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

“I don’t know what kinda man you think I am, Diana, but I don’t make a habit of knocking people out when I don’t have to,” he says snorting.

“Is that so?” I say, crinkling my face, and shaking my head. Cobwebs and tendrils from passing out threaten to consume what’s left of my consciousness.

“Just because I didn’t knock you out doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation. There was information I needed, so I set ya on the chair and waited for you to come around,” he says, reaching for the front door.

“Smooth. So you’re a ‘take advantage’ kinda guy,” I mutter.

“Lady, seriously, you ain’t got the first clue about the kinda guy I am. Seems like you can’t get a single fix on me at all—which is a bit questionable as a proclaimed psychic don’t you think?” he growls.

Clearly, I touched a nerve.

“You know what, let’s get moving. The sooner we’re there, the sooner I can identify the property, and the sooner Esther can be found,” I say.

And the sooner I can get the hell away from you and never have to see your sorry, perfect ass again.

3

MAYBE IT WAS STUPID to assume we were heading down to the police station. But that’s exactly what I did. What a moron. I blame it on post-ability blackout or something.

We’ve left the safety of the city I know and love—only to enter a wooded area with winding dirt roads.

“Where in the hell are you taking me?” I ask when I reclaim my bearings.

Blake sighs deeply and shoots me a sideways glance.

“What? It’s a reasonable question,” I say, not even trying to mask my alarm.

“We’re heading back to my place, Diana,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road.

My fingertips fly to my forehead and I scratch at my eyebrow. The lump on my forehead itches.

Dammit, my abilities have certainly picked a fine time to go on hiatus. Never—not once have I ever been caught off guard quite so many times. Especially not in one day and sure as hell not by the same damn person. How do normal people do it?

“Why exactly are we going there?” I say, squinting my eyes at him.

“I have all of my specialized equipment back there. If you think we’re gonna get the details we need outta the Helena PD, you’ve sorrily overestimated the intelligence of their detectives. Why do you think I was brought in?” Blake says, a hint of amusement playing at his tone.

He clearly enjoys making me uneasy…as well as flashing his high regard for his own intelligence.

Narcissistic ass.

“You know, you coulda been upfront to begin with,” I say, my eyes flitting to the passing trees beyond the confines of his Range Rover.

“I coulda,” he says, nodding in agreement. “But then again, you never asked.”

“Ugh,” I groan.

Taking a deep breath, I lean back, pressing hard into the headrest of the seat. More than anything, I want to find the little girl, make sure she’s safe, and slide back to my ordinary, everlasting life. Not to mention, get away from this guy.

I take back everything I said about wanting more of a challenge than ordinary people and their mundane requests. I’d take all of it over this, any day.

Could my abilities be on the fritz now? Or worse…slipping away after the ritual last month, too?

Would that really be so bad? I mean, after all these years, it might actually be a blessing.

I sit up straighter in my seat, suddenly curious.

“What are you doin’?” Blake asks, his eyes flitting to me.

“What’s it to you?” I say, casting a glance of indignation.

Oddly enough, he chuckles, “Fair enough. We’re almost there. You know, in case you’re curious.”

“Well, yippee skippy. If we were gonna take much longer I woulda said there was no point in looking for the girl,” I say, far snippier than I originally intend.

Still sitting upright, I close my eyes and focus on Esther.

Can I sense her if I try?

Instantly, flashes inundate my mind—moments of calm before the oncoming storm. She sits alone in a room, playing with a puppy; her insides are coiling with guilt and worry, knowing exactly how much trouble she could be in—but still trying to believe it will be okay. The sensations are odd—a juxtaposition of her innocence, and something much more malevolent lingering to the outskirts of her awareness. The man on the other side of the wall has horrible intentions, but she doesn’t have the frame of reference for any of it.

Shuddering, I wrap my arms around myself.

Blake pulls the car up to a small Tudor home, partially hidden by the large oaks in his front yard. Light cascades from the oversized windows, illuminating the dormant grass, and guiding the way to the front door.

I reach for the car handle, but Blake hits the locks and grabs my left hand, pulling me up short. His hand is warm—bordering on hot—and it makes me shiver in the chill of the cold night.

“Do me a favor. Let me do the talking, okay? You’re here to guide us to which house we need to get into,” he says, his eyes suddenly serious. Any previous hints of mischievousness fading away.

“No promises.”

I’m not sure who the hell’s inside he’s so afraid I’m gonna talk to, but I hope it’s a wife or something. I’d love to watch him squirm after the hell he’s put me through today.

I tug my hand from his and exit the Rover. Without a glance back, I walk confidently up the stone steps to the entrance and wait for him to unlock the massive front door.

My strength is returning, and the crisp night air and moonlight continues to do me some good.

Blake walks up a few moments behind and simply pushes open the door—no keys required.

“You may enter,” he says, smirking.

“Right,” I mutter, ushering myself past the arm he’s swung outward—offering me inside.

“Aiden, we’re here,” Blake calls out, his voice bouncing around the small, empty entryway.

I