we get back to work? Some of us have things to do besides BS around with you two.”

“What?” Angela slapped his abs again.

“Ouch.” Bartholomew bent over in mock pain. “You are going to leave a bruise if you keep this up.”

“A bruise on your ego, boy,” she informed him, but made her way around the body toward the laptop on a stand. “You have less fat than TJ, and he has muscles on top of his muscles.”

“That’s right,” TJ replied, flexing.

“Time for the gun show,” Bartholomew added, also flexing with his friend.

Angela gave a flat stare at both of the guys and turned her back on them. Bartholomew and TJ busted into fits of laughter.

“You love us,” said Bartholomew.

“We finished the autopsy on victim one, Mr. Claus,” Angela started her lecture, ignoring the giggles of the boys. “He didn’t have any previous health conditions, and besides his heart stopping, he was doing amazing. The blood reports showed traces of Ecstasy in his system.”

“E?” Bartholomew asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because Pestilence had been forbidden to sell the stuff in Haven, even in their own club after the last incident,” TJ explained.

“The only way for Eugene to be selling again is if Pestilence made him,” Bartholomew explained. “I’m going to call him in a few and I’ll check with him.”

“How bad is it if they are still selling?” Angela asked.

“If Death gives the direct order to one of her siblings, she expects them to follow it,” Bartholomew replied. “Death doesn’t do well when she has to repeat herself.”

“Could it be someone else?” Angela continued.

“That’s a good question.” Bartholomew walked over to the computer area where Angela was standing. “Do you have a sample of the blood? I can take it to Eugene and have it compared with his stuff. If it wasn’t them, he might tell us a bit more.”

“Do you think he could find something I couldn’t?” Angela asked, biting her lips.

“Angela, you are good,” said Bartholomew. “And when you do your magic thing, you are one of the best doctors in the south.”

“But?”

“But Eugene is a scientist for a Horseman. His resources and magic trumps ours when it comes to science.” Bartholomew patted her on the shoulder. “Not a bad thing, being second to the best.”

“Thanks,” Angela replied in a flat tone. “TJ prepare a sample for his highness over here.”

“Why am I always in trouble with you?”

“Because it’s you. But I’m actually going to need a favor from you.”

“Now you need me.” Bartholomew leaned over, flexing his biceps for her.

“I want to conduct a full autopsy on the new corpse we found last night,” Angela said, pointing to one freezer.

“But?” Bartholomew asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I kind of need permission,” she said sweetly.

“Of course, you do.” Bartholomew took a deep breath. “Let me check with Bob if he has done the notice yet. If not, I’ll get permission as well. But you have to be really nice to me.”

“You are the best, Bart!” Angela said, full of sarcasm rubbing his biceps, but Bartholomew glared at her.

Knock. Knock.

The group turned towards the door to see Abby’s sweet face peeking in the room. “Can I come in?”

“See how it’s done?” Angela chastised Bartholomew. “Of course, come in.”

“Thank you.” Abby took cautious steps into the morgue. “Mr. Bob said I should come down and see if you could prescribe me something for . . .”

Abby stopped talking, eyes fixed on the open body on the operating table.

“Oh Go . . .” she couldn’t finish, as she gagged at the sight, her face drained of all color. Abby turned around in one smooth motion and ran out of the room.

“Abby!” TJ shouted.

He turned to follow behind but slammed against the tables with the organs, knocking a few trays down.

“I would recommend taking off the Frankenstein bloody apron, and the shield, before running after her,” Bartholomew said. “You don’t want to add to the experience.”

TJ inspected himself and found blood running down his operating apron and gloves.

“Good call,” he said, undressing as he walked out of the morgue.

“Now you see how I was right.” Bartholomew beamed next to the doctor. “A little blinking red light over the door would stop poor, innocent souls from losing their lunches because of this.”

“You know how much I hate when you are right.” Angela scolded. “Who do I need to request a light from?”

“Who else? Pete.”

“Why is he in charge of everything?”

“’Cause he is the only one here all the time,” Bartholomew explained. “And he knows where to find anything you need. You are going to love him if you just give him a chance.”

“Am I?”

Bartholomew took a long look at Angela and then shook his head. “No, you are not. The two of you are going to kill each other every day. It’s going to be epic.”

“Get out of my morgue!” Angela shouted. “I’ll have TJ deliver the sample when he comes back.”

“But I can help.”

“Bartholomew! Out!”

Angela pushed Bartholomew all the way across the morgue and out the door. Bartholomew didn’t struggle with her. It was nice seeing the doctor back to her normal self, full of spunk and attitude.