Oracle's Moon

by Thea Harrison

  Another vision came to Grace. Although the image was born from a far distant past, it was also as sharp and clear as if she were truly present. Grace watched the serpent creature convulse in death throes as she bit a screaming human woman.

  Grace said, We’re an ACCIDENT?

  You are a thing of beauty, the ghost whispered. Although your ancestress went a little mad.

  Good gods. Grace shuddered and almost lost control of her hold.

  The serpent-woman ghost coiled on itself. Your grandmothers created a history of prophecy and service out of the legacy I gave them. You should feel proud.

  I don’t need you to tell me how I should feel. Grace noticed how the Power pulled toward the ghost. She said, You didn’t mean for any of this to happen, so you never really let go.

  The ghost came up to her. You’re strong. You pulled the Power up in daylight, and you called me to you. You’re very strong for such a young one.

  Well, I didn’t call you on purpose, Grace told her. Gripping the Power while talking with the ghost took all of her strength. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on without it sucking her into that dark, endless sea. She said, I wanted to see if I could pull the Power up in daylight, but since we’re having this nice chat, you really need to let go now. Or take it back. I don’t give a shit which one you do, just do one thing or the other.

  The ghost turned away, and her coiling grew agitated. What if I can’t take it back? I’m no longer alive. I cannot contain my own Power.

  Then let go, dammit. Your connection to it is too strong. I can’t get full control while you hold on. Grace injected all her strength into the words. In the back of her mind, she was turning frantic. If she couldn’t get control, she didn’t know if she could release it safely.

  The serpent woman looked at her. Her smile had faded away to be replaced by something much darker. What if I don’t want to let go? My Power is alive in you. As long as my Power is alive, something of me is alive as well.

  Realization struck. You’re the reason why the Power doesn’t bond with any one person, why it jumps from Oracle to Oracle, Grace said. It’s because you won’t let go. But you’re not alive. You’re dead. You’re only pretending.

  While they were speaking, she searched for how the Power connected to both her and to the ghost. Now that she knew she was haunted, she could try to get rid of the ghost in the ways she had been taught, but she didn’t know if she could do that while she still held on to the Power. She might have trapped herself with her own impetuousness. Dumbass.

  Holding on is the only thing I have left, said the ghost.

  Fury welled. Grace said, You didn’t “kiss” my ancestor. You didn’t mean to give her a gift. You just fucking bit her.

  The ghost hissed, I give life to all of my children!

  Grace had begun to shake. Her grip was close to slipping. We’re supposed to be your CHILDREN? she gritted. No decent parent I know would ever put their child in jeopardy.

  I haven’t put you in jeopardy! the ghost roared as she recoiled. You did that to yourself when you tried to control something you were never meant to control!

  Really? said Grace. You mean when I tried to take what had come to me, what was supposed to be mine? That doesn’t sound like much of a gift to me. She grew calm as she told the ghost, It’s not too late. I’m sorry you died, but you died. Maybe you didn’t mean for this to happen, but you can still make good on the gift you tried to give my ancestor.

  The serpent woman stopped coiling on herself, and that feral, beautiful face turned wistful. The ghost asked, What would you, a mere mortal, do with an immortal Power?

  Don’t you think it’s time we find out? Grace said. If she couldn’t persuade the ghost to let go, she was going to have to take her chances and exorcise it, whether she was struggling to deal with the Power or not.

  The serpent woman’s wistfulness grew. She held a hand out, as if she would caress Grace’s cheek. You’re not only strong. You’re more impertinent than the others were.

  Grace didn’t know what to do. She wanted to cry or laugh or scream. She said, Maybe I’ll grow out of that. I’m still pretty young. Give me this chance. If I am really supposed to be one of your children, let me become your heir.

  The ghost’s hand dropped. She faded away. Grace felt the ghost let go.

  Instinctively, she braced herself. Afterward, she realized that might have saved her sanity and maybe even her life as the dark sea rushed toward her in a tidal wave. She threw everything she had at it, straining to hold on. All thought burned away in a gigantic, formless roar.

  Gradually the roar quieted as the tidal wave receded. The darkness in her mind faded until she could see sunlight again.

  She looked around wildly, soaking up the sight of the meadow drenched in sunshine. Then she bent at the waist, shaking as she drew in deep gulps of air, as wrung out as if she had just sprinted a mile.

  She realized she could hear voices. Don and Margie were still talking just inside the tunnel door. The entire conversation with the ghost, along with her struggle to get control of the Power, appeared to have taken place within the span of a few moments.

  Goddamn. She wiped her sweating face with the back of one hand. She couldn’t tell if she felt euphoric or flat out nauseated. Just, goddamn.

  “Miss Andreas?” Margie said behind her. “Are you all right?”

  “Call me Grace,” she said, her voice hoarse. She straightened and turned. Margie and Don looked at her with nearly identical expressions of discomfort and concern. “I’m fine,” she told them. “I got a little warm, that’s all. Have you made a decision?”

  Margie said, “We have, and I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m just not comfortable with this.”

  “Please don’t worry about it,” Grace told her as gently as she could. She considered the two. Don appeared to be strug-gling with disappointment, while Margie had clearly been crying. She realized she had promised Don and Margie she would help them, and that had been part of what had helped her to hold on.

  In the meantime, everything in her head seemed to have quieted down and her heart rate was returning to normal. Cautiously, she reached deep inside herself. Was it just her imagination, or did the Power feel closer? No, it was definitely closer. She made contact with the dark sea, and it rose readily to her touch.

  Right there, in broad daylight. It rose to her touch, because it was hers.

  Hers.

  God DAMN.

  There was no mistaking her euphoria that time. She kept a stern grip on the emotion, as she said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what makes you most uncomfortable? Is it actually speaking with your father or the thought of going underground to do it?”

  Margie glanced at her brother then said, “I don’t mind you asking. It’s both things, really. I—you were right, it’s too soon for me. Then the thought of having to go down in some dark cave is too much like going into his grave.”

  Grace winced at the imagery and the pain so evident behind it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Remember, you can always come back when you’re ready.”

  “I’d like that,” Don said. “Maybe we’ll be in a better place in a couple of weeks.”

  “Just e-mail me if you would like to come back. Maybe next time we can try to connect with your father without going into the cavern,” Grace said. “As long as you keep in mind I can’t promise anything, I’d be willing to try if you are.”

  Margie’s eyes filled. “Thank you,” said the older woman. “Thank you so much.”

  Grace nodded, feeling awkward in the face of so much raw gratitude.

  Looking as awkward as she felt, Don handed her an envelope. She could see cash through the paper. She gave him a small smile as she folded the envelope and slipped it into the pocket of her capri pants.

  Then they walked back to the front of the property, mostly in silence. Neither Don nor Margie seemed inclined to small talk, and Grace had more than enough on her mind.

  Sh
e needed to digest what had happened, to consider what it might all mean.

  The ghost had said the woman she had bitten had gone mad. Had the woman been too mad to comprehend what had really happened or explain it to her children? How many of Grace’s family traditions were because her ancestors didn’t understand where the Power had come from or why they couldn’t control it? Had any of them tried to exorcise the ghost before and failed? Would Grace be able to call the Oracle’s Power at will? She needed to practice, to see how much control she could establish over it. Now that it was hers—really hers—did that mean it wouldn’t pass on to Chloe or to some other child? Would it die with her? What did a mere mortal do with an immortal Power?

  Was she…still mortal? The possible implications were enormous.

  They reached the driveway. She said good-bye to Don and Margie, and watched as they climbed into a Ford pickup. When they pulled onto the road, Grace took a deep breath and turned to the house.

  That was when she sensed Khalil. His presence seethed.

  He was in the house. With Therese. And he was very, very angry.

  Well, crap.

  Grace hurried to the house and climbed the porch steps as fast as she could. As she reached for the screen door, Therese was already on the other side, slamming it open. Grace jerked back. “Whoa, easy there!”

  Therese was a pretty woman in her midthirties, and usually she had what Grace privately liked to call Snow White coloring—very dark hair, pale skin, and a full mouth Therese emphasized with red lipsticks. At the moment the older woman’s creamy skin was flagged with two bright spots of hectic color.

  “You have a Djinn in your house!” Therese hissed. “I heard one showed up the other day, but I thought he had left!”

  Like any other small, tightly knit community, witches gossiped. The percentage of humans who were born with Power was low, and often the ability tended to run in families. The number of those who pursued and received training for their Power was even lower, even in their own demesne. At the last census, those who claimed to have received training in witchcraft were under six thousand.

  The coven grapevine was notorious, so Grace shouldn’t have been surprised Janice had talked about Carling, Rune and Khalil, but Therese’s acidic tone roused Grace’s own temper.

  Grace looked inside. Khalil stood with his feet planted apart and his arms folded. He was still in the black tunic and trousers from earlier, his eyes incandescent. He looked enormous and murderous.

  “He is a friend of mine,” she said sharply. “And I knew he was stopping by. I just forgot to tell you.” She had meant to say she was sorry for not remembering to tell the other woman, but she would be damned if she apologized now.

  Therese cast a wide-eyed look over her shoulder as well. She switched to telepathy. And you allow him around the children? Are you CRAZY?

  Khalil wasn’t the only one suffering from a touch of bigotry. Grace snapped back, Stop talking about him like he’s a wild dog or an infestation.

  Therese’s eyes flashed. Fine. I would have thought you had more sense than that, but suit yourself. They’re not my kids.

  That last was so callous, Grace’s expression turned cold. She said between her teeth, “I’m crossing you off the roster. Don’t come back.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Therese. “I won’t.”

  As the other woman flounced down the driveway to her car, Grace looked inside again. Max sat at Khalil’s feet, fingering Khalil’s black shoes curiously. He was oblivious to the tension between the adults. Also oblivious, Chloe was busily looking through her new pile of library books on the living room bookcase.

  Khalil’s eyes blazed. He said to her, I caught that woman going through your things.

  Caught totally off guard, Grace blinked. What?

  He repeated, When I arrived, the woman was rifling through the papers on your desk.

  Digging through her things? What the hell.

  Even as he spoke and Grace tried to process what he said, Chloe grabbed two of the books. She ran back to Khalil, chattering. “See what I got today? I can read them if you help.”

  Grace watched again as a remarkable transformation happened. Khalil looked down at the children, and his elegant face gentled. His rage vanished as though it had never existed. He told the little girl, gravely, “I would be honored to assist you.”

  Chloe beamed at him. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

  “Indeed,” said Khalil. He bent down to pick up Max. His tremendous hands were exquisitely careful as he handled the baby.

  A new surge of fury and outrage clogged Grace’s throat as, behind her, Therese’s car door slammed.

  Digging. Through her things.

  Beyond the outrage was a sense of violation, a trust that had been broken.

  She checked to make sure Chloe wasn’t watching her. Then she put her hand behind her back and stuck out her middle finger. Fuck you, Therese.

  Therese’s car peeled out of the driveway with more force than was necessary, or maybe Grace imagined it.

  She looked at the kids. She thought of them playing innocently while Therese snooped around. What else had the other woman done? Grace’s hands clenched, and a muscle in her jaw began to tick.

  She opened the door and stepped inside. She tried to move as carefully as she could, because it felt like her rage was flowing off her body in waves. Max greeted her by blowing a happy raspberry. The smile she tried to give the baby felt more like a grimace.

  Khalil glanced at her as he sat in the armchair. He settled Max on one leg and lifted Chloe, books and all, into his lap as well. Chloe folded her body up, perching on his other leg as naturally as if they had read together thousands of times before.

  She could have hurt them, Grace said to Khalil. She could have done anything.

  Khalil said, She did not. They are well.

  The little girl eagerly opened her top book and pointed to the page. “What does this say?”

  Khalil bent his head and began to read.

  Grace watched them for a moment. They were a strange yet wonderful sight. If she apologized to anyone, she felt she owed it to Khalil for forgetting to let him know Therese would be babysitting. But she had only found out about Therese snooping because she had forgotten and Khalil had shown up unannounced.

  It’s not just what the hell, she thought. It’s why the hell?

  She didn’t have any money for Therese to steal, and the other woman would have known that. Grace certainly didn’t have any secrets. It wasn’t as though Therese was a teenager, with a teenager’s sometimes irresponsible sense of boundaries. Had it been pure, simple nosiness?

  Forcing her muscles to unknot, she moved quietly through the living room into the office.

  As she studied the room, she tried to remember exactly how everything had been. The stack of papers on her desk was a hodgepodge collection of bills, photocopies of journal articles for her unfinished school projects and various drafts of her resume. The papers seemed slightly disarranged—or was that only because she knew Therese had gone through them?

  She rubbed the back of her neck. The truth was, her desk wasn’t all that neat, and she would never have noticed anything if Khalil hadn’t caught Therese. Her computer was on, and she distinctly remembered turning it off earlier. But again, if Khalil hadn’t said anything, she would have shrugged it off, thinking perhaps Therese had wanted to check her e-mail.

  Maybe none of it meant anything. Maybe Therese had checked her e-mail. Maybe she had dug through the papers because she had been looking for a pen and a blank piece of paper.

  She had been awfully outraged at Khalil’s unexpected appearance.

  Was that really bigotry, or was it anger that she had been caught?

  Caught doing what, exactly?

  Grace and Therese weren’t friends, merely acquaintances. Therese belonged to one of the local covens, and Grace had met her a time or two—enough not to question having her on the babysitting roster or think twice about
leaving her alone with the children. But Grace still felt angry and unsettled, betrayed and hurt.

  And she wasn’t even sure if she should.

  Except for Therese’s callousness. As far as Grace was concerned, even if the other woman had reacted out of anger, what she had said and how she had said it were unforgiveable. Grace went back into the living room, to the bookcase where she kept her purse. She looked through the contents. Car keys, identification, checkbook, a packet of gum, one of Max’s pacifiers. She had the same amount of cash in her wallet that she’d had earlier, sixteen dollars and fifty-three cents. As far as she could tell, Therese hadn’t taken anything.

  Grace turned and studied the living room, her hands on her hips. It was the same as her office area, untidy and lived in.

  Khalil glanced at her again from under his brows. He asked, Are any of your possessions missing?

  His expression promised trouble for Therese if there were. Grace shook her head, her mouth a tight, unhappy line.

  I do not care for this babysitting roster if other people like Therese are on it, he said.

  I don’t either, she told him. I really don’t.

  If she couldn’t rely on the people on the roster, what the hell was she going to do now? She rubbed the back of her neck and added it to the growing list of shit she needed to think about.

  And thinking wasn’t going to make the kids supper. She walked toward the kitchen.

  As she passed the armchair, she asked, “Will you stay for supper?”

  The smooth flow of words in Khalil’s low, pure voice halted.

  He said, “Very well.”

  …

  Friend, Grace had called him.

  Khalil resumed reading to the little ones, while he mulled over the word. The baby sucked his thumb and leaned back so he could look up at Khalil’s face. Chloe rested light as a pixie against Khalil’s other side and fingered the edges of the page as she listened to him. Her blonde hair floated like dandelion fluff around her head. His daughter, Phaedra, had not been, even at her youngest, as fragile as these two humans were. These baby birds were warm, soft, openhearted and open-minded. So trusting.