Death Dates the Oracle, page 4
Her eyes held a dubious glare.
Amused as he was, he realized she was even more attractive than he’d originally thought. There was something about her eyes. Then again, he didn’t get to look into a lot of people’s eyes like this. “Would you like help finding your kitten?”
She nodded. “Yes. Please.”
“Let me go get a flashlight and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He headed back up the path toward the porch. He opened the door, and a little orange streak zipped past. “What the—cat!”
“Hey,” the young woman yelled. “Grab him.”
Eamon chased after the cat and scooped him up. The little furball went limp in his grasp, snuggling against him. And purring.
Eamon stared down at the kitten, transfixed by how soft and warm it was. “I’ve got him,” he said softly.
The young woman joined him on the porch. “Wow. You must be like a cat whisperer or something. He likes you a lot. I didn’t know vampires were so good with animals.”
“I’m not a vampire.” But Eamon smiled at the wee creature. “He’s not so bad, either.” The little cat kneaded his paws against Eamon’s chest. He looked up at the young woman. “I’m Eamon, by the way.”
She met his gaze. “I’m Tru. Thanks for catching Nemo. And for not being bothered by me climbing over your fence to get him.” She shook her head. “I think I flattened some of your marigolds. I’m sorry about that. I had too much to drink tonight. But in my defense, it is my birthday.”
“Happy birthday.” Tru. He repeated her name in his head, unable to look away from her. How was there no hourglass over her head? And who was this beautiful, tipsy creature that had just appeared in his life?
“Thanks.” She pointed at him. Or maybe she was pointing at the cat he was still holding. “I should probably get him back in the house.”
“Hmm? Oh, aye, the cat.” Eamon handed the animal to her, surprised by how the warmth from his little body disappeared and left Eamon missing the contact.
Tru cradled Nemo in her arms and smiled down at him. “You little stinker. No more running off, okay?”
“He’s, uh, pretty young, right?”
“Yes,” Tru said. Nemo was the picture of contentment, almost as if he liked being held that way. “He’s just a kitten. And full of energy. Although he’ll probably sleep after his adventure now.”
Eamon looked at her again. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t seeing the hourglass. There was no way they were related. “You knew about vampires, so you must be some kind of supernatural yourself, right?”
The happiness disappeared off her face. “I’m not anything. Thanks again, but I should go.”
“Aye, sure. Unless you plan on climbing back over the fence, I can let you out through the gate.”
She nodded. “That would be great.”
He led her out and down the path, then around the side of the house, where a gate in the fence opened onto the end of the driveway. He held it for her. “It was nice to meet you, Tru.” He reached out and scratched Nemo’s belly. “You, too, Nemo.”
“Thanks for being so understanding, Eamon. And again for the help with Nemo.”
He smiled, gazing at her and enjoying the fact that he could. “Anytime.”
She slipped off into the darkness.
He stood there a moment longer, staring after her and wondering what kind of creature was immune to his power.
He latched the gate and walked back to the house. He turned the outside lights off and went in.
His uncle was in the kitchen, his robe pulled on over his nightclothes. “I thought I heard something.”
Eamon glanced toward the house next door. “Neighbor had a missing cat. All is well now.”
Seamus nodded. “Going up then?”
“Right behind you.” Eamon followed his uncle upstairs. Was all well? Not exactly. He felt flummoxed by what he’d seen tonight. Or, rather, hadn’t seen.
What was so special about Tru? What kind of supernatural was she? What made him unable to see her hourglass? There was no way they were related, was there? He couldn’t imagine how.
He had so many questions and so few answers, which meant this wasn’t something he could let rest. He had to find out more.
Tru had to come through the gate in her aunts’ fence to get back into the house, because she didn’t have a key to the front door yet. She’d have to ask them about that tomorrow.
She took Nemo inside, then quickly went back out to the yard, making sure the door was shut behind her. She looked around for something to block the gap in the fence with, just in case Nemo figured out how to get out again.
She settled on a flat, decorative stone from one of the flower beds. She let out a sigh as she picked it up. She’d flattened some of the vampire’s flowers.
He might have claimed to not be a vampire, but she wasn’t so sure. She’d never met one before. How was she to know?
Didn’t vampires have mesmerizing eyes? Because Eamon had those, for sure. And that Scottish accent … Parts of her still felt like warm butter from listening to him.
Stupid ouzo.
She’d have to buy him some new marigolds to replace the ones she’d smashed. She did not want to be in the debt of a vampire. Not one who had clearly used his charms of seduction to make her think he was handsome and sexy.
Ew. So gross. Except she didn’t think he was gross at all. Proof of how powerful he was, she supposed.
She carried the round stone over to the fence and wedged it into place in front of the gap so that nothing could get through. Satisfied with her work, she went back in, locked the house, and headed upstairs.
The drinks she’d had at dinner finally seemed to be wearing off, leaving her exhausted and ready to crash.
Back on the third floor, she finished her interrupted routine, washing her face and changing into the nightgown that was still sitting next to the sink. When she came back out to the bedroom, Nemo was curled up on one of the pillows.
She shook her head. “I didn’t see or hear you come up. You are way too quiet.”
She climbed into bed, leaning over to give the little cat some pets. She kissed the top of his head. “You gave me such a scare, you stinker.”
He smelled of a man’s fragrance. Like soap or body wash. She knew exactly where that had come from. Eamon.
She turned the bedside lamp off and looked toward the house next door. Just because Fatima’s words hadn’t come true tonight didn’t mean they wouldn’t. Living next to a vampire wasn’t something Tru could just brush off.
She’d have to tell her aunts in the morning. She put her head down on the pillow and tried to work that conversation out in her mind.
The next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to daylight. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but she’d been really tired.
She stretched and looked around. Nemo was nowhere to be seen. None of the cats were. She pulled on some leggings and a big T-shirt, knotted her hair into a messy bun, and went downstairs in hopes of coffee, although she didn’t smell any.
She found Aunt Delly in the kitchen, using a Keurig to make a cup for herself. That explained why there hadn’t been much smell.
“Morning,” Tru said. A line of cats were eating at the bowls against the far wall, happily devouring their breakfast.
Aunt Delly turned. “Morning. How did you sleep?”
“Pretty good. I don’t actually remember falling asleep. That’s how tired I was.” She looked around. “Where’s Aunt Cleo?”
“Giving Butternut his inhaler.”
Tru furrowed her brow. “Butternut uses an inhaler?”
Aunt Delly sipped her coffee before she nodded. “Yep. He’s an asthmatic. Takes it like a champ, though.”
“He’s a beautiful cat. I met him on the second floor last night as I was going upstairs.”
“On the padded bench?”
Tru nodded as she walked over to make a cup for herself, getting a mug down from the cupboard.
Aunt Delly smiled. “That’s his favorite spot. He likes to keep an eye on things.”
Aunt Cleo came down the steps. “Meds done, litter boxes cleaned, water bowls refilled.” She grinned at Tru. “Morning.”
“Morning. You guys must have quite the routine going to keep up with all the cats, huh?” Tru put a new K-Cup in the machine, Sumatran dark roast, stuck a cup under the spout, and hit Brew.
“We divide the work,” Aunt Cleo said. “Doesn’t take much time at all now.”
Aunt Delly shrugged. “It’s just part of our day, you know? And some of these cats wouldn’t be around if not for us.”
Tru walked over to the windows while she waited on her coffee. There were a few cats out on the screened porch and a couple more in the catio. “Nemo slept on the bed with me last night. Not sure what time he left, but he’s such a sweetie.”
Aunt Cleo nodded. “He is.”
The Keurig sputtered out the last few drops. Tru walked back to get her cup, added some of the creamer Aunt Delly had left out, along with some sugar, then sipped it, careful not to burn her tongue. After a few sips, she found the courage she’d been lacking earlier. “There’s something I need to tell you both.”
“Oh?” Aunt Cleo looked up from the sink where she was washing her hands. When she made eye contact with Tru, she said, “Is something wrong?”
Tru shook her head. She wanted to tell her aunts, but at the same time, she was afraid of how they’d interpret it. And she didn’t know where to start. She almost felt like crying.
“We should sit down at the table,” Aunt Delly said. She put her arm around Tru. “Come on, it’ll be all right. Whatever it is.”
“She’s right,” Aunt Cleo chimed in.
When they were all settled at the table with coffee in front of them, Tru started the only place she could think of. The beginning of it all. The fair.
“Cindy thought we should go to the fair for my birthday. Ride some rides, play some games, eat the craziest foods they had to offer. And we did. It was fun. But toward the end of the night, she suggested I get my fortune told.”
Her aunts’ faces already held concern. Now they took on a bit of worry.
Aunt Delly leaned in. “Was she a scammer?”
“I don’t know,” Tru answered.
Aunt Cleo cut her eyes at her sister. “Let her tell the story.”
Aunt Delly rolled her eyes. “So bossy.” Then she winked at Tru. “That’s how the older ones are.”
“Delphina.”
Aunt Delly pursed her lips. “Go on, Tru. We’re listening.”
Tru gathered her thoughts. “Her name was Fatima.”
“Not her real name,” Aunt Delly muttered.
Aunt Cleo sighed loudly.
Tru decided just to plow on. “My friend paid her, then Fatima told me to think of a question I wanted answered and put my hands on the crystal ball. Which was very nice and definitely real, by the way.”
Her aunts nodded but kept quiet. For a few seconds. Then Aunt Cleo spoke. “What was your question?”
“What would my thirty-third year bring?”
“Good one,” Aunt Delly said.
“So I thought about it as I put my hands on the crystal ball. She told me to close my eyes, but I left them open just a slit so I could watch Fatima. She put her hands on the ball, too, right below mine. Then she commanded the spirits to open the doorway between worlds and …”
Tru stared into her coffee, the vision of swirling black filling her head. “It was impossible not to see the crystal, too. And as I watched, the inside of the crystal filled with black. Like the darkest ink you can imagine. Fatima freaked out and told me to leave.”
When neither of her aunts said anything, she looked up.
Both of them were staring at her, mouths open and something that seemed very much like fear in their eyes. As soon as she looked at them, they composed themselves.
But it was too late. Tru had seen their reactions. “It’s not good, is it?”
“It’s, um … well,” Aunt Cleo said. “It doesn’t sound ideal. But maybe it was just a trick of this woman’s. Meant to get more money out of you for another reading.”
“She told me to leave,” Tru repeated. “And when Cindy pressed her for an answer, Fatima said it meant I was going to meet death.”
Aunt Delly looked at Aunt Cleo. Neither one of them seemed to have any answers.
Tru thought she should tell them the whole truth. “There’s more.”
“More?” Aunt Delly blinked a few times.
Tru nodded. “I think I may know how this death is going to come for me.”
“Tru,” Aunt Cleo began. “If you’re going to say like your mother—”
“How can I not think that?” Tru sighed. “Mom couldn’t survive her powers. What makes you think I’m any different?”
“No one knows for sure that’s what caused your mom’s stroke,” Aunt Delly said.
“I know, but I also know a lot of people in the family think it was.” Tru held her hands up. “But if that’s not it, then I have a second theory.”
Her aunts just waited.
Tru thought about last night. Parts of it were slightly muddled in her memory. No doubt thanks to the ouzo. “It could also be your neighbor.”
“Old Mrs. Flambeau?”
“No, the other one. The Scottish one.” What was his name? “Eamon. You know, the vampire.”
Eamon made himself a cup of tea and carried it up to his studio. His uncle was off to the funeral home, so Eamon had high hopes that he’d be able to knock out a good portion of the first episode of his podcast’s new season today. Not the editing; that would come later. But laying down the initial tracks was where it all started. He had to do that before anything else.
When he could, he liked to work ahead, banking episodes. In fact, in a perfect world, he’d have an entire season done before the first episode aired. Hadn’t happened yet, but maybe someday.
Trouble was, there was no way of telling when Seamus might need him at the funeral home, so being ahead of schedule was much better than risking falling behind.
His sponsors, who were his bread and butter, wouldn’t like it if he missed an episode. Neither would his listeners, of course, and they were really who he wanted to please. More listeners was always one of his goals.
Not the main one, however. That was something very different. He hoped that shining light on one of these unsolved cases might someday lead to a resolution. Justice for the victims. Closure for the families.
For all the death he saw and could do nothing about, that seemed like the greatest possible outcome he could achieve. A way of balancing things.
He settled into his studio chair and, for a moment, drifted off into the memory of last night and the woman he’d met. Tru. What sort of name was that? And why couldn’t he see the sand of her life trickling away?
“Enough of that, you daft fool.” It didn’t matter. He had work to do. He got himself organized. He had his script ready on his tablet, his tea next to him, and the perfect quiet surrounding him.
He took another sip of tea, cleared his throat slightly, then hit Record and leaned into the mic, his voice lower and more stern than usual. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, slice you into pieces so that no one else will ever find you.”
He used a moment of silence as punctuation, his voice changing to its usual timbre. “That was only one of the menacing calls Sarah Lynn Trent received from her stalker. Imagine the fear that young woman would have felt. She didn’t know her caller, although at one point she said the voice sounded familiar. But then, Sarah Lynn worked two jobs to support herself and her eight-year-old son, Conner.”
He sat back. Maybe the opening line had been too menacing. He wanted to recreate, not frighten. But he also wanted to put his listeners in Sarah Lynn’s mind, help them feel what she might have been feeling. Which obviously would have been fear. It was a fine line.
Nothing bothered him more than podcasters who relied on cheap tricks or gimmicks to sell their stories. He thought the proper telling of the human experience ought to be enough. Well told, obviously, which was what he strived for.
He was about to do another take when his phone lit up with an incoming call. He kept the phone on silent but face up so he could see the screen. Just in case his uncle needed him.
This call was not from his uncle. It wasn’t a number he recognized, either, and he was about to let it go to voicemail when he realized the call was coming from the U.K. It had to be family.
He answered. “Hello?”
“Eamon!”
The voice was vaguely familiar, but he was at a loss to place it right away. “Yes?”
“You don’t know who this is, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Sorry.”
“It’s yer cousin Callum, ya muppet.”
Eamon snorted. “Cal, how are you? It’s been an age.”
“Aye, it has been. I’m well. You still at Seamus’s?”
“I am. You?”
“Funny you should ask. Because I’m standing on the porch just now.”
Eamon blinked. “You’re here? In Nocturne Falls?”
“Aye. Now get off yer arse and let me in.” The call ended.
Eamon went downstairs with greater speed than usual. He couldn’t believe Cal was here. He liked his cousin a lot. The man had dedicated a good portion of his life to the Underwood genealogy, trying to trace their supernatural bloodlines for a variety of reasons.
Eamon had always held out hope that, someday, Callum might find something that could cure Eamon of his particular set of powers.
He flung the front door open, and sure enough, there was Cal. “Well, look what the devil dragged in. I can’t believe you’re here. Does Seamus know?”
Cal shook his head. “No. I meant to surprise him. Is he not here?”
“He’s at the funeral home waiting on a delivery of flowers.” Eamon stepped out of the way. “Come in.”
“Do you think he’d mind if I stayed for a bit? I’ve been traveling a lot lately, and I’d love to put my feet up for a couple days, spend some time with you lads.”
