Death Dates the Oracle, page 7
Probably was an impossible task. “Then the only other thing I can think of is we call on the local coven. Maybe one of the witches in town can work some of their magic and see if they get the same kind of reading for Tru since we can’t do it ourselves. I mean looking for the death part that she saw in the fortune teller’s tent.”
Cleo began to nod slowly. “That’s not a bad idea. At the least, they might be able to put some kind of protection spell around her.”
Or, Delphina thought, she could just go next door and talk to those men and see what they were really all about. Touching them shouldn’t be too hard to do. “I’ll make a call when I get home. One of them lives just down the street. I met her out walking the other day. She’s got a cat, too.”
“Just one?” Cleo smiled.
Delphina laughed. “Yes. Just one. But I’m sure she’d help us. She was a lovely young woman. Pandora.”
Cleo glanced over. “She’s Greek?”
“No. Not sure what she is. She just has a good Greek name.”
“Well, go ahead and talk to her,” Cleo said. “But I hope she really can help us. Pandora’s legacy to the world was unleashing a host of troubles upon it. We already have more than enough on our hands.”
Eamon grimaced when Tru looked at him. “I moved the stone.”
“Why? It wasn’t on your property.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t. I’m sorry. I thought if one of the cats came back through to my side, I’d get to see you again.”
The tiniest hint of a smile played on her mouth. “Is that what you thought?”
He nodded. She was so beautiful. He was touched in the head to think there could be anything between them, but wouldn’t that be something. “I’m an eejit, I know.”
She lifted one shoulder in a cute little half-shrug. “It wasn’t the worst plan. But now we do need to go over to your house.”
“Aye, we do.”
They went back out the gate, making sure it was secured behind them, then cut across the yard to Eamon’s and through his gate.
Nemo was in his yard, chasing a butterfly.
“Look at the wee mite. Not a clue about the trouble he’s caused.”
Tru laughed. “Nope. I don’t think he’d care anyway.”
“Probably not, the blighter.”
Slowly, they walked toward Nemo, both of them obviously hoping to get close enough to grab him.
The little cat looked at Eamon, meowed, then trotted up to him. Eamon picked him up and gave him a scratch under his chin. “Hello there, ya troublemaker.”
Nemo pushed into Eamon’s hand and purred. Eamon could only smile. “He’s really sweet when he’s not trying to set a land-speed record.”
Tru laughed and shook her head. “Once again, you seem to have the touch.” She tickled Nemo’s belly. The little cat closed his eyes. “He really likes you. More than he likes me, I think.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
At the sound of a car arriving next door, they both turned their heads.
Tru’s smile disappeared. “That has to be my aunts. I need to get us both back in the house.”
“Here.” Eamon put Nemo in her arms. He wasn’t sure if Tru was worried about her aunts seeing that Nemo had gotten out again or seeing Tru with him. Either way, Eamon didn’t want to be the cause of any friction.
Tru took the cat and headed for the gate. Eamon followed.
Her aunts were getting out of the blue Jeep. The older one, who was on the driver’s side, opened the rear passenger door. The younger one waved at them, then seemed to realize Tru had Nemo in her arms. “What are you doing outside with him?”
The older aunt turned, a large pastry box in her hands. She immediately frowned. “Good question. And I’m not talking about the cat.”
“It’s not what you think,” Tru said. “Nemo got out again, and Eamon helped me catch him.”
The redheaded aunt touched her necklace. She wore the same pendant as Tru. Both aunts did. “That was nice, but we should all go inside now. We got doughnuts.”
The older aunt handed the box off to her sister before charging toward Tru. Eamon had stopped walking a few feet from his uncle’s property line. He stayed where he was, wishing he’d just gone back inside. He didn’t need to make eye contact with them to know they weren’t happy.
The older aunt positioned herself between him and Tru. “What do you think you’re up to, vampire?”
“Aunt Cleo, don’t,” Tru started.
Eamon did his best to smile and not look at the hourglass over the woman’s head. It was tricky with women. You had to be careful not to end up staring at their chests. Staring below the belt was no better. He kept his gaze toward the ground. “I’m not a vampire. And I’m not up to anything. I mean no one any harm. Especially not Tru.”
Just as he’d done with her, he lifted his hands toward the sky. “If I was a vampire, I couldn’t be out in the daylight, now, could I? Look at me. There’s no smoke coming off my skin. I’m not about to burst into flames.”
He lifted his gaze enough to see if that had done the trick.
The angry brackets around her mouth softened slightly, but then she shook her head, obviously unconvinced. “Why won’t you make eye contact? That alone makes you seem suspect.”
Tru, who hadn’t gone inside, came over and put herself in front of Eamon, Nemo still in her arms. “Aunt Cleo, leave him be. He’s got a lot more going on than you understand. But he’s not a vampire.”
“Really?” Cleo said. “Because you sound like you’re back under his spell.”
Eamon rolled his eyes. “I have no spells. I have no magic. None that can do harm, anyway.”
The redheaded aunt put the box on the porch, then marched over to them. “Enough of this now.”
Eamon nodded, gaze back on the ground. He really just wanted to go inside. “I’ll leave you all alone.”
“Not so fast.” The redheaded aunt grabbed his wrist. “Are you a vampire?”
“Aunt Delphina.” Anger edged Tru’s voice.
“Let her be,” Cleo said. “Go on, Del. Make him answer.”
“Are you a vampire?” Delphina repeated.
“No,” he spit out. Heat and something that could only be described as power radiated from the woman’s touch. He didn’t think he could have freed himself from her grip even if he’d wanted to. “I swear I’m not.”
“Do you mean any ill will toward Tru or toward any of us?”
“None whatsoever. I swear it on my ma’s life.”
“Who’s the older man that shares the house with you?”
“My uncle, Seamus. It’s his house.”
“Why don’t you make eye contact with anyone?”
“For the reasons Tru said.” He hated talking about this. He kept his eyes low. “I can see when people are going to die.”
The woman took a breath, and her voice softened. “You can tell that with me?”
“Yes,” he whispered. He knew the question that would come next. Cold dread filled his belly.
“How long do I have?”
He shook his head. “Please don’t make me look.”
She released his wrist as she turned away from him. “He’s telling the truth.”
He’d had enough. He glanced at Tru but said nothing. Just gave her a long, hard look. Then he turned and walked back to the house.
“There aren’t enough doughnuts in the world to make up for what you two just did.” Tru couldn’t remember a time she’d been this angry. Maybe not since her mother had died. She stood glaring at her aunts, who were sitting on the couch. “That was completely uncalled for.”
“It was called for, Troula.” Aunt Cleo refused to back down. “You might not think so, but we have to protect you.”
“Not at the expense of someone else. Who is completely innocent, by the way. Someone we might be able to help. Someone we should help, because if there was ever someone in need, it’s that man next door.”
Nemo had passed out in one of the cat condos in the living room, where they were having the conversation, but he was awake now. He was one of five cats in the room. Apparently, arguments were interesting.
Aunt Delly shook her head. “But we didn’t know his situation. We do now.”
“Because you basically subjected him to a lie-detector test against his will.”
Aunt Cleo threw her hands up. “What would you have done in our position? If you’d come home and seen the legacy oracle you’d sworn to your dying sister to protect in the company of a man who could have potentially been the end of her?”
Tru sat down. “You spoke to my mother before she died?”
Aunt Cleo stared at her hands and nodded. “She was coherent for a few minutes before you arrived. She made us promise to protect you.”
“And to help you find a good man,” Aunt Delly said.
That sounded like her mother. Tru wished she’d been able to talk to her. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Aunt Cleo looked at Delly. “We thought you’d be upset that you didn’t get to speak to her yourself.”
Tru nodded. “I would have been. I am now.” She sighed and sat back. “I’m still mad at both of you. Eamon didn’t deserve that. He’s twice helped me get Nemo back in. And he’s done nothing to make me feel unsafe in any way.”
“How did Nemo get out again?”
Tru realized Aunt Delly was changing the subject. “He slipped out the door when Eamon came over to talk.”
“To talk about what?” Aunt Cleo asked.
“He wanted to talk to you two. He wanted to explain that he wasn’t a vampire. To all of us.”
Aunt Delly cleared her throat. “Well, he’s done that now.”
Tru cut her eyes at her aunt. “Because you made him. That was quite a parlor trick you pulled out there.”
“We all have our gifts.”
“Not all of us,” Tru said.
“Listen, about that,” Aunt Cleo began. “In light of what we learned from Eamon—about him not being a vampire, I mean—I think we should postpone the ceremony. At least until we can figure out if this Fatima was on the right track. Because if he’s not the death she foresaw …”
“Yeah, I know.” Tru wasn’t going to argue that. “And I swear, the crystal ball filled with black. I saw it with my own eyes. I don’t think she could have done that.”
“Neither do we.” Aunt Delly offered a quick little smile. It was almost enough to make Tru feel bad for yelling at her. “There’s a witch who lives down the road. Pandora. I was telling Cleo I might reach out to her, see if there’s any help the local coven might be able to give us. I’m sure they could do something.”
“Witches?”
Aunt Cleo nodded. “We’re not too far removed from them, you know. There are some who would consider us kin.”
“But we don’t do magic or spells or …” A long-haired black cat walked through the living room. Tru pointed. “Which one is that?”
“Cher,” her aunts answered simultaneously.
“You do have more than enough cats to qualify.” Tru didn’t like the idea of calling in outside help. It would mean opening herself up to them. Telling them what had happened. Talking about her mother’s death. It all felt so intrusive. It was intrusive. But she supposed if she ever wanted to become an oracle, they’d have to do something.
She slouched a little. Did she still want to become an oracle? She’d spent her life preparing for it. She’d gone to school and studied communications with a minor in mythology to learn how to talk to people when she worked for them, but also so that she could understand the nuances of omens and signs. That was about all the world of non-oracles could help her with. Everything else she’d have to learn once she became a full-fledged oracle.
But after graduating, instead of teaching or working in a field more suited to her degree, she’d gone to work at her uncle’s Greek restaurant so that she could be near her family until she came into her powers. Her father, heartbroken by her mother’s death, had returned to Greece and the rest of his family there.
She hoped to be able to visit him someday, but there was no telling where life as an oracle might take her. It might very well be her end.
She’d never considered that her gifts might be the death of her. Not until Fatima. Until then, she’d just assumed that her mother’s stroke had been an abnormality. Even if it had been caused by an overabundance of power.
She’d never imagined that could happen to her. Now she had to consider that it might.
She looked over at her aunts. They were watching her, waiting for her to do something, clearly worried that they were going to upset her again. “So you want to contact this witch?”
They both nodded.
“Pandora,” Aunt Delly said again.
Tru arched her brows. “You see the irony in that, right?”
“I mentioned it,” Aunt Cleo said.
Tru got up. “Go ahead and talk to her. See what she thinks. In the meantime, I’m going to go out for a walk. I need to clear my head.”
They just nodded, as placid as little mice.
Tru hesitated. “You both owe Eamon an apology. You get that, right? I also want you to think about how we might help him. That seems pretty important, too. Why else would the Fates have put us next door to him?”
Their nods were a little less convincing. She scowled as she walked out of the living room and went into the kitchen. “I need some fresh air.”
What she really wanted to do was talk to Eamon, but she thought she ought to give him a little time to cool down. She’d certainly needed some, and he’d seemed pretty mad when he’d walked away. Something he had every right to feel.
If she offered to help him now, he’d probably slam the door in her face. Well, she didn’t really think he’d do that. He seemed better-mannered than that. But he’d undoubtedly turn her down.
Maybe she’d stop by later this evening. Her aunts should be the ones apologizing, but she would do it, too. Eamon and his uncle didn’t need all the drama. Not with what Eamon was already dealing with.
She stood by the kitchen table, looking down at the box of doughnuts. She opened it and had a look at the selections. She wasn’t all that hungry now. The scene outside had caused her to lose her appetite, but her stomach was growling, and the doughnuts smelled good.
She grabbed a paper napkin from the holder on the table, then picked a chocolate with rainbow sprinkles and another that looked like apple crumb.
Balancing them on the napkin in one hand, she went out the front door, down the driveway, and out to the sidewalk. She took a bite of the crumb. Not apple crumb, spiced pear. And surprisingly delicious. She stared at Eamon’s house. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside.
She hoped he wasn’t mad at her, but if he was, she wouldn’t blame him. Cleo and Delly were her aunts. She could have done more to stop them. She could have at least tried harder to rein them in.
Probably without success, but she could have tried. She was as mad at them as she was at herself.
With a sigh, she started down the street.
Eamon had been sitting in his studio for what felt like an hour, staring at the script on his tablet, but he had yet to speak a word. He was lost in his own head, reliving the feel of Delphina’s hand on his wrist and the barrage of questions she’d shot at him.
To say he was angry would be an injustice to the full truth of what he was feeling. Angry, aye. But also hurt. Shocked. Violated. Betrayed.
He probably didn’t have a right to the last one. Tru owed him nothing. They weren’t friends. They were barely acquaintances. But he’d been so starved for human companionship that he’d allowed himself to think otherwise. He’d read more into her sweet smile and lighthearted laugh than he should have.
More fool he.
He’d thought retreating to his fortress of solitude would be the balm he needed. All his recording studio had done so far was remind him of how very alone he was. How alone he would always be.
Silence surrounded him as much as the blanket of misery he’d draped himself in. He was a pathetic creature with a questionable skill that did no one any good.
He should never leave the house again. Maybe … maybe he’d get a cat. Now there was a thought he’d never imagined having. He didn’t think Seamus would mind.
If Nemo had been around, Eamon would have picked the wee beastie up and held him close, letting that insistent purr rumble through him as he did his best to forget that a world existed beyond the front door.
What was wrong with that?
Other than it meant he’d become a lonely old woman.
The words on the tablet blurred. He’d never hated his existence more than he had in this moment. He wondered, if he could see his own hourglass, where the sands would be. How much longer could he live this life?
This house was his prison. This room that had once been his escape felt less like a fortress of solitude and more like solitary confinement.
In that moment, he would have done anything or given anything to rid himself of his heritage. Being a vampire would have been better.
He closed his eyes, trying to purge the darkness edging in around him, only to open them and find the desk lamp blinking.
On, off. On, off.
Eamon took a deep breath, letting it out as a long sigh. Then he scrubbed his hands across his face and went to the door.
Seamus was on the other side. He smiled. “We were thinking about takeaway for lunch. Cal and I are too busy talking to cook, and it’s already gone half twelve. What say you?”
Eamon shook his head. He hadn’t told Seamus a word of what had happened. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not hungry?” Seamus’s eyes narrowed, and he gave his nephew a longer look. “What’s wrong, lad? You look bothered.”
Eamon glanced back at his worktable, searching for a lie that would make everything all right. “The, uh, recording’s not going like I’d hoped.”
“Dinna fash,” Seamus said. “It’ll all come together.”
Eamon nodded, but not worrying was easier said than done. He didn’t want to upset his uncle. He also didn’t want to retell the story of what had happened outside, either. He’d gone through it enough in his head already. “I guess I could eat. I’ll just pack up and come down then.”
