Rogue Oracle

by Unknown

  Kahuna Steve jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the Cowboy. “That’s Steve, too. Steve Moss. Don’t mind him. He’s pretty quiet.”

  “Both you guys are named Steve?” Tara lifted a dubious eyebrow.

  “Yeah.” The Kahuna shrugged. “It happens. There’s a team of guys on one Fugitive Investigative Strike Team I worked with who were all named Jeff. They all went by code names to keep things straight.”

  “You guys don’t look like Marshals.” In the hallway, Cassie stood with her arms crossed, voicing Tara’s thoughts.

  “That’s the idea, kiddo.” The Kahuna made a pistol-bang gesture with his hand and winked.

  Cassie froze. Tara saw her knuckles whiten where they were wrapped around her elbows. Tara crossed the room and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Let’s get your things together.” Cassie nodded and scurried back down the hallway to gather up her meager possessions.

  The Steves were trading glances. The Cowboy gestured at Cassie with his chin. “The girl’s gun-shy.” His voice was like gravel.

  Tara put her hands in her pockets. “Yeah. Is that a problem?” She didn’t elaborate further. This was none of their business.

  The Kahuna scratched one of his sideburns. “I hope not.”

  Tara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” Her voice crackled out with more hostility and force than she’d intended.

  The Kahuna put his square hands before him, palms up, in a placating gesture. “Look, we were told that the girl’s a relative of a shop guy that had disappeared. And that you work with Harry Li.”

  Tara stared at the mirrors of his sunglasses, stubbornly refused to answer him.

  The Kahuna glanced at the pistol concealed under the hem of Tara’s shirt. “Looks like you can take care of yourself. And the little one.”

  “Do you usually ask so many questions?” Tara lifted an eyebrow.

  “No, ma’am.” The Kahuna shook his head. “Steve and I haven’t been on assignment for a while … just trying to get the lay of the land,” he admitted.

  Tara’s mouth softened. “She’s the most important person in the world to me, okay? I just need her to be safe.” She didn’t tell them that, as the future Pythia, she might be the most important person in the world, period.

  The Kahuna nodded. “Where we’re going, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  Cassie came down the hallway with her shoes on and bag slung over her shoulder. She dragged Oscar out from under the table and tried to stuff him into the backpack. The cat yowled and squirmed, anticipating another long car ride. The Cowboy took Oscar from her and whispered something to the cat. The cat stopped struggling long enough for him to put the cat in the bag and zip him up.

  Tara was impressed.

  “Steve’s good with animals,” the Kahuna explained. “Used to work on a farm as a kid.”

  Tara wondered how the Kahuna had managed to elicit that information from him. She hoisted her suitcase. Inside, she heard the clink of pet dishes against Oscar’s makeshift oven pan litterbox.

  The Steves made no other comment about the animals coming with them. The Cowboy took point, leading the way out the door. Maggie trundled behind him, and Tara and Cassie behind the dog. The Kahuna took the rear. Tara could see that, once they were in open air, the men constantly scanned the steps, the parking lot, old habits settling over them. Their hands were loose at their sides like gunslingers in old action films.

  Tara smiled. She understood old habits died hard. They became like muscle memory, reflexes that were summoned out of any retirement the brain forced upon them.

  The Cowboy led them to a hulking beast taking up two parking spaces. A late-seventies model Ford Bronco sprawled like a brown dinosaur on the fresh macadam. The Cowboy paced around the car, checking for sabotage or door dings, Tara wasn’t sure which.

  “Company car?” Tara murmured.

  “Personal car,” the Kahuna said. He popped the door open and ushered the women and Maggie into the backseat while the Cowboy paced the perimeter. It took a hop for Tara to get in, and her jeans squeaked on the back bench seat as she piled in with Cassie. Cassie pulled her feet away from the shotgun on the floorboards as if it was poison, stared out the side window.

  The Cowboy slid behind the wheel, banging the door shut behind him. The Kahuna climbed in on the passenger side. The engine started up with a deafening roar, and the Bronco backed out of the parking lot.

  “I didn’t even know that you could still get parts for these things,” Tara shouted over the diesel growl of the engine as it pulled onto the highway.

  “EBay,” the Cowboy said succinctly.

  “They don’t build tanks like this anymore,” the Kahuna laughed. “This thing has the hide of a rhinoceros.” He patted the dashboard, which shone with a glossy coat of Armor All. Tara noted that there was a fracture in the upper left part of the dash that might have come from a bullet hole, but did not mention it to Cassie.

  The Bronco rumbled down the freeway for a few dozen miles. Traffic thinned a bit the further south they drove, away from DC and into Virginia. The HOV lanes disappeared, and the Bronco exited on a suburban off-ramp. Strip malls, gas stations, and video stores dotted the landscape.

  “Where are we going?” Tara asked.

  “You know that we’re really not supposed to tell you,” the Kahuna admonished. “But, seeing as we’re almost there …”

  “Already?” Tara lifted an eyebrow.

  “We’re local yokels,” the Kahuna explained, as the Bronco tooled down a side street. “The official safehouses are all full with the other rellies of ex-spies. Since Agent Li specified that you needed pet-friendly digs, we thought we’d take you home with us.”

  The Bronco pulled down a side street in the commercial district, into a gravel lot. A two-story brick building was decorated with a sign that said STEVE’S MILITARY SURPLUS AND FIREWORKS in block lettering. A smaller sign in the door festooned with iron bars said that it was CLOSED—PLEASE COME AGAIN. The exterior of the building had been painted over in a mural depicting an American flag, the Statue of Liberty, and a saluting cartoon soldier. Tara’s eyes flitted to the second floor, where there was a balcony holding a gas barbecue grill. One—or both—of the Steves must live above the surplus store.

  “That is, if that’s okay with you,” the Kahuna said, casting a glance through the rearview mirror at Cassie.

  Cassie swallowed and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Tara squeezed her hand.

  The Steves parked around the delivery entrance to the store. The Cowboy unloaded the women’s belongings, while Maggie scrambled out of the car to sniff the dandelions growing in random patches in the parking lot. The Kahuna unlocked the steel door and motioned them inside.

  “Home sweet home,” he announced, flicking on the overhead lights.

  The surplus store smelled of mothballs and gunpowder. Racks of camouflage clothing stood on the floor. The walls were decorated with POW-MIA and American flags, gas masks, hats and patches, plus racks of guns with chains run through them. Green ammo boxes were stacked up against the walls. Merchandise bins held gloves, ski masks, and bundles of socks. Glossy glass cases held what looked like grenades. Tara hoped they weren’t live.

  Beside her, Cassie stiffened. Her gaze was fixed on the handguns behind the case and the targets pinned up on the walls. Tara heard her breath gone shallow, slipped her hand in hers. The girl’s grip was cold and clammy.

  “Don’t mind the décor. This way,” the Kahuna said, pointing up a series of steps.

  The women followed the Kahuna up the steps to a metal security door, while the Cowboy stayed behind to lock up. The door banged open to reveal a beautiful industrial loft. The building had been gutted, down to the brick exterior walls. Pipes and ductwork gleamed overhead, lit by skylights set into the flat roof. Sunlight streamed down onto wood floors, illuminating a galley kitchen, a massive leather sectional, and built-in shelving that held a television and scores of books. Tara glanc
ed at the titles. Mostly military history, small arms pricing guides, and auto repair manuals.

  The Kahuna led them down a hallway constructed of what looked like recycled corrugated steel. Bits of stamping and tool marks could still be seen in the metal. The walls stopped some ten feet off the floor, with light streaming in glass partitions above. Tara squinted at the glass, which had a slightly blue tint, and realized they were windshields from old cars, suspended on wires like transoms.

  “Wow … this place is amazing,” Tara said.

  “Thanks,” the Kahuna said. “Most of the materials are recycled. The floors are old barn wood, for instance. Got it for free when a farmer tore his barn down in Manassas. Free for the hauling … and the sanding, and the polishing.”

  Tara could nearly see her reflection in the shiny gray wood. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” The Kahuna beamed. Tara wondered how many people got to see this hidden sanctuary above the surplus store.

  “We really appreciate your hospitality. This is really so far out of the ordinary …”

  “No worries.” The Kahuna shook his head. “I hate hotels, but like having visitors.” He opened a door at the end of the hall. “You girls can stay here.”

  The guest room was full of sunshine. A bed dressed in simple linens stood against a wall constructed of what looked like part of a ship’s hull. A dresser was festooned with a collection of grinning wooden Tiki gods, and a beaded curtain was strung over the window to the outdoors. A private bathroom extended to the right of the room. Tara crossed to the window, pulled aside the rattling beads. From this height, she could see the river and the masts of boats in the harbor.

  “I’ll let you girls get settled,” the Kahuna said.

  “Thank you.” Tara smiled at him warmly as he closed the door.

  Cassie sat down on the bed and released Oscar from the backpack. The cat shook his fur out in indignation and paced across the bedspread to hop down on the floor. He began to bat at the beaded curtain. Tara began setting up Oscar’s makeshift litter box in the tiny bathroom. The broiler pan fit nicely under the sink, and the cat immediately began scratching in his oatmeal cat litter.

  Cassie remained sitting on the bed, staring at her hands.

  Tara came to her side. “Hey.” She stroked the girl’s hair. “Are you doing okay?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” Cassie shuddered. “Just as … just as long as I don’t have to go downstairs.”

  “I think that they’ll understand.”

  Cassie looked up at the shifting prismatic rainbows on the wall summoned by the glass beads. “Can we trust these guys? I mean, they seem okay, but …” Her shoulder slumped. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  “Let’s make sure.” Tara tugged her purse to the bed and pulled her cards out of the bottom. She began to shuffle them, as specks of sunshine played over her hands. She asked the cards: “Can we trust the Steves to keep Cassie safe?”

  When the cards felt as if they began to stick together, her hands stilled. She pulled the first card off the top of the deck and turned it faceup on the bedspread.

  The Six of Pentacles showed a smiling, bearded merchant giving coins shaped like pentacles to two needy figures. He was richly dressed in an embroidered coat and feathered cap—Tara thought immediately of the Cowboy—but his cheeks were ruddy with goodwill. The thick beard reminded her of the Kahuna. Snowflakes spangled the air behind him, suggesting that the cold season was coming, and the merchant’s alms were sorely needed.

  Cassie inched forward to peer at the card. “What does it mean?”

  “The Six of Pentacles is a good card. It means generosity from strangers, speaks of loyalty and good faith.” Tara looked up at the cavernous ceiling of the loft apartment. “We’re the recipients of the Steves’ goodwill. I don’t think that our trust in them is misplaced.”

  Cassie wrapped her arms around her knees, tucked them up under her chin. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I trust these cards,” Tara said, surprising herself. She understood that Cassie’s faith in oracles was sorely tested, and she was honored that the girl still trusted her.

  “Do you think … do you think the Pythia will come after me?” Cassie asked.

  “It doesn’t matter what the Pythia does,” Tara said. “Harry and I will keep you safe.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I want to know if she’s going to come after me.”

  Tara frowned. She didn’t have a feeling for what the Pythia would do. Whatever she did, it was certain to be unexpected. But she wanted Cassie to feel safe, to feel shielded from the knowledge.

  Tara smoothed Cassie’s hair from her face. There was no use hiding the truth from another oracle. “Okay. We’ll ask.”

  She handed the cards to Cassie to shuffle. The girl’s fingers worked slowly over the gilt edges of the cards as she cut the deck and clumsily worked the cards back into a pile. She handed them back to Tara, and Tara fanned them out in her hands.

  “Pick three cards.”

  Cassie plucked three from the fan. “This is interesting. You usually deal them out yourself.”

  Tara shrugged. “I’m making this up as I go along. We’ll see if it yields any useful information.”

  She turned the three cards over. “These three cards represent you and your present state of mind.” The Star card, Cassie’s card, showed a young woman pouring water into a dark body of water. Tara bit her lip. The card was reversed, suggesting that that energy had been disrupted, poured out. Cassie had been dealt a terrible blow by the Pythia’s training … and it would take time for her to heal.

  She flipped the next card in the stack over. The Six of Swords showed a man ferrying six swords in a boat to a distant shore.

  The third card representing Cassie was the Two of Swords. It depicted a blindfolded young woman seated beside the ocean, holding two swords in her crossed arms, balanced on her shoulders.

  “What do they mean?” Cassie asked.

  “The Star is the card I associate with you. It’s reversed, and it’s obvious why: you’re emotionally distraught, and your energy is scattered,” Tara said. “The Six of Swords is a card of internal and external journeys. You’ll eventually move through this to the Two of Swords, which is a card of equilibrium, balanced force.” Tara looked up at the girl. “You will get through this. I promise.”

  Cassie rubbed her dripping nose.

  “Pick three more.” Tara fanned the cards out again, and Cassie chose.

  “These cards represent the Pythia and her state of mind.” Tara turned the first one over, where it lay haphazardly across Cassie’s cards. The Priestess gazed serenely back at them. She was dressed in heavy robes, a moon crown perched in her headdress. A coy smile played on the Priestess’s lips. The Priestess was the card Tara had most often associated with the Pythia, the embodiment of female power, intuition, and magick.

  The second and third cards surprised Tara. The Five of Cups showed a melancholy man, head bowed, staring at three spilled goblets. Beside him, unnoticed, two goblets remained upright and full.

  The Hanged Man showed a man dangling from a tree branch, tied by his foot. His expression was serene. Still.

  Tara steepled her fingers in front of her lips. “The Five of Cups is a card of regret. It suggests that the Pythia is genuinely sorry for what happened. And the Hanged Man is a card of sacrifice, of literal suspension. I don’t think that she’s going to chase after you. She’s going to wait, watch for what you do.”

  Cassie snorted. “I can’t imagine having that much power over her.”

  “Pick three more cards,” Tara said. “These last three will show the relationship between you … where you agree, and where you fall apart.”

  Cassie plucked three new cards from the deck, and Tara turned them over. The Hierophant showed a papal figure seated upon an imposing throne. The Seven of Wands showed a young man fighting off the blows of an oncoming salvo of staves. The Two of Wands showed the same man, dressed in
rich clothes, standing on a balcony. His gaze followed a ship coming in on the horizon. In his left hand, he held a staff. In his right, he held a globe.

  “The Hierophant speaks of tradition, teaching the way things have always been. In old decks, this card is sometimes called the Pope. He can signify dogma, clinging to outdated beliefs or notions. The Pythia is an old-school oracle. She’s been in power for so long, she might have calcified, become too rigid to accept change.

  “The Seven of Wands speaks of fighting, of competition.”

  “I don’t want to fight with her,” Cassie said. “I don’t understand why all this was necessary. What she wants from me.”

  Tara pointed to the last card, depicting the man holding the globe in his hands. “This is the card of new opportunities, symbolized by the ship coming in. It’s a new order, a new day.” Tara took a deep breath. “And you’ll be the one to bring it to Delphi’s Daughters, but only if you want to. You’re to be the next Pythia.”

  Cassie rubbed her nose. “I don’t understand why she did this.”

  “In her own misguided way, the Pythia wanted you to be strong. But she’s lost her way.”

  “I can’t.” Tears began to glitter on Cassie’s eyelashes. “I don’t want to be a part of this. I want a choice.”

  “I understand.” Tara rubbed a tear dribbling down the girl’s cheek. “You want to make your own decision.”

  “But … what happens to Delphi’s Daughters if I leave for good?”

  Tara shook her head. “Sometimes, I feel like Delphi’s Daughters are … an anachronism. A useless throwback to a primitive time, with brutal methods. I often believe the world can spin just as well without them, though they’d never believe it.”

  Cassie pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

  Tara grasped her shoulders, whispered fiercely: “She can’t make you do anything. You want your destiny to be yours. And it is.”

  Cassie hiccuped, looked up with eyes the color of sea glass.

  For a moment, it seemed as if she believed it.

  Chapter Fourteen