“Very true. You can certainly be a stubborn pain in the ass when you want to be,” he says, his dimples finally shining through.
“You’re one to talk.”
I take a moment, deciding how much to say right now. There’s nothing I want more than to blurt it all out—that we’re soul mates, he’s my reincarnated husband and we have to make up for lost time… That I screwed up my memory because I couldn’t stand to be without him. All of it.
I bite my lower lip.
“He was gonna shoot you,” I say.
“Well, yeah. I did actually get that,” he says, his nostrils twitching to the side in deflection.
“No, I mean—you would have died.”
I lift my gaze to his, waiting for the revelation to seep into the creases of his eyes. When his eyes widen, I tip my head in acknowledgement.
“So instead, you took a bullet for me?”
“Yeah, well… I guess I also knew I wouldn’t die,” I say, settling on a partial truth.
He lets go of my hand, pressing his fingertips to his mouth.
Sighing, he leans forward, dropping his head to the place beside my hand. Reaching out, I run my fingertips through his dark strands, playing with the length.
“You shouldn’t worry so much,” I say.
“Easy for you to say. You can see everything,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of the bedding. Abruptly his head pops up. “Hey, wait… How did you know I would have died? Did you—see me die? As in, your gifts…”
Blinking back my apprehension, I nod.
“Yes, I did.”
“Hang on, I thought—”
“Think, process. I’ll give you a minute,” I say, rolling my eyes playfully.
“But—how? I thought I was a blind spot to you—?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s really a long story. And I want to tell you all of it—I do,” I turn my head toward the nurse who reenters the room with a new bag of saline.
Without needing to explain any further, Blake nods. The look in his eyes alone tells me he gets where I’m going with this.
“When you’re feeling better, then,” he says, nodding.
I bow my head in agreement, keeping my gaze trained on him.
“Agreed.”
Casting his eyes to the floor, he leans forward again in his chair—shifting his elbows to his knees.
“Really, there will be time,” I say, reaching out and placing my hand over the top of his forearm.
“I know—there’s just been a lot to contend with these past few weeks,” he says, sighing. “You really are a surprise, you know?”
“Thank you?” I say, quirking an eyebrow.
“No, no—it’s a good thing.”
A gentleman I’ve never seen walks into the room. The air around him exudes authority and you don’t need to be psychic to know he’s an agent of some kind. Though my gifts immediately tell me he’s from Interpol and his name is Bruce Dexter. He’s 50 years old, has a wife he adores and four kids all entering college.
Blake stands up, shaking his hand.
“Good to see you again,” Bruce says, as he releases his grip.
“You as well,” Blake says, nodding.
“So, this must be Diana. Nice to see you on the mend,” he says, walking over to me and extending his hand. “I’m Bruce—”
“Dexter. I know,” I say, unable to help myself. Sometimes it’s just fun to see the look of surprise on someone’s face.
He blinks rapidly, but nods, “Right. Did Mr. Wilson tell you about me?”
“He must have,” I say, smiling sweetly and throwing a sideways glance at Blake, who scratches his forehead.
“What can we do for you, Agent Dexter?” Blake says, returning to his seat.
“After all the commotion, I wanted to check in and make sure you’re all doing well. We sure do appreciate the help on this case. I’m sure it goes without saying, but we’ve been looking for a way in on this ring for a while now. They’ve been hard to pin down because they never go to the same place twice. Sure as hell didn’t think one of our own was involved—or that it would be Americans who cracked the case.”
Blake smiles sardonically, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The Agent slips into a sly smirk but doesn’t say a word. His thoughts on the other hand—he doesn’t typically trust Americans further than he can throw them. And he has a few of his own concerns over how we happened to unravel everything when they’ve spent years on the case. It’s not that he isn’t grateful—he is, but he’s still skeptical.
I shake my head, my lips twitching into a smile. “I’m not entirely American—I just live there now.”
My mind casts itself back to the ruins of the Temple of Apollo. I suppose one would say I’m Greek.
Agent Dexter’s eyebrows flick upward in surprise, but he smiles.
“Where are you from originally, then?”
“Here, actually,” I say, letting my gaze fall on Blake. His face flashes through surprise but settles on rolling his eyes.
“Really? Where were you born? Did you grow up with one of my kids?” Agent Dexter asks.
“I seriously doubt it.”
“Huh. Well, what are your plans once everyone is back to health? You planning on staying in Greece for a while? Or heading back to the States?”
“Probably head back to the States,” Blake says at the same time I say, “Stay here for a bit.”
Surprise floods Blake’s features.
“You plan on staying?” he says.
I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe?”
“Well, I can see you both have a lot to talk about. I don’t mean to cause any havoc. But if either of you are ever this way again, please give me a call,” Agent Dexter says, brandishing his card to both of us.
Blake takes the card, glancing at the face of it briefly, before nodding.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the card and immediately place it on the rolling side table used to deliver meals.
“Well, whenever you head out, have a safe flight. Until next time,” Agent Dexter says, shaking hands with Blake and shooting me a quick wink.
“Thanks for stopping in,” I say, waving with my fingertips.
As soon as he’s left the room, Blake turns back to me and repeats, “You plan on staying?”
“Well, as it turns out, there’s a lot here I need to rediscover.”
“Like what?”
I take a deep breath. For whatever reason, this isn’t the time to have this conversation. Instead, my insights flash me forward to a different time and place—one that will help deliver the information in a way that makes sense in Blake’s mind.
“Blake, I’m actually feeling really tired. Can we—is it okay if we talk more about this later? I think I need to rest.”
His eyelids flutter, but he nods. “Of course. I’m sorry—I don’t know what I was thinking. You must be exhausted. Do you want me to get you anything?”
“No, I’m good. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay. Do you want me to go—or?”
I pull his hand back toward me as he makes a move to stand.
“Don’t even think about it. There’s room here,” I say, patting the minuscule spot on the bed beside me.
Without batting an eye, he grins and slides onto the bed right alongside me. I curl on my side, resting my head on his broad chest. As I drift off, my mind is consumed with the memories I’ve shared with his soul—spanning across time and space.
21
“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?” Blake asks, his eyes filled with curiosity.
“You’ll see,” I say, playing coy. He never was good at surprises.
“You don’t know, do you?” he laughs.
“Of course I do—and you should, too. If you’d have been paying attention,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tight rounding another bend in the road.
As Mount Parnassus begins to take center stage, Blake leans b
ack in his seat.
“Ah—you’re bringing us back to the cave,” he says.
“Not exactly, but warm,” I say, smiling
“Hmmm…”
He adjusts in his seat, looking out the window and hunting for clues of his own. Part of me hopes this place jogs some of his own cellular or psychic memory—but even I’m not sure if it works like that. The other part of me worries about whether or not he’ll believe a word I’m about to tell him.
After a few minutes driving in silence, I turn left on the last leg of our journey. The view of the Temple can be seen—though not nearly as impressive as it once was. Pulling into the tourist parking lot, trepidation begins to flood my veins. I want him to understand. No, I need him to understand.
“The Temple of Apollo?” he says, pointing to the sign.
“Yup.” I pull the handle and kick the driver’s side door open.
Blake follows after me, confusion playing across all of his features as he surveys the surroundings.
“You know this place is closed for the night, right?” he says.
“Temples never close, silly,” I say, smirking and walking ahead.
I try to settle my racing heart by breathing in deeply the smells of home. I didn’t realize how much I missed these smells—a mix of olive branches and earth.
“Wait up for me,” he says, jogging to catch up. The moonlight glows off the top of his head, giving him an ethereal vibe suiting to the man who broke my heart—and healed my memory.
Standing still, I reach out, taking Blake’s hand. I lead him away from the parking lot and toward the ruins of the Temple of Apollo and the theatre. There’s so much we need to discuss and I’m not sure exactly how to break the news to him that he’s really the reincarnated soul of my super-late husband.
How will he respond? Will he think I’m nuts? Or will he accept this as another weird quirk?
“Where are you taking me, Diana?” Blake finally says as we meander the footpaths to the sacred sites.
The moon has risen—full, proud, and beautiful—and it casts its light upon the entire sanctuary. Shadows dance through the once magnificent structures. Now, they echo with the haunting memories of times past. I could have brought him in the daytime, but this will mean more. I know it will.
Sliding my tongue between my lips, I sigh.
“Blake—I need to talk to you and truthfully, I dunno how you’re going to take some of the information. Frankly, you’re gonna probably think I’ve tipped off my rocker when you hear it.”
“Oooh, intrigue,” he says, tilting his head. His lips shift into a half-smirk, half-smile.
I let go of his hand, walking into the main Temple of Apollo. Meandering toward its hestia, I pause, taking in the scenery and the way everything has changed from their original glory.
It’s strange to be able to see ancient locations with these eyes—my new modern perception overlays the freshly returned ancient memories from when it was once a thriving venue. Not that the Temple doesn’t still bring its draw of people, it does—just for far different reasons.
I wonder if Apollo would be pleased or appalled.
Blake walks up beside me, searching my face for answers. My forehead creases and I look away. How do I explain everything that’s happened to me without sounding utterly and completely insane?
Blake’s intense stare pulls me from my own thoughts and he pulls my hands into his.
I’m suddenly inundated and overwhelmed by the love he feels—the trust and loyalty—devotion, even. He doesn’t have the words to express what he’s feeling or why, but I know destroying Mnemosyne’s mark has opened up more than simply my own memories. Something new is arising in him. Perhaps he’ll be able to take what I say after all.
“Diana, I’m not going to say I understand everything you do—or everything we’ve been through…” he begins, “but what I do know is, this feeling I have for you—it’s deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to know why—I need to know what’s going on with you. Why the secrecy and mystery?”
His eyebrows tug in and the pulse in his hands throbs against my fingertips.
“Blake, you know those dreams you’ve been having your whole life? The ones you had to start drawing in order to get them out of your mind?”
“Of course,” he says, scrunching his eyebrows in.
“You’re right—you and I have a deeper connection than most,” I say, shaking my head.
I sound like a moron.
“Go on,” he urges.
Pulling his hands closer, I lead him to one of the benches placed out for tourists. It’s not part of the original structure, but I’m grateful for their functionality.
“I believe the reason you’ve been having those dreams—is because of a past life,” I say, watching him closely.
“Hmmm.”
He takes the news with stride but sets his hands in his lap as he considers.
“I know it sounds a bit strange to start it like this, but I need to in order for the rest to make sense,” I say, biting my lower lip.
“Okay, so what’s the rest?” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“The dreams were memories for you—traumatic memories. You—well, the person you once were, anyway—you were murdered in the cavern where we found the girls a long, long time ago.”
“How long?”
“We’re talking Ancient Greece times,” I say sheepishly.
“Alright,” he says, skepticism permeating the word, “and I was—murdered? How would you even know? Is this a vision thing?”
“No, not a vision,” I say, shaking my head. “I was with you.”
“So you have your own reincarnated memories?” he says, trying to understand.
“Not exactly. I was there with you—you and I… we were married,” I say, holding his gaze. If he could only see it in my eyes—if he could only feel my soul—maybe he’d know.
Blake snorts. “But that’s impossible. It would make you—”
“Two-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-four,” I say, my eyebrows arcing high.
“How in the hell?” he says, his words coming out slow.
“I’m—oh hell, there’s really no other way to say it, so I’m just gonna spit it out and sound like a lunatic. I’m the Oracle of Delphi. Like, as in, the Oracle. This is my rightful place and you were once one of the guards for the Temple of Apollo. You were sworn to protect me and the Pythia’s sisterhood—the priestesses who were a part of my inner sanctum because they didn’t have the gift of immortality, the way I do.”
His eyes widen.
“You’re…immortal?”
I nod, my lips tightening.
“It’s kind of a shit deal, if you ask me. Definitely not something I would wish upon anyone else. Though, I guess it has its perks. I heal fast,” I say, winking, then placing my palm over my recent bullet wound.
His eyes brighten with recognition, “Whoa—hold up a minute. You’re telling me, you knew you couldn’t die when you got shot because you can’t die—and you didn’t tell me?”
I shake my head in surprise. Of all the things he’s concerned about, it’s that I didn’t tell him not to worry over me.
“You’re right—I should have told you I heal fast. Maybe it would have prevented some of your dismay. But honestly, there were more pressing concerns, don’t you think?”
“Not overly. The girls were safe. Lester was in custody… And hang on a second—I thought I read once, or maybe it was a History Channel thing…the Oracle of Delphi was stoned to death?” Blake says, tilting his head. “If you’re her and can’t die—I’m so confused.”
“There was a time when I was forced into hiding by the Christians, but they never caught me. I have no doubt they would have tried their best to kill me, though. In reality, those stories, in my opinion, originated to explain my disappearance.”
“Why did you disappear?” he asks, his eyes trained on me.
“That’s where you come back in,” I say, gentl
y.
He makes a face.
“One of my sisters didn’t believe our bond was gifted by Apollo. She felt it was tainting the reputation of the Pythia, as I had handed my innocence over to you. We were married in secret and didn’t flaunt it. There was no need—but naturally, everyone knew anyway,” I say, remembering back to the way everyone was so happy for us—thrilled we had found a way to be together, despite the odds. “You were meant to be with me forever—you weren’t meant to die. Apollo approved of our union—but Iphitheme was jealous and heartbroken. She wanted to prove to me—to all the other priestesses you were mortal, just like they were…”
“So, a priestess murdered me?”
“Yes,” I say, my mind instantly flashing back to the standing pool inside the cavern—the blood on my hands. His blood. His limp body. I relive the rushing memories from his consciousness as they departed his dying cells. His shock, desperation, and horror when he realized what was happening.
“Wow—this is…it’s a lot to take in,” he says, staring out at the mountain view in front of him.
“It really is.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, absorbing the revelations and taking in the moonlit view. I wish I could gift him some of the memories I have—some of the insights and feelings I know to be true.
“Because I lost you, I couldn’t deal. I was completely lost. It was as though my whole world was imploding because what I was experiencing—it no longer made sense. My world no longer made sense.”
Blake tilts his head, watching me from the side of his eye, but doesn’t say anything.
I continue, “I was—distraught. I enacted a powerful ritual to remove my memories—all memories of you. All traces of you that I could. The symbol in your dreams—the symbol that continued to haunt my mind and put an immense drain on my abilities—it’s Mnemosyne’s mark. I didn’t expect it to be as powerful as it was—and I certainly didn’t expect how far-reaching it was. I mean, I couldn’t get a single read on you at all—”
“Ah—this mark—that’s why you struggled with reading me.”
I nod.
“Talk about weird physics. Or metaphysics?” he shakes his head. “I meant to ask you—how is it you can read me now? Or know any of this? What happened to you in the cavern?”
Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book Page 21
