Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book

by Carissa Andrews

  “You were right about that, I suppose. It was different—just not in the way you expected.”

  “True.”

  “Look, Diana—we’re friends and we’ll always be friends. But I just can’t get involved in that side of things anymore. I don’t have the energy. Whatever magic I had—or whatever you wanna call it—it was obliterated in that ritual. I can’t even summon spirits anymore, let alone locator spells. I don’t know what my clientele is going to do when they figure out I’m totally BSing it all.”

  “I’m so sorry, Demetri. I didn’t mean for any—”

  “For fucksake, I know,” he snaps. “I’m not looking for a pity party here.”

  “Is there anything I can do to—”

  “What? Make it better? Bring it back?”

  “Any of it—all of it. What can I do?” I say, tears threatening at the brim of my eyes.

  “Live a good life, Diana. God knows it’s a long one—but for the love—make the most of it, would you? You have power and magic and something incredibly special about you. But you waste it all pretending you’re—I don’t know… ordinary, I suppose. I won’t try to wager why you do it. I have my guesses. Hell, maybe I’d do it too, if I was as old as you and seen everything you’ve seen.”

  “You’ve been a good friend, Demetri. I want you to know that,” I whisper.

  “Oh, don’t go getting all emotional on me now.”

  I lick my bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling.

  “Something—something big is happening and I don’t quite know what it is. Maybe it’s the full moon energy—maybe it’s nothing. I don’t know. But I wanted you to know I’m sorry before I go,” I say.

  “Go? Where are you going? Are you leaving Helena for good?” he says, his voice suddenly airing on concern.

  “No—nothing like that. At least, not yet. I’m helping a—private investigator,” I say, gingerly. “We’re going overseas to track down a pedophile ring.”

  “How in the hell did you get roped into that kinda mess?” he snorts.

  Of all the things we’ve been through, this is certainly one of the stranger ones.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Sounds it. Christ, I’m outta your life for a fortnight and you’re working pedophile cases. What’s the world coming to?”

  I chuckle. Now that’s more like the Demetri I know and love.

  “I know, right? I don’t understand it either. I just know it’s something I gotta do.”

  I should tell him about Blake—about the weird feeling I’m having. But I don’t want to bring him down or make him feel useless. Or worse yet, feel as though he should be helping, even though he can’t. Besides, the last thing he’ll want to hear about is how I’m waging my abilities and trying to get Blake to admit I’m psychic.

  “Well, take care of yourself, okay. Be careful and all that touchy feely shit.”

  “Yeah, I know. I will. I’ve got—” I stop myself, knowing where it could lead.

  “This PI…” Demetri starts.

  I take a deep breath. It’s going there anyway.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “It a he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he know what he’s getting into with you?”

  I suck in a breath.

  There’s so much I wish I could share with Blake, even though I’m not sure why. It’s a strange sensation and one I’m not used to. Not even Demetri was able to lure it out of me so quickly. It was a decade or more before I let him in.

  “Doubt it,” I reply.

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  A pang of regret slices through my abdomen. Most people, especially completely normal people, simply can’t fathom my life in the least. I was lucky to find Demetri. At least he shared some of my abilities and understood what it was like to really be gifted.

  And I stripped all of that from him.

  God, I suck so much.

  “I’ll try. Anyway—I suppose I better go. Gotta pack and all that.”

  “Okay,” Demetri says, holding on to a few second’s pause before he finally utters, “be safe.”

  “You, too. I really am—”

  “If you say sorry one more time, woman, I’m gonna off myself and come back so I can prove to you there’s an afterlife.”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  Demetri lets out a deep, heavy sigh.

  “If I can find a way to—help or bring it back—I will,” I mutter.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Diana. Ain’t anyone taught you that in all these years?”

  “For what it’s worth, I’d gladly trade places with you.”

  “Helluva lot a good that does me now,” he chuckles.

  “I know, but it’s true.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth—thanks.”

  “What about you? The lady who answered—is she treating you okay?”

  “She’s a friend, but yes. It’s been nice having her around.”

  “Good—that’s … good.”

  “It is,” he says.

  “Good,” I repeat. “Well, bye, Demetri.”

  “Bye, Diana.”

  The click of the receiver echoes in my ear. The sound is all too much like a final ending of sorts and it does nothing to alleviate the tension building inside me.

  Big changes are coming—and they’re just getting started.

  13

  THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR tells me it’s time to get a move on. Luckily, I have all the stuff I need—passport, cash, cards, clothes. You know, the essentials. The rest I can figure out while we’re on the go. Besides, the last thing I need is to get held up by the TSA for having too much makeup or shampoo, for Godsake. Added bonus, at least there’s less to lose, should my suitcase go missing.

  Trust me, stranger things have happened.

  I smooth out the creases in my trousers one more time and stop briefly by the full-length mirror in the hall. Everything’s in place—hair could use a good trim, but whatever. I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense now.

  On the way to answer the front door, I grab my purse from the kitchen counter, along with my keys. I glance at the green phone hanging on the wall, acknowledging the pang of guilt over Demetri—but at least feeling better that we spoke.

  I flip my eyes to the stovetop and all the knobs—you know, just to be sure.

  When I reach the entryway, I smooth out my top one more time, and adjust my shoulders so I look more confident than I feel at the moment. I clutch my keys in my hand and swing the door open.

  “All set?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  Blake turns around, his dark hair glistening in the early morning light. It pulls out the reds hidden in their depths. Smiling broadly, his dimples shine brightly—easily.

  My stomach flutters. Such a stupid—childish feeling, but inescapable nonetheless.

  I exhale slowly, shaking away the sensation as I lock the front door and slide my keys into my purse.

  He tugs at the bottom of his leather jacket and nods, “Yup, sure am. How about you?”

  Reaching for my suitcase handle, and picking up my small carry-on bag, I nod.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Wow—that’s it? Where’s the rest of it? Your suitcase is smaller than mine,” Blake says, pointing.

  “I don’t need much. I’d rather travel light,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. Mostly, it comes from years on the go; moving from place to place before anyone realizes how I’m not aging. I find it’s easier to just—walk away and start over.

  “Marry me,” Blake says, his eyebrows raised.

  My eyes widen in surprise, “Uh—excuse me?”

  “I mean, I’ve never in all my life seen a woman travel so light. You’re an enigma,” he says, flushing. He reaches behind his head, rubbing his neck.

  “Oh—right. Well, occupational hazard. Enigma is practically my middle name,” I chuckle. “Let’s—let’s go.”

  I clutch the handle o
f the suitcase tighter, trying to steady my heartbeat and relinquish some of my surprise.

  Blake steps off the front entry and walks toward his Rover. In the daylight its dark exterior looks smooth—like the kind of car our local state senator would drive or something. He opens the back, extending his hand out. I roll my suitcase to him. Ridiculously fast, he collapses the handle and places my luggage inside. I flip the carry-on off my shoulder and rest it beside the suitcases.

  Blake wasn’t kidding. His suitcase is massive—one of those hard cases that looks like they’re really a mobile armory instead of a place to put your underwear.

  “What on earth did you fill that thing with?” I say pointing at the massive case and chuckling. “A body?”

  He shoots me a sideways glance but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he flat out ignores my humor and walks to the front of the Rover to take his seat. However, the rosy color in his cheeks tells me it’s a touchy topic—so of course, there’s no way I’m gonna let it rest.

  I quirk an eyebrow, nodding to myself.

  Oh, it’s on.

  “I mean, did you fold Aiden up like origami so you could smuggle him over the border?” I say, as I take my seat beside him and reaching for my seatbelt. “Oh—oh, you’re actually really embarrassed because you brought every outfit in your closet, just in case. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Blake rolls his eyes and starts the Rover.

  “Ooooooo, it’s loaded with whips and chains,” I say, before thinking through the words before they tumble outta my mouth.

  He turns his head, his eyes wide, and cheeks beet red.

  My jaw slacks open.

  “Oh my god, it is. There are whips and chains in there?”

  I scramble around to look at the case again, but of course the back seat is in the way.

  “It’s not like that,” Blake says smirking, his right cheek’s dimple showing. He shifts the vehicle into reverse and gets us going a little too quickly.

  “What is it like then?” I ask, cocking my head.

  “Well, if we find the men involved—we need a way to apprehend them, don’t we? I have my gear with me. Maybe for a psychic, you don’t require much, but I have my things.”

  “Oh, right. Your things. Like whips and chains.”

  I burst out into a full, deep laugh. God, it’s been years—like, we’re talking a decade or more since I laughed so hard. Of all the things for him to be nervous over—or try to keep to himself. It’s ludicrous.

  But kinda sexy—no, wait not sexy. Cute? Rugged?

  Shit.

  I shake my head.

  Don’t you dare start falling for Blake, Diana Hawthorne. Don’t you effing dare.

  My laughter peters out, but I steal another glance at him. His eyes are creased—dimples digging softly I to his cheeks, but he refuses to look my direction. Instead, he deliberately chooses to keep his eyes forward and take the high road.

  I take a deep breath, trying to center myself.

  I’m so screwed.

  Of all the times to start developing feelings for someone—of all the people—Blake shouldn’t be it. And it definitely shouldn’t be now. I mean, he looks like he could almost be my father, for crying out loud. I’ve been trapped in this twenty-four-year-old body forever—and he’s gotta be at least thirty-five … maybe pushing forty? As if the people in this small, godforsaken town don’t already think I’m weird, do I really want to add that to the mix?

  I suppose I’ve managed to convince people I’m going on twenty-seven, but their complacency isn’t gonna last long.

  They’ll start asking questions soon, like they always do — Wow, Diana hasn’t aged a day. Isn’t that weird?

  Then I’ll have to find an excuse as to why I need to go. Sick grandma…Mom died. Best friend’s husband left her, and I need to help her raise her three kids. Whatever you can think of—I’ve used it.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Blake asks, crashing through my train of thought.

  “Uhm, nothing much,” I say, breathlessly.

  I bite my lower lip and look out the passenger side window.

  “Are your cheeks flushing?”

  My hand instinctively flies upward.

  “No, of course not. Why would they be?”

  Blake laughs. “You tell me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snort, shaking my head.

  “Oh, so now I’m the ridiculous one.”

  I smile, “You’re always the ridiculous one.”

  “So says the self-proclaimed psychic.”

  “Indeed. So, I should know better.”

  “How in the hell does that work?”

  “Uh, because I said so.”

  “Ah, so woman logic.”

  “No, just logic—logic, you chauvinistic pig,” I say, laughing.

  He shoots me another glance, his lips curving upward in the most easy-going way. The flecks of green and gold in his dark brown eyes sparkle—and I swear for a moment, his gaze could stop time.

  How in the hell am I going to make this work? I mean—we’re not on a date or about to go on holiday. We’re hunting for pedophiles and hoping to put them out of commission. This is serious business.

  Sitting up a bit straighter, I put on my best professional mojo.

  “Blake why do you think the men chose to go to Italy? Do you think there's something special about that country? Or do you think there’s some other reason?” I say, trying to bring the subject back to the matter at hand.

  Blake’s smile fades and he shakes his head.

  “I’m not sure. We just need to follow the leads and let the story unravel itself.”

  I bite my lip. “Do you think they have any other girls with them?”

  Taking a deep sigh, Blake’s shoulders sag, “At this point, I’d say it’s pretty likely. They got out of the country pretty damn quick. My guess is they have different rings around the world. Probably bailed on the US ring to avoid apprehension.”

  “Uh—I hate to think of other kids being taken. You know nothing good can come of it. I just can't fathom—”

  I turn away, shuddering from the thoughts. Even after all these years, I still don’t get it.

  Unfortunately, I totally can fathom.

  Men haven't changed a whole helluva lot over the centuries.

  “The good news is, we're on to these assholes. If they do have others, at least there’s that. We can save them the way we saved Esther.”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” I whisper. A shudder runs up my spine.

  “See, there it is.”

  “There what is?” I say, turning to face him.

  “The real you,” he says.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  He grins a lop-sided, goofy grin.

  I roll my eyes and sigh.

  Adjusting in my seat, I bite my lip and look out the window. Trees and houses flicker past, each blending into the next until suburbia is overrun with the urban landscape of the big city.

  We sit in silence until we reach the airport jungle of a parking lot. Blake pulls us into the long-term parking area and I reach for my purse.

  “Ready for this?” Blake says, shutting off the Rover and unbuckling his seat belt.

  “Yup. Let’s get some bad guys,” I say, nodding.

  It’s been ages since I last took an international flight, but I can tell you one thing—things have certainly changed over the years. For starters, they serve alcohol in-flight, there’s wifi, and tiny TVs on the headrest in front of you.

  Talk about small miracles.

  In some strange way, it feels like I’m returning home. I don’t really know where my place of origin truly is, but overseas was certainly where I started my journey. At least the part I can remember.

  After trying for years to uncover my past—or remember who I was or why I can’t remember anything, I finally had to give up and start living my life. I figured, if I have eternity, there was no point in standing still.

  Blake shifts in his seat, th
ough clearly at ease on a plane. Something tells me his past as ex military has something to do with it.

  I, on the other hand, am on my third drink and feeling nice and loopy.

  Technology and I aren’t overly on speaking terms. It doesn’t matter if its planes, cellphones, or even cars. I’m still pissed my 1968 Camaro died a decade ago and I had to upgrade to my Prius.

  Human concepts are fallible and through the years, I’ve just learned to avoid common pitfalls by not joining in when I can. In some ways it’s stupid though. It’s not as if I can die—but yet, the process of not dying when you should totally sucks.

  “Would you like another?” the stewardess asks, pointing to my empty plastic cup.

  “Yes, please,” I say without hesitation, handing her the empty cup.

  Blake chuckles, “Not a big fan of flying, are you?”

  I twist uncomfortably in my seat, “Not overly.”

  “I can tell,” he says, pointing to the full cup being handed back to me.

  “If you’d seen as much as I have, you’d be nervous, too.”

  I take another deep swig, letting the cool, bubbly texture flood my senses.

  “Right, all those psychic premonitions flooding your mind,” he says, nodding.

  “Actually, that wasn’t what I was meaning—but sure, that too.”

  A small hiccup escapes my lips and I cover them with my middle and pointer finger.

  Blake raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

  I fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to tell him everything—the immortality, the years and years of experiences.

  Everything.

  But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s only the alcohol talking, and I’d regret it if I did.

  “What’s our first plan of action when we get to Italy?” I ask, swishing around the contents in the cup.