The Oracle Series: Vols. 4, 5, & Grave Endowments

by Cynthia D. Witherspoon

  “Call him back and give him the same spill you keep giving me.” I opened the door and stood the side to let her out first. “That I barely have time to breathe with the schedule you create for me. He’ll get the hint eventually.”

  Jaclyn dismissed me with a wave when I leaned back inside to flip off the light. I stopped when I caught sight of the promotional poster that dominated the far wall. It was one of our first photo shoots after the network picked up Grave. I was standing at the forefront with Joey to my left and Elliot on my right. I had teased him for days after I’d seen how hard he had been glaring at the poor photographer. Now, it felt as if he were glaring at me. Silently blaming me for the lies he had created to enhance his anger towards me.

  “We have got to redecorate the office.” I muttered. “That thing has got to go.”

  I shuddered despite myself. I knew it was only a poster. I knew that he wasn’t really there. But it didn’t stop the anxiety which churned in my stomach.

  I hit the light switch as hard as I could before shutting the door. I chided myself for my irrational fear. I was being ridiculous. I may not know where Elliot was, but if he ever came for me, I could handle him. I could hold my own against him.

  At least, I hoped so.

  ***

  “Don’t be silly, Cyrus. Go. Spend time with Joey.” I patted Cyrus’ cheek. “He missed you.”

  “I’ve spent the past three hours with Joey.” My beloved lowered me down on my bed. “It was nowhere near as fun as the time I spend with you.”

  I grinned up at him. Cyrus pressed a kiss on the tip of my nose when I wrapped my arms around his neck. I had every intention of going to sleep since the private plane we were taking left out before dawn the next morning. So I kept my own kiss short and sweet before I released him.

  “Go. Make sure he’s ready to go. I do not want to have to call the airfield tomorrow and explain why my cameraman can’t find his socks.”

  “Very well.” He squeezed my hand. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  “I’ll manage.” I yawned. “Hit the lights though. I’m going to need it dark in here.”

  I watched Cyrus until he left the room then slid under the covers. I tried to sleep, really I did. But my mind kept going back to that stupid picture and the fear it had ignited in me.

  No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t the poster that scared me. It was Elliot. No one, not even the police, knew where he had disappeared to. Only Hera could answer that particular question, and I wasn’t in the mood to ask her about it. I waited for my mind to quiet down. I counted to a hundred twice. I tossed and turned before settling flat on my back to stare at the ceiling.

  I even considered getting up to join the boys in the living room, but dismissed it. Cyrus worried about it enough as it was. I didn’t want him to add my newfound fears of an inanimate picture to them.

  I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew; I woke up when someone kissed me. In my sleep-induced haze, I thought it was Cyrus. In fact, I started to reach for him when I felt a familiar hand wrap around my throat. My eyes flew open the moment I realized just who was in the room with me.

  Elliot ran his thumb along the side of my neck before he whispered within inches of my mouth.

  “I will see you dead, Evie. There will be no Hermes to bail you out this time. No mercy from my beloved Hera to save your pitiful soul. Your time has long since come. At long last, I have finally found a way to end your existence. Once and for all.”

  *** END ***

  Grave Endowments

  (with T.H. Morris)

  Prologue

  Elliot Lancaster

  I was filled with darkness. Hate. I felt a cold embrace my heart that matched the smooth marble floor I knelt on. I knew why I was here. I wasn’t stupid. Two days from now, I had to accompany my mistress to some bullshit ceremony in Washington state. A ceremony that honored the one person I thought would love me forever.

  The one person who was the first to thrust her knife into my heart the moment she got the opportunity.

  The one person who just would not die. First Montana. Then Charleston. The bitch had escaped more traps than Houdini himself.

  "Elliot Lancaster," Hera purred in my ear as she rested her head against mine.

  "Rise."

  I did what I was told. How could I not? She was more than my mistress. Hera, Queen of the Heavens, had become my maker as well.

  Hera circled me with steps that were nothing short of methodical. She seemed to be exercising caution around me. Me! I was nothing compared to her. I had no power that she did not control. But I was once again mistaken. When she stopped in front of me, I could see no fear on her face. There was a measured calm. An undertone of anger that she barely managed to mask. She hated the idea of this ceremony just as much as I did. But as she regarded me, she modified her expression into one of triumph. The ownership in her eyes was evident. I was her pet. Her plaything.

  Nothing more.

  "The choice you made was a wise one," She tapped the edge of my nose with a pointed finger. "Tell me the thing you want the most. Tell me the thing that only I can grant you."

  "The destruction of Eva McRayne," I spoke without hesitation. I was amazed when my heart didn’t break as I said her name, but such pain had been replaced with hatred so thick, I had sacrificed my very soul to stand before the goddess and make such a request.

  Eva would be destroyed. She may not die, but I would be damned if she didn’t suffer for her betrayal against me.

  “Poor, poor Elliot. Such trivial labels you use.”

  Hera reached out, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my face downward until I was nose to nose with her as she demanded I correct myself.

  "The destruction of whom?"

  “The Sibyl.” I managed through gritted teeth. The darkness had shifted into anger at her actions, but I did not dare strike out against such a powerful creature. "The destruction of The Sybil."

  "Good," Hera purred once more as she released my hair to pat my head. "Do not call her by her name. She is not a person. She is a symbol of betrayal, disloyalty, and insolence. The Sybil is all she is. You shall have your wish, Elliot.”

  So I could harm her. I could make Eva suffer. I grinned as I tried to work out my thoughts. But the pleasure gave way to confusion.

  “I thank you, my lady. But how can that be? Athena’s Blade has been destroyed. Apollo saw to that. And she’s got Hermes, her ace in the hole. He’s already fixed her once. ”

  Hera’s eyes were on sights beyond her window as she spoke. “I am well aware of these things, Elliot. You needn’t remind me of them. But Hermes in longer a factor. His actions greatly displeased the Fates. He now has strictures that he can never defy. Why do you think that he recommended that she receive training amongst Hecate’s charges?

  Why he recommended that she be named representative of the Council?”

  I grimaced. Was it necessary to remind me of that again? That bitch was a study in betrayal and heartache, and was getting everything short of a ticker-tape parade for it?

  Hera’s expression wavered again. She hated Eva’s promotion almost as much as she hated Eva herself. I watched her hands tremble as she resumed control of her emotions.

  “And the blade is of no consequence,” she went on. “I have discovered alternative means. You may even have the opportunity to fulfill them yourself.”

  I felt my eyes narrow at her. “May?”

  Hera turned her back to me as she approached the chair which served as her throne here on Earth. Eva had been right when she told me that the gods often spent time on our plane. Hera had settled into a mansion not far from my father’s house in Beverly Hills. It was large. Opulent. Decorated with emblems of power and prestige. It fit my mistress to perfection.

  “You are my own now. My family.” She lowered herself down in the chair with the grace worthy of her position. When she finished smoothing out her skirt, she continued with her words. "As such, it is my righ
t to be brutally honest. I do not know how worthy you are. You failed me spectacularly in Montana. And the Sibyl was practically giftwrapped in South Carolina, yet you failed me there as well.”

  "That wasn't my fault!" I snapped before I could contain myself. "The Sybil was protected! Cyrus remains closer to her than a shadow. I shoved her out of a four-story window! It is not my fault that the thief was there to bring her back. She was dead, damn it. How can you stand there and blame me for what happened? If anything, I should blame y—!"

  Hera snapped her gaze toward me so quick that I remembered my place before her. I was nothing. A pet. A man controlled by the whims of a singular goddess.

  It was a role I would not forget again.

  "Utter one more syllable," she whispered, "and the retribution will be dire."

  I felt the anger rush out of me. It was replaced by disappointment in myself that I had displeased her.

  "Forgive me, my lady," I murmured. "The rage inside me. It is toward the Sybil.

  Sometimes, it gets out of control. Becomes too much. It has stained my soul."

  Hera's eyes still blazed, but when she spoke, her tone had softened. "It is an interesting thing that you speak of souls. There is a task that I have which involves those very things."

  "Really?" I spoke, grateful that her voice had become sweet once more. "What's that?"

  "That impertinent Sybil has come to believe that she is immune to harm due to

  Apollo’s blessing." Hera began to draw circles against the wood of her chair arm. "She has come to regard her eternal life as her crutch. And now that she has survived Athena’s Blade for a second time, she has been emboldened. Due to Hecate’s tutelage, she feels untouchable. What she is not aware of is that there is more to this life than what she has been taught by the soldier and the witch. More to the soul, or spirit, I should say, than she knows."

  I clenched my hands against my sides. Could it be true? I didn’t know what to think after Charleston, but was Hera talking about a foolproof way to destroy Eva? A vulnerability?

  "What are you saying, my lady?"

  Hera chuckled. "The little Sybil is under the delusion that as long as she has her father Apollo and her immortality, no harm can befall her," she said. "But there are some things that supersede immortality. Supersede Apollo himself."

  "There is a way to destroy her?" I took a step forward. "Tell me!"

  My words came out more forceful than I realized, which earned me another glare from my mistress. Her mood seemed to change as quickly as the storms she commanded thanks to her husband’s power with the weather.

  "Watch your tone," she chided. “Yet, maintain that passion. It is that very passion which prompted me to make the offer that you couldn't refuse. But after Montana and

  South Carolina, Elliott, I just do not know if you are up to the task. "

  I fell upon my knees before her. If there was any chance that I could feel Eva’s blood on my hands, I would take it.

  "My lady, I can do it," I insisted. "I swore myself to you, and I will do whatever is necessary. I want the Sybil gone."

  "As do I, my pet," said Hera, "as do I."

  But there was still doubt in her voice. Still the uncertainty of my ability. But I would prove myself to her in any way possible.

  "You said that I was your family." I spoke to the marble tiles with the hope that such humility would play against her vanity. "Isn't giving second chances what family does?"

  Hera paused, and I dared not look up at her. I was not exaggerating when I spoke of her volatile nature.

  "It is," she conceded. "I am the goddess of family, after all. I know these things.

  Family does indeed grant additional chances of atonement."

  I lifted my head just enough to glance at her as she continued. I didn’t miss the wild fire in her green eyes which I was sure would be mirrored by my own.

  “I also deal in vengeance," she added. “Family and vengeance. When modern mortals hear the two words, they immediately think of the Mafia phenomenon which has been sensationalized on television. But those notions are not Mafia. They are Greek.

  They are me.”

  Hera released a labored breath. “It is for this reason that the Sybil must be destroyed.”

  I frowned. “There is a reason beyond her insolence and pride? Beyond her ability to absorb the god’s powers?”

  Hera’s eyes remained on the grounds. “Two days from now, that abomination will be named the representative of Olympus—”

  “With all due respect, my lady, there is no need to mention that again—”

  “Interrupt me again, my pet, and I will have you fixed.” Hera’s tone didn’t even change. “Now as I was saying, she will be named the representative of Olympus. This will occur before the Council. But Olympians…we are gods, after all. One cannot expect all to fall in line just simply because a few decide to decree something as law.”

  I thought I saw where this was going. But I said nothing. The threat of being “fixed” was an effective one. My mistress continued.

  “The Sybil may have those who adore her. But they do not speak for all on Olympus. There are whispers—grumbles, if one is frank. If something is not done, the grumbles will become…shouts.”

  I felt my eyes widen slightly. “Civil war? In Olympus? Is that possible?”

  “More than that,” answered Hera. “Would you like me to illustrate war on

  Olympus?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “The world on fire,” whispered Hera. “Siblings abandoning their palaces and millenia-long spouses abandoning their marriage beds to do battle on consecrated grounds. Thrones becoming rubble and shrines becoming pyres. Gold tiles and immaculate marble stained with ichor, snot, refuse, and all other manner of substance.”

  I shook my head. “All because of her.”

  “Yes.” My mistress’s eyes flickered with rage. “They view me as heartless, but I am merely honest. I care for my family. I’ll not see them at war because of Apollo’s solipsistic, mixed-breed spawn.”

  I smiled. “So to prevent war, the Sybil has to die.”

  Hera smiled and straightened. "Elliott, my pet, I absolve you," she announced. "You shall have your second chance."

  I returned to my feet. "Thank you, my lady. Your graciousness is unmatched. Now tell me. What would you have me do?”

  “Two things.” Hera looked ready for business. “Firstly, when we attend the Sybil’s ceremony, I will orchestrate a challenge. You will fight her.”

  The grin that lit my features almost displaced my jaw. “I will gladly destroy her, my lady—”

  “I want you to throw the fight.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me? You want me to take a dive?” “Yes.”

  “But that makes no sense!” I couldn’t believe her orders! After reminding me of my failures, she wanted me to lose voluntarily?

  Hera glared at me for the third time. “It makes perfect sense. You can’t very well massacre the Sybil in front of her admirers, yes? What better way to galvanize her even further than give her a win in front of her new fans?”

  My anger diminished somewhat as I caught on to Hera’s train of thought. So she wanted to make Eva think she was stronger than she actually was. In front of an audience who wanted more than anything to believe in her. Nice.

  “I see that you understand now,” she said quietly.

  “I do, my lady.”

  “It will need to be an elaborate show,” she told me. “For both of us. I will not mince my words after your failure.” She made finger quotations when she said failure. “It will have the desired effect. I am certain of this.”

  “I understand.” I cracked my knuckles. “But that was the first task. You said two things. What’s the other thing?”

  Hera rubbed her hands together. “It is a plan that I conceived after my discovery that the Greek lap dog has been in contact with an old friend of his when the Sybil was still hospitalized. I’ve taken advantage, and have alrea
dy inserted myself into the mix.”

  “Old friend?” I repeated. “Who is this? And what ‘mix’ have you inserted yourself into?”

  Hera didn’t answer either question. "I need you to return to Theia Productions to coordinate a trip," she said. “You have had a protracted absence, but we can count on your father’s eternal soft spot for you to inoculate you against questions. Set the trip up for after the Sybil returns from Washington. Cyrus has already received an invitation, but I’ve taken the liberty to—nurse it along somewhat. The numbers must be small. The little

  Sybil, and by extension, the slave keeper. The cameraman, Joey. No one else."

  "What about Leyton?"

  Hera dismissed his name with a wave of her hand. "Give him the information to pass along to the Sybil, and then occupy him with another matter. Shuffle him to another show under Theia’s imprint. I will deal with Tiresias’ treachery soon enough, yet it must wait. He will play no part in this."

  “Shuffle him to another show? But his involvement in Grave Messages is a requirement." I spoke my words as slowly as I could. "He has a contract, after all."

  Hera raised an eyebrow. "Such trivialities wouldn't stop a man such as you now, would they?"

  I shrugged. "I guess not, my lady. I’ll pull some strings. Get him placed on another project.”

  "I have my own reasons for why the numbers must be small." Hera leaned forward in her chair to point in my direction. "It’s a filming location for Grave Messages, named the Covington House. Plus the Sybil will be fresh from her sabbatical, and ready to take on fresh threats."

  "Done," I nodded. "The house you told me about? The one with the tombs?"

  "Yes. There is something very important about Rome—"

  "Rome?" I whistled. "I am sure there is a reason, but I will have to find the location for filming. Nothing gets past Theia’s accounting department heads without explanation.