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

How in the hell am I going to make this work? I mean—we’re not on a date or about to go on holiday. We’re hunting for pedophiles and hoping to put them out of commission. This is serious business.

Sitting up a bit straighter, I put on my best professional mojo.

“Blake why do you think the men chose to go to Italy? Do you think there's something special about that country? Or do you think there’s some other reason?” I say, trying to bring the subject back to the matter at hand.

Blake’s smile fades and he shakes his head.

“I’m not sure. We just need to follow the leads and let the story unravel itself.”

I bite my lip. “Do you think they have any other girls with them?”

Taking a deep sigh, Blake’s shoulders sag, “At this point, I’d say it’s pretty likely. They got out of the country pretty damn quick. My guess is they have different rings around the world. Probably bailed on the US ring to avoid apprehension.”

“Uh—I hate to think of other kids being taken. You know nothing good can come of it. I just can't fathom—”

I turn away, shuddering from the thoughts. Even after all these years, I still don’t get it.

Unfortunately, I totally can fathom.

Men haven't changed a whole helluva lot over the centuries.

“The good news is, we're on to these assholes. If they do have others, at least there’s that. We can save them the way we saved Esther.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” I whisper. A shudder runs up my spine.

“See, there it is.”

“There what is?” I say, turning to face him.

“The real you,” he says.

“Oh, shut up.”

He grins a lop-sided, goofy grin.

I roll my eyes and sigh.

Adjusting in my seat, I bite my lip and look out the window. Trees and houses flicker past, each blending into the next until suburbia is overrun with the urban landscape of the big city.

We sit in silence until we reach the airport jungle of a parking lot. Blake pulls us into the long-term parking area and I reach for my purse.

“Ready for this?” Blake says, shutting off the Rover and unbuckling his seat belt.

“Yup. Let’s get some bad guys,” I say, nodding.

It’s been ages since I last took an international flight, but I can tell you one thing—things have certainly changed over the years. For starters, they serve alcohol in-flight, there’s wifi, and tiny TVs on the headrest in front of you.

Talk about small miracles.

In some strange way, it feels like I’m returning home. I don’t really know where my place of origin truly is, but overseas was certainly where I started my journey. At least the part I can remember.

After trying for years to uncover my past—or remember who I was or why I can’t remember anything, I finally had to give up and start living my life. I figured, if I have eternity, there was no point in standing still.

Blake shifts in his seat, though clearly at ease on a plane. Something tells me his past as ex military has something to do with it.

I, on the other hand, am on my third drink and feeling nice and loopy.

Technology and I aren’t overly on speaking terms. It doesn’t matter if its planes, cellphones, or even cars. I’m still pissed my 1968 Camaro died a decade ago and I had to upgrade to my Prius.

Human concepts are fallible and through the years, I’ve just learned to avoid common pitfalls by not joining in when I can. In some ways it’s stupid though. It’s not as if I can die—but yet, the process of not dying when you should totally sucks.

“Would you like another?” the stewardess asks, pointing to my empty plastic cup.

“Yes, please,” I say without hesitation, handing her the empty cup.

Blake chuckles, “Not a big fan of flying, are you?”

I twist uncomfortably in my seat, “Not overly.”

“I can tell,” he says, pointing to the full cup being handed back to me.

“If you’d seen as much as I have, you’d be nervous, too.”

I take another deep swig, letting the cool, bubbly texture flood my senses.

“Right, all those psychic premonitions flooding your mind,” he says, nodding.

“Actually, that wasn’t what I was meaning—but sure, that too.”

A small hiccup escapes my lips and I cover them with my middle and pointer finger.

Blake raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

I fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to tell him everything—the immortality, the years and years of experiences.

Everything.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s only the alcohol talking, and I’d regret it if I did.

“What’s our first plan of action when we get to Italy?” I ask, swishing around the contents in the cup.

“I suppose get set up in the hotel, check in with Aiden to see if he has any new leads, and… I don’t know, see if you get any sorta read on things.”

I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on my drink.

Yeah, certain amount of sense there.

I blank out for a moment, considering his words. I cock my head to the side, making a face.

I haven’t had a single read on things since we got on the plane. Not one.

Usually, I get snippets here and there—but this time—nothing.

Casting my gaze to the aisle, I sit up straighter.

“Everything okay? You’re not going to be sick are you?” Blake asks, suddenly serious.

“No,” I shake my head. “At least, I don’t think so. No, it’s just—I’m not picking up anything on the plane. In fact, I haven’t gotten anything since we got on board. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I got a reading on anything.”

“You know, if you’re just trying to cop out so you can’t prove me wrong, you can just say so,” he smirks.

“Shut up. It’s not that,” I say, smacking his shoulder with the back of my left hand.

“Look, there’s been a lot going on. A lot to digest and take in. Maybe your senses—or whatever you want to call ‘em are on overload.”

“Maybe.”

“Give it until we’re settled in at the hotel.