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

“I accept,” I say, the words stinging my tongue as they tumble out.

I can’t believe I’m throwing it all away—but there’s no other option. A new sense of purpose—of direction emboldens my being. If I can unlock my memories and the rest of my abilities, I’ll be able to see everything more clearly. I’ll be able to help Blake—and help the girls.

Suddenly, from the center of the room, the same style of pedestal from my memory rises from the ground. This time, instead of a golden bowl of water, the large bowl in the center is pounded silver; reminiscent of the way moonlight pools along the water’s edge.

Jasmine and rose continue permeating the air and while I see no one, I sense the power and presence of the Goddess.

“You have performed powerful magic, Pythia. More potent than you realize. The water from my river will return to you that which you’ve forgotten and lift any blockages to the memories they shield back. Be ready for the deluge. It will give rise to a power you perhaps didn’t realize you were holding at bay,” Mnemosyne says, her words echoing within and around me.

Swallowing down my trepidation, I nod. “I understand and I’m ready.”

“Drink, and it shall be done,” Mnemosyne’s voice is like music on the wind as it tinkles with its own air of magic.

Stepping forward to the pedestal, I take a deep breath and peer within. The water ripples gently around the edge of the bowl and my mind flashes back to the last memory I was gifted. To think it all comes full circle. I was here, crying out to the universe, to Apollo and Mnemosyne, to take my memories as I wished away the despair I felt for losing Anastasios.

And now, I’m right back where I started, desperate to have everything returned so I can save his reincarnated soul.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed I’d be here. Especially since reincarnation never seemed plausible since I never received any insights it was—

Holy shit—that’s another way this spell affected what I could see.

Shaking away the mild revelation, I cup my hands, dipping them in the cool, clear water and raising the liquid to my lips. I drink in the power and energy from the Mnemosyne River—or at least a small offering gifted to me by the Goddess herself. I allow it to wash away all the blockages I’ve placed upon myself—knowing full well there’s no turning back now.

I will live my life eternally and in the servitude of Apollo—for whatever that means.

It also means I will watch Blake live, grow old, and die—if I’m lucky.

When nothing happens from the first sips, I dip my hands in again, and continue to consume as much of the water as I can bear. I’m acutely aware of the clarity and cleanliness in the motion this time around—there’s no blood on my hands, no tears. But the same fierce determination stirs inside my belly.

Without warning, the cavern itself rumbles—the walls and ground both quake with the energy of Mnemosyne’s magic. Stones unhinge from their hiding places along the walls and ceiling, crashing to the floor around me. From behind me, deep crevasses eek across the wall where I carved Mnemosyne’s mark, fracturing the stone and forcing slabs of rock to slam to the ground; annihilating the symbol and any power it possessed.

An outburst of energy explodes from the stone slabs and I’m thrown forward in the momentum. Swirls of purple, blue, and white streaks circle around me, unbinding me from the pull of Mnemosyne’s mark. Dropping to my knees, I steady myself on the floor, my fingertips digging into the rock and dirt beneath me as I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to heave. Just like before, I clutch at my stomach, doubling over as whatever magic imbued in the water releases its torrent within me.

Memories flood into my awareness, bursting through and inundating all of my senses—every single one. All of my experiences; sight, sound, taste, smell, touch—I recall every glance, every embrace, every stolen moment with Anastasios. There was a reason I lost my entire first twenty-four years—he was there, with me, every step of the way. He and I were inseparable from the moment we could crawl, walk, and talk. There wasn’t a moment where Anastasios wasn’t somehow intertwined with my life and it was clear, even to the Gods, how intertwined our souls were.

As small children, we would play down at the Gulf of Corinth, carving small boats in the driftwood and racing them together. We would sneak out at night, playing in the moonlight and telling each other ghost stories. Then, when adolescence followed us, we would sit by the same water’s edge, watching the sunset through stolen kisses. I remember the smell of his skin as his lips lingered on mine and the way he always tasted like grapes.

I close my eyes and touch my lips.

His eyes were the same color as they are now—a deep, passionate brown with more flecks of colors hidden in the intricacies of his irises.

When I was tapped to become one of Apollo’s priestesses—we didn’t know I would become his sole prophetic vessel. Neither of us knew I would become immortal—not at first. But as this news arose, Anastasios was there with me when it rocked my world. He held me and kissed my forehead as I swore to Apollo, then and there, that I would never serve a master who would be so cruel. I didn’t want the burden of being alone forever, but Anastasios promised me he would remain by my side in whatever way he could—even if it meant we could never really be together.

He joined Apollo’s guard—just so he could protect the Temple and all of the priestesses inside—but everyone knew he was really there for me.

He was strong, and capable, and loyal like that. There was no one else—not a single soul I could ever have imagined myself with.