Titan_An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology by Daniel Mignault & Jackson Dean Chase

Author:Daniel Mignault & Jackson Dean Chase [Mignault, Daniel & Chase, Jackson Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jackson Dean Chase, Inc.
Published: 2018-07-11T22:00:00+00:00

20

PSYCHIC SURGERY

The ghost bows, its once-vague features sharpen to resemble a wise man in his fifties.

“OK, so he's a doctor, but, um, are you sure he's―you know―qualified? How long has he been dead?”

“I'll let him answer that,” Hannah says.

Herophilos gives a vaporous shrug. “I have been beyond this mortal life since 280 B.C.” His words are formal, stilted by an ancient Greek accent, “but, I assure you, death is no obstacle to education. I have continued to practice medicine with men and spirits, even among the Gods themselves! My most recent position was Court Physician to my lord, Hades, until the Gods War necessitated a change of scenery…”

Herophilos stops to look at Hannah a moment. Something passes between them, but I can't tell what.

“You can skip that part,” she prompts him. “Just tell Andrus your qualifications.”

The ghost sniffs disdainfully before continuing. “As to my earthly qualifications, beyond writing the preeminent text on blood flow, I was the world's first anatomist―the first to dissect cadavers to gain knowledge of human anatomy. My earthly advances in medicine were unequalled for 1,600 years after my death, but,”―and here he pauses to give a self-satisfied smile―“when you take into account I've never stopped practicing, I am sure you will, by necessity, come to the correct conclusion that I am more than qualified.”

“So you're a genius,” I reply, not sure I believe him.

“I prefer the word 'visionary,' but yes, I am a genius.” His smile broadens into a grin that threatens to grow wider than his ghostly face will allow. The effect is disconcerting, like watching clouds drift in different directions.

Hannah coughs politely. “Your face,” she reminds him.

“My face? Oh, yes. Pardon me.” The ghostly features of Herophilos become pure roiling mist, then reform minus the smile. “Better?” he asks.

“Much,” Hannah says.

“Excellent. As I was saying, Andrus, the mind goes where the body cannot. We never stop learning… even in death. I know you must think me pompous, but trust me: Modesty is for the living; the dead have no time for it. In death, our achievements are all we have.”

I look at Mark, then the ghost. “You really think you can fix him?”

Herophilos nods. “It is a simple matter of psychic surgery. I will go inside the patient's head to ease the swelling… with your permission, of course.”

“Fine,” I say. “If you're sure.”

Once more, the ghost loses its sharp features. It becomes a gray funnel, whirling its way into Mark's skull through his mouth, nose, and ears. I can see it moving under the skin, Mark's face stretching and shrinking as the ghost goes about its strange business.

“So,” I ask, “as Hades's daughter, you get to hang with a lot of ghosts?”

“Some. Imagine having access to train with the best minds, the brightest talents the centuries have to offer. As a Demigod, I was born with certain powers, and Hades gave me magic items, but those weren't the greatest gift he gave me―it was the ghosts.”

“I get it; the ghosts meant you were never alone.

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