The Thirteenth Skull by Rick Yancey Page B

do.”
    They had moved him to a private room. Nueve left me sitting in the hall and went inside. I could hear the rise and fall of their voices as they argued. Occasionally a word or two made it through the thick door. A couple of times I thought I heard the name “Sofia,” but it also could have been “sofa,” only it was hard to imagine why they would be arguing about a piece of furniture. Samuel had said the “Sofia” in ICU, and I wondered again if she was his nurse. But why would they be arguing about a nurse? Maybe Sofia was someone from Samuel’s past that Nueve was trying to use against him: Watch yourself or we’re going after Sofia. I tried to imagine Samuel having a girlfriend, and failed.
    Then Nueve came out and wheeled me inside the room. Samuel was sitting next to the window, a book open in his lap.
    He took in the getup. “You look ridiculous.”
    â€œIt’s a disguise, Samuel.”
    â€œThe shoes are all wrong,” he said to Nueve. “You should have gone with pumps.”
    â€œI tried,” Nueve said. “I was overruled.”
    He took a long white envelope from the outer pocket of his doctor’s coat and laid it on top of Samuel’s book.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Samuel asked.
    â€œYour severance pay, courtesy of Senor Kropp.”
    Samuel peered at the piece of paper.
    â€œI thought you might prefer it in a Swiss account,” Nueve said.
    â€œTwenty-five million ...” Samuel said softly. He looked up at me.
    â€œWell,” I said. “I don’t really know how old you are, but I wanted you to have at least a million dollars for every year until you, um, died.”
    â€œAlfred Kropp,” Nueve said. “Boy adventurer, actuary.”
    Samuel shoved the paper toward me. “I don’t want it.”
    â€œOf course!” Nueve murmured.
    â€œI will not take it, Alfred.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    He tore the certificate in half, then in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor around his bare feet.
    â€œYou are letting your fear get the best of you,” Samuel told me.
    â€œWell,” Nueve said. “You have made your noble gesture, Senor Kropp, and the driver is waiting.”
    â€œHiding solves nothing, Alfred,” Samuel said. “You have not thought this through.” He turned to Nueve. “Leave us.”
    â€œI will not,” Nueve said.
    â€œThere is something I must discuss with him and I will not discuss it with you here.”
    Nueve lost his ironical grin. “I give you five minutes.” He turned to me. “Five minutes, Alfred Kropp, or you may consider our contract null and void.”
    He left, popping the butt of his cane angrily against the linoleum. Samuel gestured for me to come closer. He tugged on the flowery sleeve of my dress, and I went to one knee beside the chair so he could look me straight in the eye.
    â€œAlfred,” he said softly. “Do you know why I refused your touch in ICU?”
    â€œNo. It was stupid.”
    â€œThere is a reason you have been given this power, Alfred. Do you believe that?”
    I thought about it. “Well, it seems pretty accidental to me the way it happened.”
    He placed his huge hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You are the beloved of the Archangel Michael, Alfred Kropp. You have been chosen by the Prince of Light himself. Turn your back on that choice and you turn your back on heaven.”
    I remembered my fall from the demon’s back, the feeling of warmth and light and someone’s arms around me as he fell with me from fire into fire, from darkness into darkness, and the voice whispering, “Beloved.”
    I cleared my throat. “If that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—but if it is, then why didn’t you let me heal you? See, even you don’t really believe it.”
    â€œI would not let you touch me for the very reason that I do