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

“What’s this room for?” I ask, peering around the door.

The lights remain off as he walks into the space.

“Nothing, just go with Aiden. I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, quickly walking back to me and pulling the door in tight.

“You know, it would probably help you find whatever you’re looking for if you turned on the lights—” I say, slipping under his arm before he can close the door any further. I flip on the light switch and gasp.

Blake twists around, immediately flipping the light switch back off.

“You need to go, now” he practically growls, grabbing hold of my arm. “This is private.”

Light may be sparse through the one large window, but I certainly caught an eyeful.

Every inch of the walls are covered in drawings. Some in pencil, some charcoal. Big, little, massive—they’re like a collage in an attempt to transform the room into a cavern or something. Some drawings look like rocky walls, others are macro impressions of rocks, knives, blood. The blood is the only thing done in color. It’s all got a very macabre vibe.

“What is all of this?”

Blake’s lips are pressed into a thin line—his eyes wide.

“I said follow Aiden,” he practically shrieks, grabbing for my wrist. “Are you hard of hearing?”

Sidestepping his clutches, I take another step into the room. A handful of drawings catch my attention. They have the strange symbol on them, the one from my … I don’t know … dream? Premonition?

Stepping over to them, I can’t help but stare.

“Do you know what this symbol means? Why—why have you drawn this? I mean, these drawings are yours, right? You’ve created these?” I say, my eyes widening as I touch the largest version with my pointer finger.

Taking a deep breath, Blake walks to his desk, opening a drawer and slapping a folder on top of the desk.

“Yes, I drew them. I don’t know what the symbol means—not really. The closest I can figure is it’s Greek. I keep seeing it in my dreams and it—well, all of this has freaked me out ever since I was a kid. My therapist—yeah, yeah, I had a therapist—she encouraged me to start drawing it all when it bothered me. I guess I just kept going. It helps me keep track of how often the dreams come about.”

“Fascinating,” I say, mesmerized by the sea of pictures.

If I had to draw every time I had a premonition—or a strange dream, I’d need a mansion the size of Detroit.

Despite the low light from the windows, I walk from one drawing to the next, unable to take my eyes off of them. There’s something eerily familiar in the decor—the cavernesque quality, as well as the overall vibe.

“The other night—well, I suppose it’s been over a week now—I had a dream. It was the night I came home after we met—and saved Esther. Anyway, I saw this symbol, too. I wasn’t sure if it was a dream, or a premonition. Sometimes they can get all jumbled together and hard to decipher. But this—this tells me it was no ordinary dream. It was obviously tied to you in some way.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t bet on it. You can’t read me—so don’t pretend to start now.”

“Not fair,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m telling you the truth—”

Aiden pokes his head in the room after a few minutes. “Hey, guys … you coming? I have everything up and ready.”

“Yeah, we were just leaving,” Blake says, grabbing the manilla folder and taking me by the arm.

Still stunned by the imagery in the small office, I allow Blake to lead me down the hallway to the tech room where Aiden has all of his computer stuff set up.

Even though I’ve been through the evolution and very inklings of computers and technology—there’s something about it I simply don’t trust. Not that I’m not grateful for those who can wield it, though.

Aiden watches us enter the room and gives us a moment to get situated on the chairs opposite his. The monitors behind him each have their own thing going on—some are static, others display constant movement. Truth be told, it’s rather distracting.

“Alright, so here’s where I think we should start,” Aiden begins. “I’ve tracked the pedophile ring to a group operating out of Europe. Based on the images from the Range Rover’s cameras, I was able to track the guys who shot at you and pulled up some of their aliases. The good news is, I got faces to go along with the false names. But the problem I’ve run into is my facial recognition software caught a glimpse of them at the airport.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, did you let the police know?” I say, leaning forward and placing my elbows on my knees.

“In theory, that would have been smart, had I been keeping a watch on it. Unfortunately, Blake had already decided to let things go. I literally just got this info as I was waiting for the two of you.”

“So how long ago were they at the airport?” Blake interjects.

“A day and a bit,” Aiden shrugs.

“So they could be anywhere by now,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair and glaring at the ceiling.

“Well, not anywhere. I mean, I was able to track the flight. I have a general idea—but I don’t know where within the vicinity without a little more research.”

“Where were they headed?” Blake says, mimicking my movement and leaning forward.

“Italy,” he says, making a face.

“So?” I say.

“Tickets to Rome run between $1500 and $2400. Per person,” Aiden says. “That’s not including rental cars, hotels, and other stuff.”

“So?” I repeat, eyeing them both.

Blake scoffs. “It’ll take me a few days to pull together that kinda cash for that big of a withdrawal on my debit card. My bank has a waiting policy,” he says leaning back. “Unfortunately, I can’t magic it out of nowhere—and before you ask, no, I don’t have credit cards. They’re shit. They’re just corporate control meant to keep people down.”

I shoot him