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

in on this ring for a while now. They’ve been hard to pin down because they never go to the same place twice. Sure as hell didn’t think one of our own was involved—or that it would be Americans who cracked the case.”

Blake smiles sardonically, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The Agent slips into a sly smirk but doesn’t say a word. His thoughts on the other hand—he doesn’t typically trust Americans further than he can throw them. And he has a few of his own concerns over how we happened to unravel everything when they’ve spent years on the case. It’s not that he isn’t grateful—he is, but he’s still skeptical.

I shake my head, my lips twitching into a smile. “I’m not entirely American—I just live there now.”

My mind casts itself back to the ruins of the Temple of Apollo. I suppose one would say I’m Greek.

Agent Dexter’s eyebrows flick upward in surprise, but he smiles.

“Where are you from originally, then?”

“Here, actually,” I say, letting my gaze fall on Blake. His face flashes through surprise but settles on rolling his eyes.

“Really? Where were you born? Did you grow up with one of my kids?” Agent Dexter asks.

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Huh. Well, what are your plans once everyone is back to health? You planning on staying in Greece for a while? Or heading back to the States?”

“Probably head back to the States,” Blake says at the same time I say, “Stay here for a bit.”

Surprise floods Blake’s features.

“You plan on staying?” he says.

I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe?”

“Well, I can see you both have a lot to talk about. I don’t mean to cause any havoc. But if either of you are ever this way again, please give me a call,” Agent Dexter says, brandishing his card to both of us.

Blake takes the card, glancing at the face of it briefly, before nodding.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the card and immediately place it on the rolling side table used to deliver meals.

“Well, whenever you head out, have a safe flight. Until next time,” Agent Dexter says, shaking hands with Blake and shooting me a quick wink.

“Thanks for stopping in,” I say, waving with my fingertips.

As soon as he’s left the room, Blake turns back to me and repeats, “You plan on staying?”

“Well, as it turns out, there’s a lot here I need to rediscover.”

“Like what?”

I take a deep breath. For whatever reason, this isn’t the time to have this conversation. Instead, my insights flash me forward to a different time and place—one that will help deliver the information in a way that makes sense in Blake’s mind.

“Blake, I’m actually feeling really tired. Can we—is it okay if we talk more about this later? I think I need to rest.”

His eyelids flutter, but he nods. “Of course. I’m sorry—I don’t know what I was thinking. You must be exhausted. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay. Do you want me to go—or?”

I pull his hand back toward me as he makes a move to stand.

“Don’t even think about it. There’s room here,” I say, patting the minuscule spot on the bed beside me.

Without batting an eye, he grins and slides onto the bed right alongside me. I curl on my side, resting my head on his broad chest. As I drift off, my mind is consumed with the memories I’ve shared with his soul—spanning across time and space.

21

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?” Blake asks, his eyes filled with curiosity.

“You’ll see,” I say, playing coy. He never was good at surprises.

“You don’t know, do you?” he laughs.

“Of course I do—and you should, too. If you’d have been paying attention,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tight rounding another bend in the road.

As Mount Parnassus begins to take center stage, Blake leans back in his seat.

“Ah—you’re bringing us back to the cave,” he says.

“Not exactly, but warm,” I say, smiling

“Hmmm…”

He adjusts in his seat, looking out the window and hunting for clues of his own. Part of me hopes this place jogs some of his own cellular or psychic memory—but even I’m not sure if it works like that. The other part of me worries about whether or not he’ll believe a word I’m about to tell him.

After a few minutes driving in silence, I turn left on the last leg of our journey. The view of the Temple can be seen—though not nearly as impressive as it once was. Pulling into the tourist parking lot, trepidation begins to flood my veins. I want him to understand. No, I need him to understand.

“The Temple of Apollo?” he says, pointing to the sign.

“Yup.” I pull the handle and kick the driver’s side door open.

Blake follows after me, confusion playing across all of his features as he surveys the surroundings.

“You know this place is closed for the night, right?” he says.

“Temples never close, silly,” I say, smirking and walking ahead.

I try to settle my racing heart by breathing in deeply the smells of home. I didn’t realize how much I missed these smells—a mix of olive branches and earth.

“Wait up for me,” he says, jogging to catch up. The moonlight glows off the top of his head, giving him an ethereal vibe suiting to the man who broke my heart—and healed my memory.

Standing still, I reach out, taking Blake’s hand. I lead him away from the parking lot and toward the ruins of the Temple of Apollo and the theatre. There’s so much we need to discuss and I’m not sure exactly how to break the news to him that he’s really the reincarnated soul of my super-late husband.

How will he respond? Will he think I’m nuts? Or will he accept this as another weird quirk?

“Where are you taking me, Diana?” Blake finally says as we meander the footpaths to the sacred sites.

The moon has risen—full, proud, and beautiful—and it casts its