The Tyrant's Tomb

she meant.
“You’re talking about Tarquin,” I said. “You jumped into the throne
room because…you wanted to save me?”
“Duh,” she muttered, without any heat.
I put my hand over my bandaged abdomen. I’d been so angry with Meg
for her recklessness in the tomb. I’d assumed she was just being impulsive,
reacting to Tarquin’s plans to let the Bay Area burn. But she’d leaped into
battle for me—with the hope that she could kill Tarquin and erase my curse.
That was even before I’d realized how bad my condition was. Meg must
have been more worried, or more intuitive, than she’d let on.
Which certainly took all the fun out of criticizing her.
“Oh, Meg.” I shook my head. “That was a crazy, senseless stunt, and I
love you for it. But don’t beat yourself up. Pranjal’s medicine bought me
some extra time. And you did, too, of course, with your cheese-grating skills
and your magical chickweed. You’ve done everything you could. When we
summon godly help, I can ask for complete healing. I’m sure I’ll be as good
as new. Or at least, as good as a Lester can be.”
Meg tilted her head, making her crooked glasses just about horizontal.
“How can you know? Is this god going to give us three wishes or
something?”
I considered that. When my followers called, had I ever shown up and
granted them three wishes? LOL, nope. Maybe one wish, if that wish was
something I wanted to happen anyway. And if this ritual only allowed me to
call one god, who would it be—assuming I could even choose? Perhaps my
son Asclepius would be able to heal me, but he couldn’t very well fight the
Roman emperors’ forces and the hordes of undead. Mars might grant us
success on the battlefield, but he’d look at my wound and say something like
Yeah, rough break. Die bravely!
Here I was with purple lines of infection snaking down my arms, telling
Meg not to worry.
“I don’t know, Meg,” I confessed. “You’re right. I can’t be sure
everything will be okay. But I can promise you I’m not giving up. We’ve
come this far. I’m not going to let a belly scratch stop us from defeating the
Triumvirate.”
She had so much mucus dripping from her nostrils, she would’ve made
Buster the unicorn proud. She sniffled, wiping her upper lip with her
knuckle. “I don’t want to lose somebody else.”