Death Dates the Oracle, page 2
Eamon had his own burden to bear. He could see things he had no desire to. Like how long a person had left to live.
He climbed into his black Dodge Charger, the windows heavily tinted, as much as the law would allow, and drove to the funeral home. He pulled around back.
The hearse was already there, a sign that Clark was, too. He might have even had Mr. Young wheeled in and on the prep table by now, too.
Eamon parked and went inside. “Clark? I’m here.”
Never hurt to announce yourself, Eamon had discovered. Clark was a good worker, seemed to have no issues with anything, but he could be the jumpy sort. Or maybe that had more to do with where he worked.
“Eamon. Morning.” Clark stood next to the gurney, which had come out of the hearse and currently held Mr. Young. In a body bag.
“Morning. Seamus filled me in. I’ll just go suit up and meet you in there.” Eamon kept his gaze focused on Clark’s mouth and nose. Any higher and he’d risk seeing the ghostly hourglass that hovered over the young man’s head and the sands trickling through as his allotted time ran out.
He saw them over everyone, save those who shared his Underwood blood. The gift, such as it was, had turned him into a recluse.
Trouble was, Eamon liked Clark. He didn’t want to know if he had years or months or hours left, because that was part of Eamon’s questionable gift. Besides seeing the hourglasses, he also knew, without understanding why, just how long a person had left.
It was too great a burden to bear. Sure, if it was years, that’d be grand. But if it wasn’t … Eamon kept his gaze low as he walked to the prep room where Clark would soon be bringing the body.
There was no one else in the funeral home yet, but keeping his head and eyes down had just become habit.
He opened the wardrobe cabinet and hung up his sport coat, putting his sunglasses, keys, and wallet on the top shelf. Then he took out a Tyvek jumpsuit and put it on over his jeans and T-shirt along with a face mask, clear protective glasses, and latex gloves.
Behind him, Clark brought Mr. Young in and easily moved him to the prep table, removing the body bag as he did so. Clark wasn’t a big guy, but he was strong, thanks to whatever kind of supernatural he was. Eamon had never asked and didn’t plan to. People deserved their privacy.
“Need anything else, Eamon?”
Eamon shook his head but stayed facing the wardrobe, occupying himself with the zipper on the jumpsuit. It was as good an excuse as any not to make eye contact. “No, I’m all set. Thanks.”
“I’ll be up front if you need me.”
“Fine.” He shut the wardrobe door. “Seamus will be in soon.”
“All right.” The soft shush of the prep room doors announced Clark’s departure.
Alone, Eamon turned to his new client. He gazed at the man, studying him. Mr. Young’s eyes were shut, but he had a kind expression on his face, his mouth ever so slightly curved in a gentle smile. Almost as though he’d been ready to go. Maybe he had been. The man had been on the Earth nearly a century.
How many of his friends and family had already gone ahead of him? How many was he leaving behind?
Eamon gave the man a smile in return. “Hello, Mr. Young. Ninety-four isn’t bad at all. Good for you. Now, let’s get you ready to see your family one last time.”
Last night at the fair had seriously upset Tru. She’d walked into Fatima’s tent thinking it was all just a joke. But she’d walked out shaken to the core.
She’d almost canceled her trip. How was she supposed to act like nothing had happened? Like she hadn’t been told she was about to die? Tru’s mother had died from a stroke when Tru was just nineteen. At least, the doctors had said it was a stroke. She’d overheard relatives at the funeral talking about how her mother’s gifts had been too much for her to handle.
The same gifts Tru was about to receive. Add to that Fatima’s prediction, and Tru had thought about nothing else the entire flight here.
Now, sitting in the back seat of her Aunt Cleo’s turquoise blue Jeep, Tru wasn’t sure anything made sense anymore. What if becoming an oracle was the thing that caused her to meet death?
She was only thirty-three. She’d barely begun to live.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Aunt Delly said. Her auburn curls were more burgundy than Tru remembered. She must have changed her color.
“Sorry,” Tru answered. She did her best to smile. Probably wasn’t that convincing, so it was a good thing neither of her aunts could see her from their seats up front. “I’m just a little tired, I guess.”
Behind the wheel, Aunt Cleo nodded. Her salt-and-pepper waves were clipped up in a twist. “Travel wears me out, too.”
“Do you think it would be okay if we held off on the ceremony for a couple days?” Tru asked.
“Sure,” Aunt Delly said, but she was looking at Cleo. “Right?”
“There are no rules about how soon after your birthday the ceremony has to take place,” Aunt Cleo answered. “Just that it must be done in the thirty-third year. The ceremony itself never changes, either.” She glanced at Tru through the rearview mirror before putting her eyes back on the road. “We can wait a couple days until you’re up to it. Probably not a bad idea. It can be a taxing process, especially when you actually get your powers. Although you might feel invigorated after it. Everyone responds differently.”
“Well, I’d like to wait a little bit,” Tru said. “Thank you.”
Aunt Delly twisted in her seat to look back at Tru. Her eyes were bright and full of happiness. “It’s so good to have you here.”
Tru’s smile was genuine this time. “It’s good to be here.” If anyone would know what had happened to her last night in the fortune teller’s tent, it would be her aunts. She just wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell them or not. They were oracles, after all. Although, what if they confirmed what Fatima had told her?
“Are you hungry?” Aunt Delly asked.
“No,” Tru said. Then a low growl came from her midsection and made a liar out of her.
Aunt Cleo laughed. “Looks like your stomach thinks otherwise.”
“Okay,” Tru said. “I guess I am. But I really don’t want you guys to go to any trouble.” She knew what would happen otherwise. Her aunts would disappear into the kitchen, making a huge Greek feast of salads and dolmas, moussaka, chicken and lamb skewers, maybe even stuffed peppers or pastitsio. They’d set out bowls of olives and hummus along with plates heaped high with pita bread.
For dessert, they’d make baklava. Possibly rice pudding, too. Maybe even some koulourakia, the twisty little orange-scented cookies that went so well with coffee.
It would all be delicious, but the amount of work—and cleanup—a meal like that took … Tru didn’t want to be the cause of that.
“Trouble?” Aunt Cleo snorted through her nose like a horse. “Feeding our niece is trouble? You’re about to become an oracle. You need to be fed. Your body needs to be nourished with the foods of our ancestors. It’s no trouble.”
Aunt Delly twisted to look at her again, making her dangling earrings swing. She had to be nearly sixty, but she acted like a teenager. “Plus, it’s already made.”
Tru laughed. “All right.”
Aunt Cleo slowed the Jeep as they neared the neighborhood, slowing further as she turned down Shadows Drive and approached the house.
Tru leaned forward to get a better look at the place. “I forgot how beautiful your home is.”
The gorgeous old Victorian was painted in several shades of green and accented in white. It was like something out of a storybook, especially with the beautiful landscaping and the big, mature trees that provided just the right amount of shade.
The whole street was gorgeous, each house like a designer chocolate in a box of delicious treats. Row after row of Victorian and Georgian houses lined each side of Shadows Drive.
“We love it,” Aunt Cleo said, parking in the driveway and turning off the Jeep. “And we love living here. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Tru’s hand stopped on the door handle. “What’s that mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Aunt Delly said. “It’s fine. We just have a questionable neighbor.”
Tru furrowed her brow. “Questionable?”
“He’s a vampire,” Aunt Cleo said. “And very shady.”
Tru laughed, then realized her aunt hadn’t meant that as a joke. “Oh. How do you know that?”
“Well, he probably is,” Aunt Cleo said. “He skulks around.”
“He skulks?” Tru’s brows bent. “Is that an exclusive vampire trait?”
Aunt Delly pursed her lips. “It could be. Plus, he only wears black, and he always wears sunglasses during the day.”
“So he goes out during the day?” Tru frowned. “Can vampires do that?”
“Maybe,” Aunt Cleo said. “There’s all sorts of new technological breakthroughs these days. Who knows what they can do?! Maybe there’s some new kind of vampire sunscreen out there. I’m just saying you should steer clear.”
Tru nodded. Her aunts were just looking out for her. But she was a little worried about them. “Is he bothering you?”
“No.” Aunt Delly glared at her sister. “He’s just unsettling, that’s all. We wouldn’t have stayed if he was a problem. And the man he lives with seems nice. Not sure exactly, but I think it could be his dad. Or maybe older brother. Anyway, let’s get you in and settled and you can meet our gang.”
Tru got out. The “gang” was the horde of rescue cats that lived with her aunts. She loved cats but hadn’t had any since she was a kid. She grabbed her suitcase out of the back, along with her carry-on and her purse, and headed toward the side entrance of the house behind her aunts.
“We’ve put you up on the third floor,” Aunt Cleo said. “I hope that’s okay. It’s quieter up there, and the cats are less likely to bother you there. Plus, the whole floor will be yours.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind steps. They’re good exercise. And I don’t think the cats will bother me.” Tru didn’t have any pets currently, because the apartment she shared didn’t allow them. But that didn’t mean she was against them. She thought animals were great.
“The stairs are definitely exercise,” Aunt Delly said. She opened the door. “All right, all of you away from the door, now. Shoo. Get back.”
Tru walked in behind her aunt and just stared at the feline abundance. There were cats everywhere she looked. At least five. No, wait. Six. Or seven. “So, uh, how many cats do you guys have at the moment?”
“Fifteen,” Aunt Cleo answered without hesitation. She pointed to the ones in front of them, naming them as she went. “The calico is Dolly, then those two brown tabbies are Mr. and Mrs. Shrimps. The white longhair is Angel. Pickles is the gray and white one. Captain Carrot is the ginger, naturally, and then there’s Big Head Ed, the tuxedo. That gray tabby is Princess. The rest you’ll meet eventually. Dr. Booples and Frankie and Little Joe and Butternut and—”
“Fifteen,” Tru repeated softly. That was a lot of cats. More than she’d been expecting. She inhaled. Somehow, the house didn’t smell. Although it was a big house. Maybe a house of this size could handle that many cats. Well, obviously, it could. Or at least it seemed to be. “How do you keep them all straight?”
Aunt Cleo shrugged. “They’re our kids. It’s not hard.”
“Probably sounds like a lot,” Aunt Delly said. “But it’s not. Not really. And that includes our newest baby, Nemo. He just showed up on our front porch one day, no mama, no brothers or sisters. Our vet says he’s about two months old. We had to take him in. He’s the cutest little orange nugget. You’ll meet him. He’s probably sleeping on the catio.”
“Catio?”
Aunt Delly answered. “It’s an outside screened porch that the cats have access to through a cat door in the laundry room. That way if we’re not home to let them onto the main screened porch, they can still get fresh air. Of course, we can access it, too, but it’s really their own space. Anyway, none of them are outside cats, so be sure not to let them slip out, even if they tell you it’s all right.”
Tru nodded. “Got it.”
“Do you want a tour? Or do you remember where everything is?” Aunt Cleo asked.
“I think I remember.” Tru hadn’t been here since she was a teenager. Back when her mom had still been alive. “I’ll just take my stuff upstairs and maybe lay down for a few minutes. If that’s all right?”
“Of course it’s all right,” Aunt Cleo said. “That will give us time to heat everything up for dinner. Half an hour?”
“Half an hour sounds great.” Tru gathered her things and started up the steps. A few cats went with her. There were more on the landing of the second floor. An enormous fellow with blue eyes who was mostly white with touches of apricot on his face and paws gazed at her from his seat on an upholstered bench against the wall. The tag on his collar read, “Butternut.”
Tru paused. “Hi, Butternut.”
He blinked at her.
She smiled. “You are very handsome.”
He flopped over and looked at her from his new, upside-down viewpoint.
She laughed and gave his belly a tickle. “You’re funny, too. Maybe you can be the new man in my life. Between us, it’s been a while.” She adjusted her grip on the suitcase handle. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
She took her suitcase up the next flight of steps to the third floor. It was as nice a space as she remembered from her youth. The stairs opened onto an area that was set up like a little reading nook, then there were two rooms with a spacious shared bathroom in between. The other half of the third floor was storage, which made sense, since it had once been the attic.
Her room was the largest of the two, but it had been made over since her last visit here. The pink teen-girl vibes were gone, replaced by pale blue walls, crisp white furniture, and a big, dark blue and white rag rug over the hardwood floors. Paintings of Greece adorned the walls, pairing beautifully with the dark blue and yellow accents throughout.
Tru smiled. It was a gorgeous room. The bed was stacked with plump pillows. Then one of the pillows moved, startling her. She laughed at her own silliness.
A little orange cat stretched and yawned.
“Were you under the pillows? I bet you’re Nemo.” She set her things down and went over to pick him up. “Oh, you’re so soft.”
He pushed his head against her face, making her smile. His little purrs started immediately.
Her heart melted as she cradled him in her arms. She was so glad she hadn’t let Fatima’s prediction change her mind about coming. At this moment, her aunts’ house seemed like exactly where she needed to be.
With Mr. Young taken care of, Eamon washed up, shed his protective clothing, and gathered his things from the wardrobe. Instead of going to see his uncle, who might very well be busy with Mr. Young’s family and the planning of the funeral, Eamon sent him a text. It was just easier.
Headed home unless you need me.
Seamus’s response came quickly. All good here. Just wrapping things up. Shouldn’t be more than a half hour behind you. Thoughts about dinner?
Something easy, Eamon responded. Pizza? They ordered in from Salvatore’s often. He shrugged on his sports coat. Maybe too often. But they were two single men, and takeaway was easy. Of course, both of them knew how to cook a few things. But whipping up a cottage pie or even eggs and chips just seemed like too much work some nights.
And when there was footy on, pizza went so well with a cold pint. Tonight, Aberdeen was facing Motherwell in what was sure to be an epic battle. Being able to watch all the best games was the main reason they had such an elaborate setup with their streaming services. VPNs made all sorts of things possible.
Seamus’s reply was a fast thumbs-up.
Eamon snorted softly at the emoji. Seamus never said no to Salvatore’s. I’ll order our usual then.
He tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets, put his sunglasses on, and went out to his car.
He waited until he got home to order the pizza, trying to estimate when it and his uncle would arrive. He placed the order for their standard, a large meat lover’s, along with two salads, something neither of them was that fond of, but they tried to force down a little veg now and then. He added an order of Salvatore’s donuts, too.
Those were really just knobs of pizza dough fried, then shaken in cinnamon and sugar, but they were brilliant after a long day. Especially dipped into the chocolate sauce that came along with them. He and his uncle had definitely had a long day and deserved the sweet treat.
Anyone who thought that those working in the funeral arts didn’t feel anything for their clients, or their clients’ families, was wrong.
It was hard work. Some days harder than others. The job required compassion and empathy and respect. Mr. Young might have lived a long life, but there was no doubt in Eamon’s mind that he’d left behind friends and family who’d loved him dearly and would certainly miss him.
With the pizza ordered, Eamon went upstairs to take a proper shower. He turned the water on to let it warm up, then shed his clothes, depositing them into the hamper just under his bedroom window. Which was when he noticed a light on in the third floor of the house next door.
He’d never seen a light on up there. He stared for a moment, but it didn’t really concern him. It was just curious. Maybe one of the cats had turned it on. The two women that lived over there were absolutely barmy about cats.
He went off to shower. He probably stood too long under the hot water, but it felt brilliant. He thought about his podcast. He’d need to make more headway tomorrow. Hopefully get the whole first episode recorded. Then his mind shifted back to Mr. Young.
And then back to the light in the window next door.
He dressed in lounge pants and an Aberdeen T-shirt, then went downstairs. The pizza wasn’t too far out, according to the app.
His uncle shouldn’t be, either.
