Amends: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 2)

by Carissa Andrews

  I never needed a guest room and kinda like it that way.

  “I have a spare room he could use,” Blake offers, turning around with a cup of coffee in each hand. He slides one across the counter for Kyros and hands the other to me.

  “You’re pretty,” I say as a reflex.

  Blake snickers. “You’re absurd.”

  I nod in agreement. “Fair.” With a cheesy grin, I bring the cup to my lips and take a slow, indulgent sip. I really could get used to this pampering stuff in the morning.

  Kyros also takes a swig from his coffee, sputtering when he gets a mouthful. “I shall never get used to this vile beverage.”

  I turn to face him. “You know you can add stuff to it, right?” Tipping my cup down so he can see it, I reveal the creamy color of mine compared to his.

  His bushy eyebrows knit together as he peers from his cup to mine. “Why does mine look like latrine water?”

  “Because it is?” I shrug.

  Blake scoffs, shoving the sugar and cream across the counter toward Kyros. “It is not. Don’t tell him that. He’ll actually believe it.”

  I giggle, taking another sip. “I know.”

  Blake groans.

  After a few silent sips of coffee, Kyros perks up. “Did I hear you proclaim a vacancy at your abode, Master Wilson?”

  “Wow, you really need to get a modern English dictionary,” I mutter into my cup.

  Blake laughs. “Yes, old man. You can stay at my place. But be forewarned, Aiden likes to play games into the middle of the night and it usually comes with some strange outbursts.”

  Kyros’s face brightens. “Oh, yes. He was showing me Modern Warfare. It was quite intriguing.”

  Blake’s eyes are wide as I turn to him and mouth, “bless you.”

  “So,” Blake says, turning away from Kyros, “what are you going to do about the client rush? Have you figured out what’s going on there?”

  “Ugh, I’m not sure, but I have a few ideas,” I say. “It doesn’t help that Demetri’s out of the game. I’m pretty sure some of his clients are flocking my direction in his absence.”

  “I can imagine,” he says, leaning against the breakfast bar.

  Kyros stiffens up, his back going as rigid as a board, as he twists awkwardly on his seat to face my direction. When he speaks, it’s Apollo’s words that escape his lips.

  “Pythia, heed my words, so that they may be brought to life. Your cooperation is required by the time the moon wanes, in three days' time. Should you choose to ignore your calling, the filter for those who seek your guidance will remain thin, so you cannot ignore the rising need of the world around you.”

  I glance back at Blake, whose expression has turned grim.

  “And what about me? What about what I want?” I retort. “I have my own needs—my own calling outside whatever…this is.”

  “Your calling as Oracle transcends human needs,” Apollo says. “You have long ignored your purpose on this earth and it is time that you take your rightful place. We have much work to do.”

  “No, you have work to do. I’m just a woman who wants to be free,” I sputter.

  “Freedom is not without consequence, Pythia. Are you so certain your desires aren’t in alignment with what it is I ask of you?”

  “I am not going back to Greece. This is my home,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Blake’s head whips to me. “Wait. What?”

  I jab a finger toward Kyros. “Yeah, can you believe this guy? He thinks I should pick up as the Oracle, sitting in a pile of ruins and telling the futures to men in power. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “But in Greece?” Blake looks from me, to Kyros, and back again.

  Apollo grunts. “Assumptions make for crumbling foundations.”

  My head snaps back to him. “What does that mean? I’m your oracle—I literally speak cryptic—and even I don’t get that. You won’t make me do this in Greece?”

  Rather than confirming or denying, Kyros’s shoulders shrug.

  “Yes, because that helps so much with lessening the assumptions,” I lament.

  “Sometimes, the less that is known, the better. It keeps judgment from being clouded.”

  “Says the one who’s hiding the truth,” I spit back.

  Blake nods in agreement. “She’s right. If you want her to go along with your plans, you should know by now she needs as much info as possible. Hell, that’s literally how she was made. She always has way more intel than anyone else thanks to her powers.”

  “Right?” I say, nodding. “And now you want me to go with this on blind faith that this is the right path? That accepting what you want will be what’s right for me?”

  “Did you or did you not agree to have your memories returned in exchange for saving this one?” Kyros’s gnarly hand raises, pointing at Blake. “All of this, was granted in favor of you reprising your role, was it not?”

  Blake takes a step back from the counter, his hands raised. “Hold up. Say that again?”

  I turn to him, my cheeks flaming. As much as I trust him, I never wanted to make Blake feel like he’s indebted to me—and I know he would with the knowledge of how I got my memories back. And why.

  “I was going to tell you… I was just—”

  “It’s true? You already agreed to this?” he gasps.

  I frown. “Eeeeh—sorta? Not really?” I exhale a jagged breath. “Maybe?”

  Blake drags his hand over his face. “Diana.”

  I slide off my chair, walking over to him. “Look, it doesn’t change anything. I needed to find you, especially after learning what you meant to me.”

  “Oh, so if I was just a regular Joe Schmo, you would have…what? Left me?”

  “Of course, not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Good,” he exhales.

  “And besides, if you were a regular Joe Schmo, I would have been able to read you in the first place,” I say, reaching for his arm and smirking.

  He groans.

  “You know what I mean. I did what I had to in order to keep you safe. We can second guess all of it, but it doesn’t change what is,” I say. “And look at where we are now because of that decision. I still say I made the right call.”

  “Yes, it was a stellar idea, Diana. You’re being hunted by a mass of potentially angry people, all of whom wish to seek your council, and now the god Apollo is giving you a deadline to get your act together. Do you not see how dire of a situation this is?” Blake says, raising his right hand to the sky and thrusting it toward Kyros.

  I exhale, feeling completely defeated. “So, what? You want me to just…give in?”

  “Hell no. But you can’t keep this sort of stuff from me. Not if we’re meant to take things to the next—” Blake’s eyes widen and he drops his hand to his side. “Look, this is your deal, but I think it’s pretty damn obvious ignoring the situation isn’t going to work.”

  “I know that. But what about Jonas? Whoever is after him isn’t going to stop and I can’t just up and leave because…” I do the same gesture he just did—raising a palm and thrusting it toward Kyros.

  Apollo crosses Kyros’s hands out in front of him, resting them on the counter as we hash things out.

  “And what about Demetri? Inner Sanctum? Ren? You? I can’t leave you again,” I mutter, my worlds petering out. “I won’t.”

  Suddenly, my front door flies open, and Renaldo rushes inside. In one swift movement, he slams the door shut, and locks it. Then, he spins around, leaning against it, panting like he just ran a marathon.

  Leaving the kitchen, I walk into the middle of the living room with my hands planted firmly on my hips and eyebrows raised.

  Not a damn thing about this day is going the way it should. Why would I expect anything different now?

  Ren steps away from the door, shooting me an expression of total annoyance. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Diana Hawthorne. If you’re hiding from the horde, then so am I, dammit. But whatever you do, don’t open that d
oor.”

  17

  Enlightenment

  My mouth gapes open. “You let them follow you here?”

  I rush to the curtains, tugging them in tight and shrouding the living room in muted darkness.

  Renaldo takes a tentative step into the room, shrugging sheepishly. “I dunno if any of them saw which door I technically went through. About two blocks into the chase, most of them started falling behind. Who knew these Doc Martens could be so comfortable in a sprint for your life?” He kicks up one of his feet, showing off the barely worn shoe. “Plus, it helps that Brody drags me on daily runs. I hate them in the worst way, but they must have come in handy since the majority of your clients haven’t visited a treadmill in—”

  “Ren,” I say, cutting him off.

  “Sorry, I’m just happy to be out of that mess,” he breathes.

  Kyros enters the living room, thankfully without a hint of Apollo left. “Mr. Garcia, what a lovely surprise to see you. Would you like a cup of latrine water?”

  I hang my head. Maybe it would have been better to deal with Apollo.

  Blake enters the room, sipping his coffee like it’s an ordinary morning occurrence. Goddess help me, the man can take crazy with stride.

  “Hey, Ren,” Blake says, tipping his chin and taking another sip.

  Extremely loud pounding on the front door is a clear indicator Ren didn’t get away as clean as he’d hoped. The sound of voices on the other side makes my skin crawl.

  I did not want people to know where I live.

  I’m inundated with the thoughts and impressions of at least half a dozen people—maybe more.

  “Shit,” I sputter, rushing to the kitchen to pull those curtains tight as well.

  When I return to the living room, the three men haven’t moved much. Blake continues to drink his coffee, while Ren clutches at his chest. Kyros, on the other hand, looks wildly amused.

  “Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?” he says, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

  “No, no it’s not exciting at all,” I say, shooting him a WTF face. “This has to stop.”

  Blake takes a slow sip of his coffee, clearly not wanting to offer any advice. However, his thoughts come at me like a freight train. He’s clearly not holding them back and my mental wards are giving in to his projection in a similar way Kyros does.

  This is what happens when you keep your team in the dark.

  My head snaps in his direction. “Excuse me?”

  His brown eyes sparkle with amusement, but he doesn’t say anything out loud. His message was delivered and that’s all he wanted.

  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fuck.”

  Sometimes I have to make the hard calls. My team isn’t always capable of handling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They have certain things they’re good at and there’s no reason to burden them with things they can’t deal with.

  “Did I miss something?” Ren asks, setting a hand on his hip.

  “Do not feel bad, Mr. Garcia. It happens to me quite frequently. For instance, yesterday I was using the latrine—”

  Blake, Ren, and I all raise our hands, calling out at the same time, “No!”

  Kyros’s olive-green eyes widen and his mouth drops open, flustered.

  I clear my throat. “I mean, we don’t need to know about your bathroom excursions. Okay?”

  Another knock jolts through me and I fight the sudden urge to go back to the bedroom and hide under the covers. Another ten or so people have gathered outside the door and they all believe they have a right to a word with me. It’s like they’ve lost their minds entirely and they’re just operating based on a preprogrammed mission—find the oracle.

  I knew I should have stayed in bed with Blake.

  “What are we going to do about all that?” Blake asks, pointing toward the door.

  “Well, I know what I’m gonna do,” Renaldo says, throwing up a hand and waltzing past all of us as he makes his way to the kitchen.

  He opens and closes cupboard doors until he finds an ages-old bottle of vodka. After blowing off a thick layer of dust, he clutches it to his chest like it’s his long-lost baby. Then, refusing to set the bottle down, he hunts the remaining cupboards until he plucks a glass out and sets it on the counter.

  “Please tell me you have some soda in this ancient fridge of yours,” he mutters, turning to face my olive green beast in the kitchen. “Or at least orange juice.”

  I shake my head, knowing he’ll be in for a rude awakening when he realizes there’s nothing but coffee creamer and chocolate in there.

  “Diana, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you need to get everyone up to speed,” Blake says, taking another slow sip of coffee.

  We all actively ignore the litany of curses being flung from the kitchen as Ren digs through the fridge.

  “You’re gonna lord the whole Apollo thing over my head for a while, aren’t you?” I say, narrowing my gaze.

  He has every right to be mad at me.

  As Anastasios, he would have been the same. He hated secrets and always insisted we were insanely open—but it’s been eons since I was able to be that unguarded. Life has taught me being open means being vulnerable.

  “Perhaps,” he says with a hint of a smirk. At least he’s taking it in stride.

  “Master Wilson, I am sure Amara—Diana—has her reasons,” he says, shooting me an exaggerated wink.

  I huff a laugh, stepping forward to pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Kyros, but maybe Blake is right. I can’t run from this forever and it’s becoming a massive pain in my backside.”

  As if in response, the handle to my front door jiggles. These people aren’t going to stop coming in droves until I embrace who I am and accept it unconditionally. And maybe not even then…

  I get it, Apollo. Gods, I get it.

  I’m his and I need to play my part.

  I glance again at Blake, realizing I would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant saving his life.

  “Everyone, sit down,” I say, pointing to the couch. “Ren, there’s nothing in there to mix that with unless you plan on drinking it with coffee.”

  “Dammit,” he mutters, walking back into the room. “You couldn’t even have a fruity flavored vodka? I could have at least toughed that out solo.”

  “Ren, I’m pretty sure that alcohol is older than the advent of fruity-flavored vodka,” I say, pointing at the bottle still clutched in his hands.

  He shudders, setting it down gingerly on the coffee table as he takes a seat on the couch.

  Kyros steps past Ren, unceremoniously plopping his butt in the middle of the couch. His leg bumps against Ren, who gingerly moves a couple of inches over. Blake shakes his head, refusing to sit next to Kyros and opting for the couch arm, instead.

  I take a seat in the recliner opposite the men, placing my hands on my thighs, and drumming my fingers across them. They each eye me expectantly, but for the life of me, I have no idea how to start this conversation.

  “Diana’s immortal,” Blake blurts out.

  My jaw drops open and I gawk at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  He shrugs in response. Amusement plays at his thoughts and in his energy. He’s liking this far too much.

  Ren’s left eyebrow arches and he glances between Blake and me, evidently under the impression Blake’s full of shit.

  “I am well aware,” Kyros says, blinking expectantly. “I thought this was meant to be a talk on what we don’t know. Was I wrong?”

  “Wait, what?” Ren sputters, double-taking over his shoulder at Kyros.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you miss that? Amara—er, Diana—is immortal. As am I. Well, sort of. I passed once, but obviously, it didn’t stick,” Kyros says, sweeping his hands over his body. “I’m back.”

  Renaldo stands up, spinning around and eyeing the corners of the room suspiciously. “Am I being punked? I am, aren’t I?”

  “Ren, sit down,” I say, swallowing hard.


  With a huge inhale, he does as he’s asked. However, his expression is hard and his eyes are wild.

  “You must have wondered why I never age,” I begin, shooting him a knowing glance.

  Ren cocks his head slightly, running his fingertips across his forehead, and smoothing his dark locks so they rest to the side. “I assumed it was good genes—or maybe a magic potion or something. It’s not unheard of in our line of work.”

  His thoughts tumble at me at warp speed as he rolls through his memories. As much as he’d like to call all of this BS, the idea niggles in the back of his mind as the truth resonates deeper than the lies he told himself.

  “Fair enough,” I mutter, scratching at my temple. “The truth is, Blake’s right. I can’t die and I don’t age.”

  “Okay,” Ren says slowly, allowing the words to process.

  “It’s okay, you shall get used to it,” Kyros offers, patting Renaldo on the back.

  Ren turns to him, his eyes suddenly wild when they turn back to me. “Hold up. Why him? Why’s he in the loop when I wasn’t?” He presses his fingertips to his chest as the distress flashes through every fiber of his being.

  I clear my throat, knowing this next part is going to blow his mind. “Well, Kyros…”

  “She’s my charge,” Kyros states, puffing up his chest.

  Blake sighs, raising his gaze to the ceiling. “This is going well.”

  “What do you mean?” Ren looks from Kyros to me. “What does he mean?”

  “Kyros has been in my circle since the beginning. He was sort of my first…” I lower my voice to barely above a whisper and mutter, “assistant.”

  Ren stands again. “I knew it. I knew it. You’re trying to replace me. This is about being late, isn’t it?”

  “Good god, Ren, no. This has—” I shake my head. Of course, he’ll only take in what directly impacts him and twist it. “Kyros is here because I’m the fucking Oracle of Delphi and I’m being called back to fulfill that role.”

  Kyros beams, sitting up straighter.

  Ren’s face goes blank as he blinks far more slowly than he should. He leans over, grabbing the bottle of vodka and cracking it open. Without a word, he takes a big swig, shudders, and does it again.