by Wren Weston
Substantially.
A few religious experts had studied the phenomenon, claiming that the gods talked to the oracles just as much as they always had, there were merely fewer oracles to receive the messages. Lila privately believed that the oracles had merely begun making up even more bullshit for attention, all to justify the expense of their compounds.
Lila typed in a few search terms about the vision paradox.
She jumped when her palm vibrated.
“I’ve made cookies,” Chef crooned, her face coming on screen. “A dozen chocolate chip and another dozen peanut butter. I know how much you like them.”
Lila narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“You’re so suspicious.”
“What do you want?”
“Rosemary found a restaurant that’s going out of business down south. I’d like you to check it out with me. You’re so fond of saying that I should open a bakery. I could use some business advice.”
Lila cocked her head to the side. There was no way that Chef had suddenly decided to open her own bakery, but Lila owed her far too much not to play along. Besides, Chef knew more about the oracles than anyone on the compound. It was a nice coincidence, though Lila normally didn’t believe in them.
“I’ll be right over.” Lila disconnected and shut down her desktop computer, picking up the entire stack of reports before she left. Sergeant Jenkins was still typing away at his desk when she dropped them in his inbox. “Gods, that feels so good.”
“Post-its again? You know I hate that. Your handwriting is tragic.”
“I sent you voice messages about some of them,” Lila said, shoving open the door with her butt. “You’ll get to hear my melodious voice—”
“Rambling about stuff I barely understand.”
“Nah, not today. Nothing’s technical.”
He brightened. “Well in that case, have a lovely day.”
Lila twirled around, waved to the receptionist, and marched to the elevator. She sent a few more messages as she walked to Villanueva House, managing to completely clear the backlog before she stepped through the front door.
“Chef?” she called out in the kitchen
“Don’t bellow, Lila,” Chef muttered as she peered around an open cabinet. “It’s not what highborns do.”
“I’m the chief of security. We bellow. We have special permission.”
Chef shook her head and closed the cabinet door, wrapping four loaves of fresh bread in plastic wrap.
Lila peeked through a stack of containers filled with cookies, sugared nuts, and fudge. “This is all for Rosemary?”
Chef averted her eyes. “She’s gotten too thin since she moved out on her own.”
Lila knew without a doubt that Chef was lying. She wouldn’t have made bags of sugar for Rosemary. She would have stocked her fridge with meaty stew and lasagna. “So where are my noshes for the road? I’m to drive hungry? Starving?”
“You’ll spoil your dinner.”
“I’m a grown woman, not a five-year-old. I can’t spoil my—”
“You’re acting like a five-year-old.”
Lila stilled her lips. Protesting at this point would make her sound like a five-year-old. Chef was far too crafty. “Who’s making dinner?”
“Isabel. Everything’s laid out already. She just needs to babysit the soup and assemble the chicken salad. She can’t screw it up, so don’t give me that look.”
“I wasn’t giving you a look.”
Chef handed her a bag to carry, and picked up the rest. “You were giving a look.”
Once in the garage, Lila grabbed the keys for an Adessi sedan, for her silver roadster was too small to accommodate the food. She quickly checked for bugs, then pulled out of the compound.
“Where am I going?”
“Go south,” Chef answered vaguely, adjusting the radio, stopping as someone rapped in French. “Take the interstate.”
Lila pulled onto the road, dodging cars as she stole sidelong glances at Chef in the passenger seat. Finally, she turned down the music. “What can you tell me about the oracles?”
“The oracles? You’ve never shown an interest in the oracles. Why do you want to talk about them now?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Why now?”
Lila drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I’m having a religious experience. Right now. In this car.”
“The gods are speaking to you?”
“Yes. It tickles.”
Chef turned up the music. “We’ll talk about them on the way back,” she said, waving Lila’s questions away. Rotting buildings and fields of bluebonnets flashed past the windows.
Lila shifted in her seat. “Okay, fine. Where am I going, then?”
“South, dear. Just a little farther.”
“Bakery, my ass.”
Just a little farther became a maze of shifting streets that Chef directed her through, almost too late for Lila to navigate properly. Gas stations and mega stores turned into large homes crowded around a lake, which soon turned into a collection of weathered wooden buildings, buildings that looked more like sheds than homes.
Lila soon understood where Chef had led her. When Lila’s shoulders slumped in recognition, Chef stopped giving her directions at all.
“I hate you,” Lila grumbled. While the Adessi bobbled and bounced down the pock-marked road, she couldn’t help but feel as though Chef’s insistence about the trip was awfully convenient.
“Maybe you hate me now, but soon you’ll have your cookies, and you’ll forget all about the rest.”
“Not likely.”
“Fudge too?”
Lila considered the offer. “How much fudge?”
The pair soon found themselves in the middle of nowhere, the horizon obscured by thick patches of cedar and ash. Wild, dry undergrowth lurked below the trees.
Lila parked on a disjointed, broken slab of cement marked with faded yellow paint, her Adessi sandwiched among several dozen other cars. The engine spat and hissed in the quiet as she took out the key.
She grabbed a bag of baked goods and followed Chef toward the trailhead past a sign that read Home of the New Bristol Oracle. A pair of wings attached to an eye had been painted above it, serving as the coat of arms for all American oracles.
They’d have to hike a kilometer before they even reached the temple.
“I have a High Council meeting this evening. I’ll come back for you later,” Lila said, hoping the reminder would work. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t like it.
“It’ll only be a moment, dear. I just need to drop a few things off.”
“I’ll wait back at the car, then.”
Chef stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph, you’ll help me carry these offerings to the temple, or you’ll get your lunch from the security office from now on. Do you hear me?”
Lila frowned. It wasn’t often the good-natured Chef threatened her, especially when her threats were empty. “Insufferable woman,” she grunted, not sure which woman she meant.
“I know what you and your mother think of the oracles, but don’t you dare embarrass me in there. Just think of the cookies and fudge.”
Lila clutched her bag and hiked over mismatched and uneven stones in the muggy heat. She’d always hated the hike, not because it was particularly hard, but because she thought it was horribly unfair to people like Sergeant Jenkins. Though she heard the oracles sometimes made house calls, Lila suspected they only did it for a generous donation.
Soon, the pair reached the dock.
They weren’t the only ones waiting for the rowboat this afternoon. A young couple sat on the end of the dock, their shoeless feet skimming the water. They’d intertwined their fingers, murmuring softly to one another, stealing la
nguid kisses before they glimpsed Lila and Chef.
Soon to be married, by the looks of them.
For a brief moment, Lila wished that she were back in Tristan’s apartment, just so she could lie on his bed again, stealing kisses, stealing more. When would things begin for them? Why were things taking so long?
Why hadn’t she just taken what she wanted?
Because he was workborn? Because she didn’t know what he wanted? Because she was too used to reaching for someone who reached for her as well? Because he might want more from her than she could give?
It wasn’t just about sex with Tristan, and it had frozen her.
Perhaps they needed to have a talk, a long talk, about why she kept going over to his place and spending the night with no climax to the evening, a talk about what he actually wanted.
Tonight. When she went over to his place after the council meeting, they’d have it out.
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Lila realized that the thought of not going to see him had never entered her mind. Things were moving too quickly and too slowly with Tristan all at the same time. She’d never let someone get under skin like this before.
She didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t like it one bit.
Her palm vibrated, and she swiped the screen. How’s your day going, Prolix?
“Bad news?”
Lila swallowed and jammed her palm back into her pockets. “No, everything’s fine,” she answered as a man in brown pants and a black t-shirt rowed a little boat to the dock. A long scar ran from his eyebrow to his chin, barely missing his eye.
The group gingerly climbed inside, careful not to rock the boat and overturn it.
The scarred man rowed toward a building floating in the middle of the lake. It appeared like Lila’s security office, all steel and glass and curves, except that it was shaped like a tear, peeking out of the water and coming to a point at the top. Four docks jutted out like compass points around it. Several empty rowboats bobbled in the rolling waves, the vessels tied off and abandoned.
Lila helped Chef from the boat when they finally reached the dock, tipping a bit of cash to the oarsman. Chef pulled out a loaf of bread from one of the bags. “For your service to the oracles.”
The man bowed his head. “Thank you, Chef Ana,” he said as they stepped toward the tear-shaped building.
“He knows your name? How often do you come here?”
“Enough.”
The two lovers from the shore followed behind them, unconcerned with darting ahead and stealing their place in line. There was no such thing as a queue with the oracles. They saw you when they wished, and perhaps they wouldn’t see you at all.
There was no sense in hurrying.
The building opened into a reception area and lobby filled with plush lilac couches, matching rugs, sturdy wooden tables, and the smell of incense. A few women in white robes and lilac lace trim wandered among the small crowd, shushing anyone who talked too loudly, passing out paper cups filled with water to the adults. Many pilgrims sat on the floor, legs crossed, vainly trying to clear their minds.
No such silence was required in the children’s room. An occasional squeal broke through the quiet as a few excited children played with the toys inside. The children also got juice instead of water, and weren’t asked to meditate.
Lucky them.
“Your mind must be clearer if you wish to see the oracle,” one of the women whispered to a man in a green shirt. It likely wasn’t the first time he’d been told. The man gritted his teeth and closed his eyes more tightly.
It was a neat trick, making people believe it was their own fault they hadn’t been seen.
If only that worked in the real world.
One of the robed women smiled at Chef and pulled the pair into a separate room, styled like the lobby, only much smaller. “Chef Ana, it’s so good to see you,” she said, embracing Chef and kissing her on the cheek.
“I made some sweets and bread for everyone.” Chef placed her bags on the little table near the couch. Lila did the same.
The woman’s face lit up as she peeked into the bags. “You didn’t have to do this, Chef Ana. Bringing Chief Randolph for the oracle was quite enough.”
“Bringing me?”
Chef refused to look up while she unloaded the food onto the table. “The oracle called me this morning, Lila. She called me personally. You know when the gods speak—”
“You lose all common sense. I’ll be going now. If the oracle wishes to see me, she can make an appointment like everyone else. I have a council meeting to get back for, and I haven’t the time, the energy, or the desire to wait around.”
Plus, she hadn’t had time to review anything about the oracles.
“I’ll start making pancakes twice a week,” Chef promised quickly.
Lila paused, considering the proposal.
A palm beeped. The attendant pulled hers from her pocket and skimmed the message. “The oracle will see you now, Chief Randolph.”
“Go with it,” Chef said, tugging Lila’s sleeve. “It might be fun.”
“That’s what Thomas Baskins said when I was thirteen. He was wrong too. I want pancakes or waffles twice a week from now on. You gave your word.”
Chef inclined her head.
Lila followed the attendant back into the lobby. They passed through the waiting crowd and entered a room that held nothing but a staircase, leading into darkness.
Lila clomped noisily down the stairs, letting her boot strike each stair as loudly as possible. She found herself approaching a small, dimly lit room, each wall made of glass. Fish swam outside it, bobbing and darting in the cloudy water. A sudden bout of claustrophobia struck her as she reached the last few steps.
A woman, not much older than Lila, sat on a white leather couch watching her descend. She wore a floor-length lilac robe, and her jet-black hair fell in loose waves around her face. She had few wrinkles, perhaps because she schooled her face so often that lines had not had time to develop.
“I don’t enjoy being summoned.” Lila plopped down on a plush chair across from the couch. The leather crinkled as she folded an ankle over her knee.
“Summoned isn’t the word that I would use. If I had contacted you directly, then you wouldn’t have come. Not without digging and poking us apart first, though I daresay you’ve already started. It’s how you highborn operate, and you’re the worst of the lot.”
“What makes you think I’ve taken an interest?”
“I’m an oracle, Chief Randolph. I know your father has asked you to look into us, specifically into the disappearances of our young.”
“Is that so?” Only a few trusted servants had access to her father’s apartments and offices in Bullstow and Unity, but workborn tended to be quite loyal to the oracles. It stood to reason that some of them might act as the women’s spies.
“Let’s not waste time with tiresome circling,” she said, waving Lila off before she could get started. “I know, chief.”
“How do you know what you think you know? By poking and prying?”
“I didn’t have to pry, chief. I deduced it by watching the prime minister during our meeting last week and asking a few pointed questions. His thoughts jumped straight to you.”
“So my father has a passing thought about me, and you decide—”
“Deduced, and deduced correctly.”
“Is that how you oracles operate? By making deductions?” Lila shifted in her seat, outwardly calm on the outside, but the room had begun to creep in on her. It was too quiet and too dead, especially with the fish swirling around them, their eyes shifting and unblinking.
“You believe us to be charlatans.”
“Did you also deduce that?”
“Your feelings are obvious. Though in this case, Chef Ana told me how you felt ages ago. She talks about you.
She despairs of how she might bring you to the gods.”
Lila bit the side of her cheek, uncomfortable at the thought of Chef chatting about her with outsiders. She’d never thought of her as a spy before, not with their history.
“Stop fretting. Chef Ana is utterly loyal to the Randolph family. She only requested my help in bringing you and your siblings to the gods, a mighty task after you’d been schooled so heavily against us.”
“How did you reply?”
“I told her not to bother.”
Lila lifted a brow. She hadn’t been expecting that answer.
“I don’t have time to undo years of suspicion, chief. Fate will decide if you should come toward us or not.” The oracle stretched her arms across the back of the couch. “Your father is correct. Our numbers are dwindling. As a result, the oracles have more faithful than we have time for. I hardly need another, no matter how rich or well connected you might be.”
Lila leaned forward. “You know what I think?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I think you and your sisters dabble in psychology and theater, just like fortune tellers. I think that you read people very, very well and tell people exactly what they want to hear, pretending it comes from the so-called gods. I think you’re the most well-paid and well-protected actresses on the planet. What I don’t know is if you actually believe your own hype.”
“Yes, we dabble. And no, not all of us believe.”
Lila chewed on her lip. “Then you don’t deny that you’re a fake?”
“No, but I am an honest fake. As are you. And when I walk back up those stairs, I’ll deny saying that with every breath in my lungs, but I can read you well enough to know I won’t have to. You respect my candor even if you don’t respect my words.”
Lila cocked her head. “People come to you frightened and worried, sometimes sick and in pain or dying. They come to you with questions, and you lie to them. Do you really think I could respect you for that?”
“It’s rare that anyone wants to talk to me, chief. Most of the time, they just need someone to listen. I do that for them, without judgment, no matter what has happened, no matter what choices they’ve made in the past, no matter what they’re deciding now or might have to choose in the future. I’m safe, I’m impartial, and I’m omniscient, at least in their eyes. They have no reason to lie to me. People need that.”
