Oracle of Spirits #1 (BBW Paranormal Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  I frowned. "Explains what?"

  "Why those guys were after you, or maybe it doesn't. We'll find out," he replied.

  I tilted my head and my face twisted into confusion. "What's that mean?" I asked him.

  "It means hold on," he told me.

  "I'm kind of strapped-what the hell!" Osman punched on the gas and we flew down the road at top speed.

  Now I prayed the belt would hold as we sped through the streets of the dark city. Osman kept to the back roads to avoid traffic, pedestrians, and cops. I watched the blur of a city change from my residential area, through the older commercial district, and to an old part of town I'll kindly refer to as 'slummy.' The houses were older than my grandparents and in worse health. Most of them were small bungalow-types with roofs that sagged and yards that looked like they'd never met a sprinkler they liked. The windows were covered in plastic for the coming winter and the weathered doors saw better days decades ago.

  There were a few exceptions. Among the bungalows were a few old Victorian mansions with sagging porches and yards that looked like they'd never seen a sprinkler, much less hated one. The peeked roofs stabbed the sky and a few worn decorations shaped as faces glared down at us from their high perches.

  "We looking for a vampire to stake now?" I quipped.

  Osman smiled. "Not quite."

  He drove us around a corner of a block and took a right into a narrow, dirty, garbage-filled alley. Both sides were lined with leaning wooden fences and the occasional ancient, leaning garage. I got a whiff of the place and wished I had my hand to plug my nose.

  "Putting me through this stench is against the Geneva Convention," I warned him.

  "You have no idea," he returned.

  We soon arrived at a garage that didn't lean. One of the two-floor, full-attic Victorian houses graced the front part of the lot like a sore on the end of a witch's nose. Osman stopped the car and pressed a button on the dash. The garage door raised and we drove into a relatively clean space. The door shut behind us and enveloped us in pitch-black darkness. I saw Osman's shadowy form hop out of the car and soon his hands were at my seat belt.

  "Now don't get any ideas about screaming or trying to run," he warned me as he untied me. He opened my car door and helped me out. "It wouldn't do you any good. My neighbors are rather used to screams and gunshots, and a woman running down the street screaming about kidnapping won't get you much attention, or attention you'd want."

  "You ever heard of the old saying 'birds of a feather flock together?'" I asked him.

  "Yes, but I haven't had my wings plucked like some of my neighbors," he quipped.

  Osman guided me around the front of the car and to the front of the garage. Cronus opened the door that led to the backyard, and we passed by his frowning face and onto the wet dirt of a yard. The back of the house had a single door in the center of the rear wall that was protected by the wrap-around porch. A tall wooden fence without breaks or cracks surrounded the entire backyard. Above us was the dark, clear sky of an autumn night, and far-off came the sounds of shouting and yelling, followed by a gunshot that made me cringe. Someone just lost an argument.

  Osman had a firm grip on my arm and led me across the lawn. We walked up the few short, broken steps onto the porch and Osman let me go to unlock the door.

  I bolted.

  I spun around and avoided Cronus with a quick hop over the railing that surrounded the porch. My feet hit the weed-choked ground running and I covered five yards pretty fast, but I didn't stand a chance. Someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me off my feet. A foot off my feet. I dangled in the air and tried to free myself, but the person had a vice-like grip. I twisted around to find myself staring into the disinterested face of Cronus.

  Osman walked up behind Cronus and lit a cigarette. "I told you not to go anywhere," he reminded me.

  I grabbed onto Cronus' hand and tried to rip it off me, but his fingers didn't even twitch. "What the hell are you guys?" I questioned them.

  Osman jerked his head over his shoulder at the house. "Come inside, willingly, and I'll give you some answers."

  I frowned, but being a foot of the ground meant I didn't have much of a choice, so I nodded. "Fine, you win. For now." Cronus set me down. I rubbed my wrist and cast a side-glance at him. "Ate your Wheaties today, huh?" He just frowned at me.

  Osman slipped past him and set his hand on the lower part of my back. "This way, beautiful," he instructed me.

  I rolled my eyes and shrugged off his hand. "I'm going to be expecting the truth from you, not a bunch of lies I might want to hear."

  He held up his hands and the cigarette dangled from his lips. "All right. A guy can get a hint. Follow me."

  Osman led me back to the door and this time we went through it. The house was built in two halves with the hallway in the middle. I could see all the way down to the front door and a banister in front of that and to the right told me where the stairs to the second floor stood. There were some open doorways on the left leading to a study and at the front was a living room. The right side led to the kitchen and dining room.

  The whole place was freshly painted, and the old wood floor was sanded and polished. The light fixtures above us were dusted and shone with modern light bulbs. I didn't catch a whiff of decay or even dust.

  I followed Osman down the hall while Cronus followed behind me like a creeping shadow. I glanced over my shoulder and glared at his stoic face. He didn't blink and his movements were so fluid that I was reminded of a well-oiled clock or some other punctual machine.

  "You mind not creeping me out?" I requested.

  "Yes," was his bland reply.

  I was in one of the circles of Hell, but at least I was about to find out which one.

  CHAPTER 9

  Osman led us into the front living room. The room was an old-fashioned parlor type with new wallpaper and a large fireplace opposite the door. He took a seat in a chair angled towards the door that sat near the cold hearth. There was an end table beside him with an ashtray overloaded with cigarettes. He gestured to a couch to my left and his right.

  "Have a seat," he offered.

  I sat down and my eyes flitted to the doorway where Cronus took up residence against the frame. He still hadn't blinked.

  "So what do you want to know first?" he asked me.

  "First, I want to know who the hell you guys are," I told them.

  "A pair of concerned citizens who rescue damsels in distress," Osman teased.

  "Cut the bull crap and fork over the info," I snapped.

  Osman shrugged and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. He dangled it over the arm of his chair and studied the small red warmth at its end. He didn't look at me when he spoke.

  "I'm-well, let's just say I have an uncanny ability to perceive the paranormal through my sense of sight, hearing and smell," he revealed. "That's left me in the perfect position to be a detective of the paranormal and help out those who aren't as 'lucky' as I am." The word 'lucky' was spoken with a heavy dose of bitterness.

  "So you two are like phantom hunters?" I guessed.

  "Among others," Osman confirmed.

  I leaned forward and looked him over. "You said something about this being personal. Why?"

  A small smile slipped onto his lips and he closed his eyes. "I hoped you'd forgotten about that minor detail."

  "So it's true?" I questioned him.

  Osman opened his eyes and crunched the half-used cigarette into the full ashtray. He lit another cigarette and placed it into the corner of his mouth.

  "You know, those aren't exactly healthy for you," I informed him.

  His trademark crooked grin slipped onto his lips. "Believe me, if anything's going to kill me it isn't going to be a cigarette or two."

  "You mean like that guy in the white suit?" I guessed.

  "Him, or any of the other Phantom Whisperers," he agreed.

  "So where do I fit into all of this?" I asked him.

  Osman leaned back in his ch
air and took a long drag on his cigarette. He let out a puff of smoke and studied me. "That's an interesting question. Where do you fit into all of this?"

  "I'm the one asking the questions," I reminded him.

  "To be honest I'm not entirely sure, but I'd like to do a test." He rummaged in his overcoat and pulled out a small wooden box with a face on the curved lid. I noticed Cronus pushed off from the doorway and stood at attention. Osman set the box on the table beside him and grasped the lid in one hand. "Care to try out my theory?" he asked me.

  I sat straight and glared at him. "That depends on what-" Osman opened the lid and a rush of darkness flew out from its depths.

  The shadow arched high into the air and plummeted back down to earth straight at me. I turned my face away and raised my arms over my head, but the shadow flew straight through my arms and hit me in the temple. A freezing cold pierced my brain like a bad ice cream brain freeze. I clenched my teeth together and grabbed my temple.

  "What the hell was that thing?" I snapped at Osman.

  "It's a small Shadow that has attached to your mind," Osman explained to me. "It will prove my theory right, or kill you."

  I dropped my hand and whipped my head to him. "What?"

  "Kill you. Shadows burrow deep into a person's personality, their soul, so-to-speak, and consume everything," he told me.

  "How the hell am I supposed to stop it?" I yelled at him.

  He shrugged. "You figure it out."

  I would've jumped him and strangled him right then and there, but I had a creature of darkness burrowing into my soul. I stumbled to my feet and clutched my freezing head between my hands. The cold changed to a dull pain that had aspirations for something much stronger as the ache changed to a roaring fire.

  I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth together. All I could think about was exorcising that Shadow from my mind.

  I barely noticed when a bright light penetrated my eyelids. My eyes flew open and I saw the glow came from either side of my head. The pain faded and I pulled my hands away to see they were the source of the glow. My hands were illuminated like the lighting section in a national hardware store. Two snake-like shadows writhed in my palms.

  Osman stood and slipped his hands underneath mine so mine were held in his palms. He furrowed his brow and bit the end of his cigarette.

  "Clap," he ordered me.

  I blinked at him. "What?"

  "Trust me. Just clap," he repeated.

  I leaned away from my own hands and clapped my hands. The ensuing explosion of light flooded the room for one brilliant moment, and then nothing. No more light in my hands, no more headache, no more writhing shadows. I looked at my palms with wide, blinking eyes.

  Osman turned away from me and settled himself back in his chair. He shoved the bit cigarette into the ashtray and pulled out another one.

  "Very interesting," he commented.

  I looked away from my hands and at him. "What the hell just happened?" I whispered.

  "You destroyed my Shadow," he told me.

  "It was going to kill me!" I defended myself. I let that thought sink in for just a moment before anger swept aside my uncertainty, and I glared at Osman. "You were going to kill me!"

  That crooked smile returned and he shook his head. "You weren't going to die."

  "But you said it was going to kill me!" I reminded him.

  He shrugged. "I lied."

  I threw myself across the short distance between us and reached for his eyes to claw them out. Osman grabbed my wrists and kept my hands a safe six inches from his face. He chuckled.

  "You're even prettier when you're angry," he complimented me.

  "And you're going to be a dead man when I get a hold of you!" I growled.

  The smile slipped off his lips and his eyebrows crashed down. "You'll have to get in line, so sit down." He shoved me backwards and I fell back into onto the couch. "Besides, you should be thanking me. I've solved some of your mystery."

  "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snapped at him.

  "It means I know why the Phantom Whisperer chose to sic his pet on you," he told me. "You're a Mystic."

  I blinked at him. "I'm a what?"

  "A Mystic," he repeated. "One who, through practice or natural ability, is capable of destroying the lower level creatures of the paranormal world."

  "A Mystic?" I repeated.

  "Yes," he confirmed.

  "Isn't that some sort of class in an MMO?" I asked him.

  "Yes, but it has practical applications outside the world of make-believe," he assured me.

  I leaned back against the rear of the couch and raised an eyebrow. "Like what? Being able to heal people when they call me over?"

  "There are minor healing powers, but your greatest asset is your ability to destroy weak paranormal creatures with your touch, and stronger ones with a talisman," he explained.

  I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and looked him in the eye. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

  "Very serious," he assured me.

  "So what do I do now?" I questioned him. "Change my name and move to another city?"

  A teasing smile played across his lips. "Bertha Summers would suit you," he suggested.

  I frowned and stood. "And you and your creepy friend don't suit me. I'd rather face a hundred phantoms then-"

  "And you might, though probably not at the same time," he warned me. The serious tone and look had returned to him, and he leaned forward with his cigarette clenched tightly at the corner of his mouth. "Besides, I can't let you leave here. You know where I live."

  "Then why did you bring me here if you didn't want me to know that?" I snapped at him.

  "It's the safest place I know, and I didn't think you'd be this difficult after I saved your life," he replied.

  I snorted and waved my hand at the men and the house. "Saved my life so I could be what? Trapped in this fun house with you two creepy clowns and a couple of black phantoms and white-suited guys outside ready to do God-knows-what with me?"

  He stood and put his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. His keen eyes looked me over and he shrugged. "Or you could stop being so difficult and help us to find out why the Whisperer told his little pet to try to kidnap you rather than just outright kill you, especially as you're a threat to his little Whisperings."

  I folded my arms across my chest and pursed my lips. "How about you just get him off my back?" I suggested. "You've got those magic things. Make that Whisperer crumble or blow away or something."

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't do that."

  "Why not?" I snapped at him.

  He nodded past me at Cronus. "If he says we can't destroy him then I'm not going to argue."

  I threw up my hands. "Then the only choice I have is 'stay here for the rest of my life?'"

  Osman's crooked grin returned. "I have a very large bed that fits two very comfortably."

  "And I'm sure you say that to all the girls you kidnap," I quipped.

  "I must admit you're the first, and I hope the last," he replied.

  "I'm flattered," I retorted. I sighed and leaned back against the couch. "Fine. I'll stay here until, or if, this phantom wind ever blows over. But don't expect me to like it."

  Osman stood and gestured to the doorway. "Then let me show you to your bedroom."

  I stood and glared at me. "It better be just my bedroom."

  "If that's what you want," he answered.

  "Definitely."

  CHAPTER 10

  Cronus stepped aside and let Osman lead me into the hall. I followed Osman to the stairs and we walked up, but I paused before my head peeked into the second floor and looked down. Cronus stood at the bottom of the stairs by the banister. The creepy pale partner had a dark look in his eyes. I frowned back at him and hurried to where Osman waited. The upstairs had a single wide hall with three doors on either side and a window at the end. Towards the front of the house the hallway wrapped around the stai
rs and ended at the front wall with a large window that matched the other one.

  "I get the feeling your partner doesn't like me," I commented.

  "He doesn't really like anyone," Osman told me as he turned to the rooms on the left. He nodded at the one which was at the front of the house . "That one's yours, and mine's the last door on the same wall. There's a bathroom between us."

  I moved to the middle door and opened it. The bathroom was large with a wide, long tub opposite the door and with a toilet on the left and the sink on the right. On either side of the long walls was another door. I glanced over my shoulder and jerked my head towards the doors.

  "Why are there two of them?" I asked him.

  "It's a shared bathroom," he explained.

  I turned to him and crossed my arms over my chest. "Not happening."

  "You could take the other side, but it hasn't been refurbished yet and not all the rats are out," he warned me.

  I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. "Then you'd better not leave hair in the tub."

  "I try not to."

  "Any other surprises I need to know about?" I wondered.

  "Just a rule. Don't go into the basement," he told me.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

  He turned away from me towards the stairs and lowered his voice so I could barely catch the words. "Let's just say it isn't pleasant. Oh, and try not to go outside at night alone. The phantoms are strongest then," he added.

  "I'll be a good girl," I promised.

  He slyly smiled at me. "I hope not, but I'll see you later." He headed down the stairs.

  I frowned and rushed to the banister that wrapped around the hole in the floor where the stairs sat. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" I asked him.

  Osman paused at the bottom of the stairs and stood beside Cronus. They both faced me, one with a grin and the other with a scowl.

  "You'll be fine here. We'll be back before sunrise," he promised.

  "And if you're not?" I wondered.

  "Then wait some more. We'll be back," he swore.

  Osman waved to me, and the pair walked around the stairs and down the hall to the rear of the house. I flew down the steps and was in time to watch their backs disappear through the back door.