Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book

by Carissa Andrews

  Suddenly, my brain kicks back in.

  Who the hell does he think he is?

  I’m freaking Diana Hawthorne. I’m not some pretty face incapable of handling myself. I’ve seen more than this man will ever witness in all his years—and then some.

  “Look, Blake, I may not have any specialized training I’m assuming you’ve undergone, but I’ve assisted on over a dozen cases in the past two years alone. All of them ended up with good results because I was with them. I don’t need you to save me, or worry about me. I can handle myself. But Esther—I can help you locate her. I’ve seen where she’s playing—where he’s hiding her,” I say, grabbing his arm. “What if you get there and it’s not obvious? And I’m sure as hell you don’t have a warrant to search the premises—unless you happen to have a cop in your back pocket. I can get the dude to invite us in and never even know what hit him.”

  Blake looks down at my white knuckled grasp clutched across his forearm, and sighs.

  “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?”

  “Nope,” I say, jutting out my chin.

  “Fine,” he concedes, “you can come with—but you’ll stay in the Rover until I need you. Got it?”

  “Whatever you say,” I say, nodding and holding my hands up.

  What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right?

  “Change of plans Aiden—she’s coming with,” Blake calls out as he opens the front door.

  His eyes flit back to me as concern creeps across his features.

  In the distance, Aiden calls back, “Got it.”

  Grinning, I march out the door and head back to the front seat of the Range Rover.

  Blake slides in the driver’s seat, turning the vehicle on, and plugging in coordinates into his in-dash GPS. Within seconds, the vehicle is in motion—swerving along the curvy drive with ease. His focus reminds me of my own.

  The confusion from earlier is waning and my senses heighten, as they always do when I’m helping with a case. Of course, I’ll probably sleep for days after we’re done—but it will be worth it if we can find the little girl before anything truly bad happens.

  I can’t imagine the kind of hell she’d have to deal with if we fail.

  Turning to Blake, I whisper, “Who was it?”

  “Excuse me?” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

  I eye his every move, trying to figure him out. It’s curious—I’ve never had to read someone solely based on body language before. It’s an interesting, almost refreshing twist.

  He shifts in his seat.

  “Who did you lose?” I ask.

  Even though I got the details about Aiden’s parents, I’m not certain that’s the entirety of it.

  Blake snorts, “What makes you think I lost anyone?”

  He shoots me a sideways glance, but again his perfect little ass shifts in the seat.

  “Hmmm,” I mutter.

  “Hmmm? What’s hmmm?”

  I shrug, casting my gaze out to the road in front of us. Trees fly by far faster than they should, as he presses the limit on how quickly we should maneuver the bends.

  “You’re an odd one for me,” I finally admit. “On one hand, I can’t get a read on you—but on another, I get these impressions. Just calculated guesses really because they’re not based on my insights—or gifts. Whatever you want to call it. Christ, is that how you have to go through your life? Watching for patterns and making guesses, hoping they’ll pay off?”

  “Huh, never thought of it that way before,” he says, his lips tugging downward as his eyebrows flip up.

  “It’s excruciating,” I whisper.

  “C’mon. You’re telling me you’ve never had to make a calculated guess before?” he snorts. “I’m sure even self-proclaimed psychics have their moments.”

  I shake my head, letting the snide remark slide.

  “No—never for the things that mattered. I’ve always been able to see the past, present, and future accurately.”

  Well, okay, that’s a lie.

  The only other blind spot has been my past, but we won’t get into that.

  “Never? Then why would I be so different?” he asks, glancing to me.

  “No idea. To be honest, it’s kinda annoying. I don’t know if it’s me—if my abilities are on the fritz, or if it’s you. Just you. You know? Have you warded yourself?” I ask.

  He throws a glance my direction and snickers.

  “Like, with witchcraft and stuff?”

  “Sure, if you wanna be an ass about it,” I say, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

  “Well, c’mon. Wards? Are you even using English?”

  “It means using something to protect yourself from being read. Well, in the reference I’m using it, anyway. You can call it magic or witchcraft if you want. It’s another form of energy work,” I say, biting my lip.

  “Nope. No warding happening here. Just me, in all my ordinary glory,” he chuckles.

  “So weird,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “Well, so far, supposedly you’ve been able to see other stuff pretty well, right? Until it happens more frequently—don’t worry. I’d consider it an isolated incident. Then again, that’s just me,” he shrugs.

  The Rover swerves to the left and I have to put my hand out to avoid smacking into the door.

  “Nearly there,” Blake says, more for himself than me. Even without the GPS dictating our course, I can sense we’re getting closer.

  Such a weird sensation—it’s a tingling playing at the back of my neck, like someone’s there, breathing against my skin.

  Perhaps Blake’s right—maybe it’s a completely isolated event. It seems that way so far, at any rate.

  All I know is, when this is all over, I’ll need to do some heavy-duty chakra clearing…

  A couple of blocks away from the eighties-style house—or maybe it’s a cabin, Blake slows the vehicle down to a normal speed. His facial expressions flits back and forth, as he works out exactly how to go about things. I watch him, enthralled despite myself. Ordinarily, in this close proximity, I’d be hearing snippets of everything—unless I specifically warded my own mind from the barrage.

  Finally, he parks the car in the driveway and cuts the lights.

  “You sure this’s the place?” he asks, turning back to me.

  In the light of the waxing moon, the house stands nearly silent. Only a single sign of life inside is evident; the television set in the living room as it flickers with the commotion of whatever the man’s watching. He’s on the edge of drifting off to sleep; cheap whiskey the culprit at this early hour. My eyes flit to the clock—it’s just barely gone 9:00pm.

  I nod, taking a deep breath.

  “Alright—stay here. Trust me, I’ve got this covered,” Blake says. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

  Before he can exit the Rover, glimpses of the Esther asleep inside the cabin flood in. She’s clutching a tattered teddy bear—it’s not hers, but it reminds her of home. The puppy is curled up beside her. The space is tiny—but the sound of the TV creeps into the space in muffled bursts.

  “Blake,” I call out before the door closes.

  “Yeah?” he says, twisting to look inside the vehicle.

  “She’s in there—in a small room. Maybe a closet?”

  His lips press into a thin line, and he nods. “She’s okay, though. Right? Alive?”

  I nod.

  With a tip of his head, Blake closes the door and saunters up to the front door. Despite myself, I’m mesmerized by his walk.

  Damn, those jeans definitely suit him.

  I run my hands over my face and close my eyes.

  Get a grip, Diana. This is the same jerk who pushed you into the puddle and stormed your house.

  Blake knocks on the door, and after a moment, a light flicks on in the entryway. A second or two later, an older man—nearly seventy by the looks of it—opens the door. His grey hair is matted against his forehead, and he looks as though he hasn’t change
d his dirty grey shirt in days.

  The man’s got a gun stashed nearby and isn’t too keen on strangers. Especially ones who knock on his door as night is falling. Especially pickup nights.

  Reaching for the handle of the Rover, I pull up short. Something must have been said to appease the man’s initial skepticism, because he opens the door wider and let’s Blake inside. He doesn’t look back my way at all, just waltzes straight inside.

  The moment the front door is closed, mine is open, and I’m on my feet.

  I don’t care how much this Blake guy thinks he has this under control—I’m not about to sit this one out. A little girl’s life depends on it.

  4

  FOLLOWING MY INTERNAL GUIDANCE, I creep from the Range Rover to the back side of the house. With Blake occupying the creep inside, I should be able to slip in and out with Esther relatively easily. In fact, I’d wager it’ll be done way faster than Blake trying to fumble around in whatever manhandling kinda way he’s used to.

  Thanks to Blake’s stunt earlier on his own front door, I check the handle on the back door—finding it unlocked. Images of sleeping children with pillowcases placed over their heads barrage my mind, but I push past them and shut their assault down. There will be time to deal, and make this monster suffer. Just…not yet.

  Holding my breath, I slip quietly inside.

  After all of these years, one thing I’ve learned to do well is sneak about unnoticed. Call it another one of my gifts, if you want.

  The stench of alcohol and decomposing food assaults my senses as I enter the kitchen. Certainly a stark contrast to the outside appearance. Pieces of the laminated floor are missing, and others are peeling up in large chunks. It doesn’t look as though anything has been cleaned for years. Beyond the grungy kitchen, Blake and the man are discussing something in hushed voices.

  I try to reach out, to get a better idea of his plan, as well as try to anticipate their next movements. Unfortunately, whatever block I have with Blake influences everything going on in the other room.

  Talk about inconvenient.

  Training my ears their direction, my eyes flit from wall to wall as I search for the hidden doorway from my vision. Rather than focusing on the men, I take a moment, trying to train my senses on Esther—using her as a needle; telling me whether or not I’m getting close.

  I close my eyes and broaden my awareness so it blankets the house—searching each crevice and corner. It settles on the wall in the main hallway, separating the living room from the rest of the house with a large staircase. She’s under the stairs. Of course, he’s kept her close.

  I tiptoe closer, scanning the wall on this side of the hallway for the hidden doorway—but it’s no use. I’m pretty sure it’s on the other side—where, of course, the men are.

  “There are a lot of crazies out this way, to be sure,” Blake’s voice filters to my ears. “Glad to hear you’re staying safe.”

  “Yeah, I dunno about none o’ that, but I ‘preciate ya stomping—er, stopping in,” the man says, his words garbled and slurred.

  A small scuffle shudders through the hall as someone gets out of a chair in the other room.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom quick? Gotta take a piss,” Blake says.

  I take a step closer. If the man shows him where the bathroom is, maybe—just maybe—I’ll have access to the living room long enough to get Esther out.

  “Do what ya gotta do. S’down the hall on the left,” the man says.

  “Thanks,” Blake says.

  Before I have time to back away and hide, Blake turns the corner, and nearly topples over me.

  His brown eyes blaze into mine.

  “What in the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

  My eyes widen, but I don’t say a word. All I can think to do is shake my head and shrug.

  Without another word, he grabs me by the scruff of my jacket and hauls me with him to the bathroom and closes the door.

  “I don’t want to be in here when you’re peeing,” I whisper, grossed out.

  “Are you trying to fuck this whole thing up?” Blake whispers furiously, his hands flying to the top of his head.

  “Excuse me? You’re the one chatting him up. What the hell are you doing to get Esther out?” I spit back.

  “I’ve been waiting for the drug I slipped into his drink to kick in, dumbass,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

  I scrunch my face up, “Well…oh. What about backup? When are they supposed to arrive?”

  Blakes hands fly up, looking as though he’s about ready to strangle me—but he regains his composure and grits his teeth instead.

  “Your nostrils are flaring,” I mutter, pointing at his reddening face.

  “Seriously, are you always this dense? I’m a private investigator. There is no backup.”

  I scrunch my face, “But you said—”

  “You were on my case. I wanted you to stay behind. Good God, it’s like dealing with a damn child.”

  “Normally I have a better read on what’s going on. You’re a freakin’ blind spot, remember? I’m not used to handling that kinda thing,” I whisper, enunciating each word with a stronger start than necessary.

  “Well get a freakin’ grip. You’re about to screw this whole thing up,” he says, pursing his lips.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Please. Do you have any idea where he’s keeping Esther? Or have you been too busy drinking it up with the bad guy?”

  “Just a hunch, but under the stairs,” he says without hesitation.

  I flinch and try to recover as quickly as possible.

  Figures he’d know without my damn help. Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn’t need me for this.

  “Yeah, but how do you get in?” I say, making a face.

  “Pretty sure there’s a door somewhere,” he says, raising an all-knowing eyebrow.

  “Well, if you know everything, why did you even need me?” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “As I recall, I didn’t. You chose to come—and you promised to stay put unless I needed you,” he says pointing out the obvious.

  “Oh, shi—”

  A loud rap on the other side of the door makes us both jump.

  “E’rything okay in there?” the man of the house asks.

  Blake places a hand firmly across my mouth and opens his brown eyes wide. His nostrils flare as he presses his lips into a thin line.

  “Yeah, sorry. Takin’ a little longer than I thought,” he mutters.

  “Somebody in there wit ya? Thought I heard talking.”

  “No, just me. I, er…was watching a YouTube clip on my phone,” Blake answers back.

  “Thar’s magazines next to da pot.”

  We both look toward the toilet. Sure enough, a stack of magazines rest in various states of decay. Mostly old Penthouse issues, with a couple of Guns & Ammo thrown in for good measure.

  I shudder.

  Gross.

  “So there is. Thanks,” Blake says, casting me a sideways glance.

  “You bet,” the man slurs.

  We stand absolutely still, listening to the sound of footsteps dragging their way back to the living room.

  “Listen to me and listen closely. I want to you leave through whatever doorway, window, or crevasse you crawled in through, and get your ass back to the Rover. I want to get away clean, and without complication. I can’t do that unless you’re back where you’re supposed to be,” Blake says, grabbing hold of my arms. “Do you understand me?”

  I lower my eyebrows and cock my head to the side.

  “Listen up, Blake. I don’t know who you’re used to dealing with, but I’m not your date, and I’m not your employee. I’ll do what I want, as long as it’s what makes sense to me. Got it?”

  The door to the bathroom slams open, making us both jump back. The man points a shotgun our direction, his face scrunched like he ate a crate full of lemons.

  Still clutched to my arms, Blake takes
a step forward and shoves me behind him.

  “Knew yer were lyin’. Who’s da broad? What she doin’ here?” the man says, swaying in the doorway. His eyes blink slowly, trying to stay focused and alert. His trigger finger rests precariously on the trigger—not to the side as I wish it would. Even I know better. All it would take is one drunken swagger and he’ll set off the gun.

  “Uh—sorry. My girlfriend was scared to come in. I let her in through the back door so she could use the restroom. Thought I’d try to sneak in a little risky sex before we headed out.” Blake leans toward the man and whispers loud enough for both of us to hear, “Gets her hot, if you know what I mean?”

  The man visibly relaxes a bit. After a moment, he tips the gun up and rests it on his shoulder.

  Blake might not be psychic, but he certainly knows how to read people in his own way. Somehow, he knew exactly how to disarm him without ever raising a hand.

  I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and allow my shoulders to relax slightly.

  “Eh, likes the risky stuff, huh? Feel like sharing?”

  The momentary relieve washes away as terror replaces it.

  Blake remains calm, keeping his tone cool as a cucumber as he says, “Nah, thanks man. I gave her what she needed.”

  “If ya change yer mind, I wouldn’t mind a piece,” the man says, twisting to get a better view of me.

  “Like hell,” I blurt out.

  My hand flies to my mouth as soon as I realize what I’ve said.

  The man’s face turns sour again, and he braces himself on the door frame.

  “Say tha’ again,” he says.

  Blake turns around, his eyes wide. He mouths to me, Keep your trap shut.

  “What she means is,” Blake says, “she knows who her keeper is.”

  The man eyes Blake, then glances at me.

  “Think it’s best you two get yerselves gone.”

  Blake nods, “Yeah, think you’re right. Sorry to be a bother.”

  He takes me by the hand, marching me through the house and to the front door. The man stumbles behind us, the shotgun still firmly clutched in his hand. Opening the door, he shoves me out into the porch, and turns back to the man.