Oracle Haunting (The Phoenix Files Book 4)

by Morgan Kelley

  There was the delicious vegetable filled dinner, cooked by the older man, unlike the housekeeper back home who wouldn’t let her eat only the vegetables.

  Hell!

  He never scoffed when she said she didn’t eat meat. Instead, he simply made her at home.

  It felt…cozy.

  Did she want to leave that?

  Could she?

  Brianna didn’t know if it was possible, but she was putting it out there to the universe.

  If she was meant to stay, fate would send her a sign. While she believed in all things psychic, she also believed in God, and in Ireland, being Catholic, was huge.

  So, she embraced it.

  But now, something was changing.

  That light was ebbing away, and over the last few weeks, something dark had crept into Adare. She could feel it as she walked down the streets.

  It seemed to follow her, hiding in the dark alleys, watching with that horrifying intensity.

  It made her skin crawl as if ghostly fingers stroked her flesh to creep her out.

  It felt…personal.

  But why?

  Why her?

  Honestly, a part of her thought she was insane for even thinking it.

  A part of her thought it was her ‘imagination’ like her mother always told her.

  Brianna was beginning to believe it was something more, and it was coming for her.

  She couldn’t shake it.

  The only place she felt safe was in her classroom, or when she’d slip beneath the feather comforter of her bed, pulling it over her head to hide.

  It was silly, but she had to protect herself—somehow. As of late, she’d been researching how to block psychic attacks. It made her feel…silly.

  Still…she was trying to find an answer, and Brianna needed to do it fast. The flashes were becoming more frequent, and she was getting more gruesome pictures.

  They seemed to come at her when she was fast asleep. Brianna knew from what she’d learned online that she was more susceptible.

  The knife.

  The screams.

  The blood.

  It was all there, playing out in her mind.

  The whole thing was terrifying, and now there was nowhere to hide.

  Waking hours.

  Dreaming ones.

  It was nonstop.

  Even when she woke, that oppressive feeling was still there, crushing down on her, but she didn’t want to leave Ireland and run.

  Something was holding her there.

  She didn’t understand it.

  For now, Brianna was going to leave herself open, despite the risk, and hope that fate would point her in the right direction. She had faith.

  Brianna was a big proponent of listening to her gut, and hers was telling her that she couldn’t leave.

  Not yet.

  So, while the bed and breakfast slumbered, deep in the Emerald Isle, she waited for the flashes to come.

  And come, they did.

  Like every other night, they were there, and like every other night, she wasn’t ready for them.

  There was a scream, and it sounded like a woman. She was begging for her life. The thick Irish brogue was hard to understand in her hysteria, but if she focused, she could hear her words.

  She was pleading for her life against some dark, evil assailant. Brianna swore she heard chanting in the background, like some wicked witch casting a spell.

  Then there was the laugher.

  It was evil.

  Dreadful.

  Ghastly.

  It made her body react with a rush of chills and goosebumps.

  The whole thing frightened her.

  Brianna didn’t know what to do but ‘watch’ it all play out. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened to any sound, trying to take it all in.

  There were footsteps.

  They sounded like they were running.

  As she focused, it started to get hazy. She couldn’t hold onto the vision for much longer. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Maybe with time…or help…

  Then again, who would help her?

  Had anyone in her family known about these gifts of hers, they’d have her exorcized with the local priest back home, or have her committed to a sanitarium for her own safety.

  Brianna couldn’t blame them.

  She was beginning to think she was crazy.

  She was beginning to think something was wrong with her. It was all in her mind, and she was making it all up.

  That’s what she kept telling herself.

  Only, it wasn’t working.

  Brianna knew better.

  The shit was getting real, and she was smack-dab in the middle of it.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  As the vision left her, she sat up in bed. The room felt oppressive, and she needed to get some air. Moving toward the window, she threw it open and took a deep breath, struggling to keep from passing out.

  That was the LAST thing she wanted.

  Then she’d be trapped with the visions.

  As she stood there, the moonlight pouring into her room, she heard the sing-song voice in her mind. It felt as if the person was right there with her.

  ‘I’m coming, Brianna. You have to help us. We won’t be able to do this without you!’

  She was startled.

  What the hell?

  Brianna looked down beneath her window, around her room, and for any place a person could be hiding.

  The voice sounded so clear.

  Her heart began pounding. She didn’t feel like she was alone anymore. That voice…it called, catching her off guard. She didn’t like that she was now hearing things.

  The visions were freaky enough, but the voice?

  It sounded like an angel.

  The second she thought that, there was cool laughter. It coated her body, leaving butterfly kisses across her flesh.

  And it calmed her.

  Oddly, Brianna understood it without any problem.

  There was no Irish accent.

  It was…American.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Brianna held her breath as she awaited the reply.

  She couldn’t imagine communication would be so simple. Could she talk to someone in her mind?

  Did that exist?

  Brianna waited.

  Nothing.

  At first, she couldn’t believe an answer was coming. That wasn’t possible. It had to be a figment of her imagination.

  ‘I am real, and my name is Oracle. Be ready. The war begins soon. Adare is haunted and you are hunted.’

  She gasped as her mind flooded with a bunch of visions that she hadn’t seen before. It was as if the voice was sending her things.

  How?

  Then she focused on what she was being shown. There was a heart lying in the palm of someone’s hand. There was blood flowing like a river down a cobblestone street.

  Then there was Brianna standing in the midst of it, weeping a torrent of pain.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  The laughter was cathartic. It washed across her and wrapped around Brianna’s body like a gentle hug. Her fear slipped away as she awaited the answer.

  ‘I only need your time.’

  Brianna was confused.

  She didn’t know what to say or do. She wanted to hide, she wanted to be sick, but in the end, she believed the female voice.

  She wanted to trust it.

  ‘What do I have to do?’

  There was a pause, and it sounded like static was adjusting in her mind. It wasn’t painful, but it was by no means pleasant. It made her ears itch.

  ‘Keep yourself open, Brianna, and be ready. It is about to begin.’

  With that last comment, the sound stopped, the voice abated, and there was that whoosh of cool air to help her relax. It was as if she had fallen and come to a fast stop. Her stomach bottomed out, and she fought to stay upright.

  Then, she was fine.

  As her heart s
lowed down, she began thinking about what the woman had said.

  Something was coming.

  She’d been right.

  Brianna might not know what was going on, but she knew one thing.

  She needed to be careful.

  Suddenly, Adare, and the possibility of what was coming, scared her.

  It was coming for her.

  * * * O R A C L E * * *

  A Small Cottage

  In Town

  He was trying to get some sleep, but he was agitated beyond normal. As of late, he was bothered every time he tried to be calm or close his eyes.

  It was as if something was trying to escape him. As if it were waking in him, and he was helpless to stop it.

  It was unnerving.

  No, that wasn’t the word for it.

  Laird Maguire felt like his skin was going to crawl from his body, run out his door, and keep going. He was discombobulated.

  It was like a million fingers were touching him at the same time. They poked his flesh.

  Prodded his skin.

  He couldn’t get comfortable no matter what he did. He’d already had a drink. He’d taken a shower, and now, he was trying to fall asleep to the soothing sounds of a thunderstorm.

  It wasn’t working.

  It was getting on his last nerve.

  For the last year, he was having one hell of a time in Adare. While he fit in on the outside, being Irish, he didn’t feel complete. It was as if something was missing.

  As if Adare wasn’t his actual home.

  Yes, Laird was originally from Dublin, living in the big city as he did his job.

  Then one day, his boss came to him.

  Adare needed a detective to handle all the situations the regular Garda couldn’t. They wanted him.

  Adare was in desperate need of an investigator to carry the load. With its small population, it had to be a man who could work with few people as his backup, and with the community.

  They wanted someone who would fit in.

  At first, he’d laughed.

  Then he’d laughed some more.

  They had to be kidding.

  What did he know about country living?

  He’d be about as useful as a lighthouse in a bog.

  In Dublin, where he was raised, he had pubs, movies, and all the luxuries of home. It was fast paced, busy, and a bustling city of so many people.

  He likened it to New York City, but only on a smaller scale.

  In Dublin, he’d made his path, made his friends, and found his peace.

  He’d gone to college, getting excellent scores, and then he’d graduated the top of his class.

  Laird had come home and decided to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d opted to work hard, starting on the patrol, and then moving up the Garda ladder.

  Yes, he’d chosen the Garda Síochána, or the guardians of the peace. It had been fitting for him, since Laird was a mediator at heart.

  He loved helping people, making sure that justice was followed, and that everyone had a safe existence on the streets. Ireland mattered to him.

  It was in his blood.

  He was born to be the Garda, and that was the one truth he knew he could hold himself to through everything.

  Faith.

  Policework.

  The people of Ireland.

  As he fought the injustices, and in Ireland, a lot of them were the Irish mob, the illegal drug and liquor rings, and even a little touch of terrorism, he’d earned commendations from the Garda Chief Superintendent.

  He proved himself, and that had given him the push he needed to get the job done.

  Truth be told, the job had made him.

  While he was still relatively young, thirty-five, he had still not put down roots. While his mother had nagged, his father had told him he would know when he knew. All those years ago, before they were gone, they’d tried to get him to settle.

  He just couldn’t.

  For some reason, Laird was restless.

  He never wanted to be complacent.

  ‘Idle hands were the Devil’s workshop.’

  That was his motto.

  It made it easy to escape the things that worried him, and hide from the women who chased him. The Irish ladies loved a man in uniform, and Laird was easy on the eye—or so he was told.

  Maybe it was the dark hair, and the stark contrast to the aqua blue eyes, but he’d found his way into nothing but trouble when women were around.

  Sue him.

  He was male.

  Balancing life and the Garda hadn’t been easy, but he loved the challenge.

  When he finally had gotten that offer to head up the Adare office, it didn’t take him long to agree to it. His gut told him to go, and he didn’t know why.

  Still, he did it.

  It would be a change.

  Laird liked living on the edge. He liked riding a motorcycle without a helmet, eating exotic foods, and flirting with the ladies when their dates were in the loo.

  That was just him.

  Why live easy when you could fly through life and love every bloody second of it?

  He was an acquired taste.

  Some called him reckless, but he liked the American term ‘bad boy’ far better.

  It suited him.

  He was the epitome of the term—or he was—before he’d landed in Adare.

  Once there, he slowed down with life, and picked up with work. It was as if a switch had been flipped.

  It wasn’t all a loss.

  Adare had its perks.

  Being an investigator with the Special Detective’s Unit had given him that street credibility he’d always wanted. It made him feel valued, seen, and heard.

  He was running something on his own.

  Growing up the son of a well-known man, it also gave him the opportunity to hide. While his father had been the Garda, he’d also been accused of being a crooked cop.

  Or so they said.

  He was accused of taking bribes, helping the mob, and doing tons of dirty deeds before his death.

  Laird didn’t believe it.

  That was the other reason he’d left Dublin. He needed to leave it all behind.

  Everyone there knew the Maguires.

  They were notorious.

  His name was synonymous with so many things that you didn’t even have to explain. Once the name ‘Maguire’ came out of your mouth, people took a physical step back like you were going to shank them or pick their pockets.

  It had gotten old.

  So…

  Yeah, Adare would be fine.

  He could spend the rest of his time there, lying low. What choice did he have?

  So, after being offered the position, he shook off the gossip of his father’s ‘dirty deeds’, and he took the commission to start anew.

  He bought his quaint, terraced in-town home.

  He got a dog.

  He went to work every day, but as of late, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t so much about him, but for the whole town of Adare.

  It was off.

  He could swear there was a darkness around him that hadn’t been there when he’d first arrive. When he walked the beat, talking to the citizenry, there was this shadow following him.

  It haunted him.

  It was everywhere.

  And it was beginning to freak him out.

  Now, as he rested in bed, he could feel the tingling again. It began at his gut and spread up his body and down to his feet until it seemed as if a million fingers were caressing him.

  Jaysus!

  It was horrible.

  Maybe he should see a doctor.

  Maybe something was wrong with his brain.

  What if he had a tumor?

  As Laird squirmed in bed, he could swear he heard laughter coming from somewhere.

  Was his radio on?

  Was his phone doing something bizarre? That nature app might be acting up?

  Then he swore it was closer, like in his head.


  Only, he knew it wasn’t possible.

  Molly, his dog, was asleep at the foot of his bed, and certainly, she would react if that sound was actually happening around them.

  Right?

  There was more laughter, and then the soft touch of fingers, caressing his cheek.

  It bolted him upright in bed, and had his dog staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Who’s there?” he asked, reaching for his hunting rifle. While he had a handgun, it was locked away in a safe. Even as part of the Garda in Ireland, guns were NOT easy to come by.

  There was no sound.

  No response.

  Nothing.

  He was beginning to get paranoid, and that couldn’t be a good sign. Maybe he’d use some vacation time, and take a trip.

  Somewhere.

  Anywhere.

  Maybe to a psychiatric hospital.

  No, that wouldn’t work. People would talk, and he was trying to get off that rollercoaster. The citizens of Adare didn’t know he had an ‘interesting’ family history in Dublin.

  Laird should go somewhere safe.

  He’d always wanted to see New York. From his early childhood, he’d wanted to be there.

  The bright lights.

  The flash.

  The people.

  He was drawn there for some unknown reason. It was as if fate was leading him there.

  He’d think about it.

  Don’t get him wrong. He loved Ireland, the people, and the culture, but he’d always been drawn West and toward the States. He wouldn’t mind living there.

  It seemed like a wild adventure.

  And Laird loved an adventure.

  When he didn’t hear anything else, he put his rifle beside his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Clearly, he needed to get out more. Only spending time with Molly was making him batty.

  He led a sad life.

  As he listened to the in and out breathing of his dog, he began to be lulled into a sense of calm. His eyelids began lowering, and his own breathing began slowing.