Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1), Carissa Andrews [read my book .txt] 📗

Perhaps Blake’s right—maybe it’s a completely isolated event. It seems that way so far, at any rate.

All I know is, when this is all over, I’ll need to do some heavy-duty chakra clearing…

A couple of blocks away from the eighties-style house—or maybe it’s a cabin, Blake slows the vehicle down to a normal speed. His facial expressions flits back and forth, as he works out exactly how to go about things. I watch him, enthralled despite myself. Ordinarily, in this close proximity, I’d be hearing snippets of everything—unless I specifically warded my own mind from the barrage.

Finally, he parks the car in the driveway and cuts the lights.

“You sure this’s the place?” he asks, turning back to me.

In the light of the waxing moon, the house stands nearly silent. Only a single sign of life inside is evident; the television set in the living room as it flickers with the commotion of whatever the man’s watching. He’s on the edge of drifting off to sleep; cheap whiskey the culprit at this early hour. My eyes flit to the clock—it’s just barely gone 9:00pm.

I nod, taking a deep breath.

“Alright—stay here. Trust me, I’ve got this covered,” Blake says. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

Before he can exit the Rover, glimpses of the Esther asleep inside the cabin flood in. She’s clutching a tattered teddy bear—it’s not hers, but it reminds her of home. The puppy is curled up beside her. The space is tiny—but the sound of the TV creeps into the small enclosure in muffled bursts.

“Blake,” I call out before the door closes.

“Yeah?” he says, twisting to look inside the vehicle.

“She’s in there—in a small room. Maybe a closet?”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods. “She’s okay, though. Right? Alive?”

I nod.

With a tip of his head, Blake closes the door and saunters up to the front entry. Despite myself, I’m mesmerized by his walk.

Damn, those jeans definitely suit him.

I run my hands over my face and close my eyes.

Get a grip, Diana. This is the same jerk who pushed you into the puddle and stormed your house.

Blake knocks on the door, and after a moment, a light flicks on in the entryway. A second or two later, an older man—nearly seventy by the looks of it—opens the door. His grey hair is matted against his forehead, and he looks as though he hasn’t changed his dirty grey shirt in days.

The man’s got a gun stashed nearby and isn’t too keen on strangers. Especially ones who knock on his door as night is falling. Especially pickup nights.

Reaching for the handle of the Rover, I pull up short. Something must have been said to appease the man’s initial skepticism, because he opens the door wider and let’s Blake inside. He doesn’t look back my way at all, just waltzes straight in.

The moment the front door is closed, mine is open, and I’m on my feet.

I don’t care how much this Blake guy thinks he has this under control—I’m not about to sit this one out. A little girl’s life depends on it.

4

FOLLOWING MY INTERNAL GUIDANCE, I creep from the Range Rover to the back side of the house. With Blake occupying the creep inside, I should be able to slip in and out with Esther relatively easily. In fact, I’d wager it’ll be done way faster than Blake trying to fumble around in whatever manhandling kinda way he’s used to.

Thanks to Blake’s stunt earlier on his own front door, I check the handle on the back door—finding it unlocked. Images of sleeping children with pillowcases placed over their heads barrage my mind, but I push past them and shut their assault down. There will be time to deal, and make this monster suffer. Just…not yet.

Holding my breath, I slip quietly inside.

After all of these years, one thing I’ve learned to do well is sneak about unnoticed. Call it another one of my gifts, if you want.

The stench of alcohol and decomposing food assaults my senses as I enter the kitchen. Certainly a stark contrast to the outside appearance. Pieces of the laminated floor are missing, and others are peeling up in large chunks. It doesn’t look as though anything has been cleaned for years. Beyond the grungy kitchen, Blake and the man are discussing something in hushed voices.

I try to reach out, to get a better idea of his plan, as well as try to anticipate their next movements. Unfortunately, whatever block I have with Blake influences everything going on in the other room.

Talk about inconvenient.

Training my ears their direction, my eyes flit from wall to wall as I search for the hidden doorway from my vision. Rather than focusing on the men, I take a moment, trying to train my senses on Esther—using her as a needle; telling me whether or not I’m getting close.

I close my eyes and broaden my awareness so it blankets the house—searching each crevice and corner. It settles on the wall in the main hallway, separating the living room from the rest of the house with a large staircase. She’s under the stairs. Of course, he’s kept her close.

I tiptoe closer, scanning the wall on this side of the hallway for the hidden doorway—but it’s no use. I’m pretty sure it’s on the other side—where, of course, the men are.

“There are a lot of crazies out this way, to be sure,” Blake’s voice filters to my ears. “Glad to hear you’re staying safe.”

“Yeah, I dunno about none o’ that, but I ‘preciate ya stomping—er, stopping in,” the man says, his words garbled and slurred.

A small scuffle shudders through the hall as someone gets out of a chair in the other room.

“Mind if I use your bathroom quick? Gotta take a piss,” Blake says.

I take a step closer. If the man shows him where the bathroom is, maybe—just maybe—I’ll have access to the living room long enough to get Esther out.

“Do what ya gotta do. S’down the hall on the