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

All because—

We knew the rules—we knew we were breaking the standard Delphic Pythia decrees when we were married under the full moon. But I’m Apollo’s Oracle—and this role of mine—I was meant to be the first to be gifted a soul mate. Our love was meant to ease this burden of everlasting life of servitude and devotion.

He was never meant to die—

Sobbing uncontrollably, I clutch at my side, and fall to my knees. Pebbles from the wall continue to fall, peppering the ground the way rain hits the water. My tears strike the fabric across my thighs, mixing with the blood of my beloved.

I slam the blade into the ground and without hesitation, I begin reciting my incantation.

“Mnemosyne, mighty Goddess of mind and memory, wash away all awareness of Anastasios from my mind, body, and soul. Abolish all traces so not even the smallest of specs may slip past my gifts. Grant me the ability to begin anew and walk through this life oblivious to what I have lost.”

Bending forward, I sink into child’s pose—my head resting on the rubble of the dirty cavern floor. My arms lay outstretched in reverence—in the hopes the Goddess will hear my pleas and take pity on me.

When nothing happens, I repeat the incantation.

Suddenly, the light cast upon the space extinguishes, and for a brief moment, a potent mixture of fear and relief floods my body.

The air fills with a static electricity only a God or Goddess can produce. The scent of jasmine and rose petals permeates my senses and I thrust my hips back, sitting on my feet.

“Daughter of Apollo, your pleas have been heard and a judgment has been made,” the voice of Mnemosyne echoes in my mind. “If erasing all evidence of Anastasios from your awareness is truly your wish, drink from the well of Lethe and all will be forgotten.”

With that, the Goddess’ presence is gone. The dank, earthy smell of the cavern returns, as does the low lighting. As I turn around, a small pedestal raises from the ground. With a few tentative steps, I lean over the edge and look inside. In the center of the stone pedestal, a golden bowl the size of a small shield has filled with water so clear I can see myself in the bottom.

Not wanting to dwell with a second more of this despair, I dunk my hands inside, forming a cup and scooping up as much water as my hands can carry to my lips. Droplets of deep red blood splash back into the bowl, tainting its clarity. Without hesitation, I drink the cool, clear liquid in—trusting it will wash away all the agony and sorrow as it hits the back of my tongue.

When the water enters my stomach, I buckle over, groping at my midsection. Pain courses through my insides, and the impulse to gag threatens to regurgitate the memory-stealing liquid. I crumple down, lying on my side, as I hold on for dear life—not wanting to lose the ability to forget…

My eyes pop open.

Ripped from the vision, I pull my hand back and cast my flashlight to the floor. Even after all of these years, the rubble made by my own hand still lays against the cavern wall—just like it was in my memory. I swear, I can still see the place where I rested my forehead against the ground in prayer to Mnemosyne.

Taking a deep breath, the realization I had a husband lingers with me.

Anastasios.

The name circles my mind, but still holds no significant weight. Not really.

Yet, the unfurling of its significance takes hold and my stomach clenches. Flashes of insight flutter behind my eyelids and I begin to realize the far-reaching extent this decision has taken form.

My lower lip tucks under my teeth as I close my eyes and witness Anastasios’ soul lifted from his body—then I follow it through the ages. Lifetimes morph before my eyes as I become a spectator to the myriad ways he’s walked this earthly plane since the moment we parted. I never even considered—never in my wildest dreams foresaw he would be reincarnated and find his way back to me. No wonder reincarnation has been another blank spot for me—it was still a part of him.

All these years, I could have had him by my side, even if it meant finding him anew every time he died.

Tears well in my eyes and my heart begins to crack under the significance of this revelation.

I’m given the smallest glimpse of what could have been—of perhaps what could still be as a face flashes through my mind.

Blake—

It’s no wonder we’re connected. No wonder his dreams are eerily similar to my visions.

He’s Anastasios’ latest incarnation.

Stepping back in a daze, I blink wildly at the epiphany.

My God—how could I have been so stupid? The blind spots in my past—my inability to form attachments—the inability to see or read Blake—it was all me. I’m the cause of it all.

I deliberately blocked everything about him, so I wouldn’t have to go through eternity feeling his loss. And all I did was keep myself from ever finding him again.

How idiotic.

I’m no better than all those lovesick women and men who’ve been coming to my shop all these years. I’ve been healing their wounds and answering their questions—and all the while judging them for being so attached in the first place.

I place my hands over my face and take a deep breath.

“A choice befalls you, Pythia,” a voice rings out in my head. The Ancient Greek is eloquent and rings with the majesty of godly energy. Jasmine and rose tickle my senses. Mnemosyne has returned. “Choose now to relinquish the entirety of your gifts and you shall walk through the remainder of your days, a mortal—having forgotten who and what you truly are. You will be free to live and love. Or choose to further unlock your mind so you may keep your gifts and see things more clearly than