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

by Cynthia D. Witherspoon

  “You’re still a liar, Blueberry.”

  “Blueberry? Where the hell did you come up with that one?”

  “It seems to fit you better than Country.” I tested out the porch rail before leaning back against it. “And don’t try to throw me off on this. You said you’d never heard of this place before.”

  “I hadn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, you have.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You turned pale the minute we got out of the car.”

  The man standing in front of me refused to meet my gaze as his jaw tightened. I used Cyrus’ favorite method to get me to talk. I went silent and waited. Finally, he took off his sunglasses to rub his hand over his face.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He dropped his hand before tucking his glasses into his pants pocket. “Just leave it at that.”

  I nodded, trying to decide if I should prod for more when Cyrus came back outside.

  “It’s clear.” My keeper tilted his head at me. “And you were right. It’s full of cobwebs and broken furniture.”

  “It always is.” I pushed away from the banister. “Let’s go take a look around. If

  Frederickson shows up, then we’ll go from there.”

  I had just started to walk inside when I heard the sound of a car pulling up behind ours. Joey grinned as he stood.

  “Speak of the devil.” He waved as an older man stepped out of the vehicle. “Time to get to work, Evie.”

  “Yay.” I muttered. “Jonah, if you don’t mind, stay by Cyrus. I have no idea where Joey wants to film this thing. I’d hate for you to end up on the show.”

  “Me too.” He took a step back. “Go, do what you do. Let’s get this over and done with.”

  I bounded down the stairs to meet the man as he crossed the lawn. Robert Frederickson looked as if he had just left the Hamptons. Black hair distinguished with gray temples. White blazer and dark blue dress pants. He looked completely out of place here.

  “Mr. Frederickson? Eva McRayne.” I offered him my hand. “I apologize for missing our meeting earlier. We’ve had some—developments.”

  “Yes, well.” He nodded to Joey. “My time is very precious, Ms. McRayne. I had every intention of being back in New York tonight.”

  “Theia Productions will cover the cost of this inconvenience.” I smiled. “Have you ever done an interview before?”

  “Not for television.”

  “This is Joey Lawson.” I gestured. “Obviously, the cameraman. He will be focusing his attention on you when we get started. But first, he has to get you hooked up with a microphone.”

  “Got it right here in my pocket.”

  Joey passed it over to the man before passing a second one over to me. He showed our contact how to attach the device to his jacket to get the best sound. Then how to speak into it. When they got finished, I attached my own microphone to the collar of my shirt.

  “Where can we get the best shot, Joey?”

  “I was thinking on the porch. Mr. Frederickson, if you will.”

  Joey led us over to Cyrus and Jonah, both of whom stepped as far away from us as possible. Mr. Frederickson straightened his jacket.

  “Right to the point, then?” He nodded. “Good. The sooner this is over, the better.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. But we still have to film inside. And see if we capture anything.”

  “You will. I’m sure of it. My daughters swear by Grave Messages.” The man shifted in place. “As you can see, I don’t keep it locked. Nobody in their right mind would dare come here. You may come and go as you wish.”

  I bit back my response with a reminder to myself that this man was a client. So instead of snapping at him, I held up three fingers in Joey’s direction, folding them down to give him the signal to start filming.

  “Robert Frederickson is the owner of Covington Mansion, located five minutes outside of Rome, North Carolina. Mr. Frederickson, what attracted you to Covington?”

  “The history, my dear girl.” He boomed with an exuberance so unexpected, I almost took a step back. “Rome has been the site of so much southern history. Covington is no different.”

  “What can you tell us about that history?” I tilted my head towards the man. “Murders? Suicides?”

  “Oh, nothing like that.” Frederickson chuckled. “But these walls serve as a monument to the Covington family.”

  “A monument.” I focused on the camera. “It was believed that George S. Covington had his family buried here beneath the floors when the house was built.”

  “Yes, the old fool went insane with grief.” Frederickson rocked back on his heels.

  “It happens, you know. When you lose a loved one. Or two.”

  I whipped my head around to see a faint spark of green in the man’s dark eyes.

  Could he—no. There was no way this man could be aligned with Hera.

  My paranoia was simply at a fever pitch. It had to be.

  I managed a thin smile and leaned back against my perch on the rail. “You purchased Covington in 2012, is that correct?”

  “Yes. I was hoping to turn it into a getaway retreat for my own family.”

  “Wow, that’s different.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You wanted to vacation with your family here? In the middle of nowhere? In an oversized tomb?”

  The man coughed behind his hand as he narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, well. As I said, Rome is a beautiful town. It is peaceful here. The fact that this manor is haunted was not a deterrent for me.”

  “Let’s talk about that for a minute.” I pressed against the rail. “What have people experienced here?”

  “Everything. Stories about objects moving on their own. Apparitions walk through the very walls!” He gestured to the heavens. “Screams resonate through the night and some reports state that previous occupants have been shoved down the stairs.”

  So far, so standard. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his theatrics. Why did people tend to act so crazy when there was a camera present?

  “Alright. What about you? What have you personally experienced?”

  “Me?” Robert Frederickson glanced nervously at the front door. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever been shoved down the stairs?” I widened my eyes with mock innocence. “Have you heard these screams?”

  “No,” the man huffed up, “I’ve…I’ve never actually been inside.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Under normal circumstances, I can contain my personal reactions to the people we deal with. But this?

  This was too much.

  “And—you just added another thirty minutes to my edits, Evie.” Joey lowered the camera as I giggled. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Seriously?” I ignored Joey as I focused on our contact. “You bought this house years ago. You call a television crew to come investigate it for paranormal activity. And you’ve never been inside?”

  “I’ve never had a reason.” Frederickson turned bright red. “Are we done here?”

  I nodded. There was no way I could continue taking this man seriously. He waved his hand at me with anger before storming back to his car.

  “Best. Interview. Ever.” I grinned as I watched him drive away. When the others didn’t respond, I turned to face them. “What?”

  “Do you treat all of your clients that way?” Jonah frowned. “No wonder I don’t watch your show.”

  “You should. It’s great.” I all but skipped through the door. “I can’t stand people who turn all dramatic when they are in front of the camera. It screams fake to me.”

  “It should.” Cyrus linked his arm into mine. “He bought this place as a tax haven?” “Yeah. I figured that out after I checked the building permits. Frederickson never applied for one. I mean, why buy an abandoned house if you have no intention of fixing it up?”

  I was still riding high as we stepped into the main hallway. Dust and grime covered everything. Pictures hung crooked on the walls. I was sure that if I held my breath, I
would hear the rats scurrying about. We moved from room to room in silence which was all we encountered.

  There were no screams. No one tried to push us down the stairs when we stood at the top. Nothing flew at my head.

  Of course, I didn’t have a mirror present. Joey had gone ahead of the rest of us to make sure they were taken down before I could encounter them.

  When we reached the bedroom upstairs, I stopped just short of the window as Jonah disappeared into a door I had mistaken as a closet. Cyrus stepped up behind me to brush my hair away from my neck. He pressed a quick kiss against my skin before he spoke up. “You’re disturbed, Little One. I can sense it.”

  “No, not disturbed. Just—confused.” I leaned into his touch. “What is it about this place, Cyrus? Jonah met the Sirens. I encountered the Shades. Then, Elliot appeared out of thin air. Not to mention my abilities fading in and out.”

  “You don’t know if they are fading.” Cyrus tried to sound convincing, but his voice faltered. “I have been trying to contact Apollo to see if he can assist us, but—”

  “You can’t get through? Or you’re not getting a response?”

  He shook his head before running his hand down my arm. I sighed.

  “What is it about this place, Cyrus? What is it?”

  Chapter Seven

  Jonah Rowe

  The room Jonah stepped into was no bigger than the bathroom in his old apartment.

  In other words, it was tiny. And dark.

  The walls were plastered with black. The small chair and table? Black. Even the mirror positioned across from the chair was dark.

  “Ok.” Jonah jostled against the door as it shut. “This isn’t creepy. Not creepy at all.”

  He shifted around only to fall into the chair with a grunt. But just as he reached out to feel for the door knob, he heard a strange whispering fill his ears.

  Jonah jerked his head towards the mirror as the black began to shift into faces. A blur of eyes and mouths until, at last, it stopped.

  “Your soul is so hard to read, Jonah Rowe.” The woman in the mirror pursed her lips together. “Oh, begging your pardon—spirit. What can I offer you?”

  The image against the black shifted as she continued to speak. “Fame? Fortune?” There were crowds of people screaming his name as they waved books in the air. That image faded into a vision of himself, dressed to the nines as he sat down in a chair on the set of a talk show.

  The woman went silent for a moment before the image shifted again. “Or perhaps you want the Sybil herself? Withering beneath your touch?”

  A flash of skin. A low moan filled his ears. Within seconds, the image was gone, replaced by the woman once more. Her green eyes flashed as she smiled.

  “I am the Queen of the Heavens, mortal. I can grant you any desire you wish as long as you grant me mine. Get the Sibyl onto the Astral. I will grant you all that you have seen and so much more.”

  “More? Lady—”

  “I will give you access to the one place your Jonathan can’t get to. I will give you the key to the Other Side.”

  Jonah stared as if transfixed by the image. When he started to respond, the woman cut him off.

  “Don’t answer just yet, Blue Aura. There will be time enough for that. Consider my words. Consider what could be. Then, when the time is right, I will return to you.” The woman’s face disappeared as quickly as it emerged in the glass.

  Jonah didn’t know what to think. Temptations with what he wanted? But it wasn’t the Sirens.

  This was one woman, with eyes as green as his friend Elizabeth Manville’s. But

  Liz’s eyes were full of happiness, warmth, and joy. This woman’s eyes were venomous green, harsh, full of ambition and evil.

  He’d read Greek mythology. Seen a bunch of pictures and depictions.

  That woman looked like depictions he’d seen of Hera. But that couldn’t be. Hera was the goddess of family, marriage—wholesome endeavors. But that woman he saw in the mirror was a thug. A thug and a bitch. He had no interest in doing anything that she said.

  The memories of his experiences in this house resurfaced. He hadn’t lied to Eva. He hadn’t heard of the place. He’d never known its name. He’d just been there.

  The Covington House was the site of his first great victory as an Eleventh Percenter.

  The memories weren’t pleasant. He’d nearly lost his physical life in an inferno in the basement. He’d gotten a deep muscle tear on his left shoulder, and that had been before the broken ribs. But he’d won that fight.

  Right now, though, that victory felt like a long time ago.

  His mind was more focused on what that woman—Hera—showed him. That carnal scene with Eva? Pass. Eva was a pretty woman, but one, she was with Cyrus, and two, he didn’t have those kinds of feeling for her. Why the hell would she offer him Eva anyway, when she wanted him to betray her?

  That one was easy.

  The other ones were not.

  Those crowds—all holding his books and shouting his name—that talk-show spot.

  Jonah didn’t even own a suit like that. It looked worthy of the Steve Harvey collection.

  The type of clothing you wore when you didn’t have any cares in the world.

  Suddenly, Hera formed in the mirror once again. Jonah started.

  “That was a little fast, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed it was,” said Hera with a soft laugh. “But worry not. I’m not here for your decision just yet. I merely returned to—ah—update your desire. I did mention that your spirit was hard to read.”

  “Update my desire?” said Jonah blankly. “What—?”

  “It’s not the daughter of Apollo you long for,” she told him.

  And then another scene came into the mirror. One that made Jonah’s eyes bulge.

  But Hera didn’t make this one a glimpse. It lingered. Jonah should have turned away. But for some reason, that was an impossibility.

  The image faded, and Hera chuckled.

  “It seems I’ve struck gold,” she purred. “She is the one you want.” It wasn’t a question. “You enjoy happy endings, Blue Aura? I do as well. Get the Sybil on the Astral Plane at the golden hour on Sunday. Do this for me, and the fame, the wealth, and the woman are yours. Sunday at the golden hour. That’s a sufficient amount of time to make

  up your mind. And, given your vision, time is something you long to enjoy.” Laughing at her jest, Hera disappeared.

  Jonah stood there, frozen.

  File it away, Jonah, he ordered himself. Scratch that. Forget it. You have more respect for her than just to regard her as a piece of meat.

  But it wasn’t working. Hera had done it perfectly. The thing with Eva had been a

  glimpse, easy to disregard. But that second one the one with Vera… Damn Hera!

  She’d also said that she could give him the key to the Other Side. Jonathan always said that that couldn’t happen. It was inaccessible. The Protector Guides couldn’t go there. The Spirit Guides couldn’t go there.

  But Hera said she could. She’d described it like it was a door that simply needed to be unlocked.

  Seeing Nana again could be that easy.

  A surge of fear shot through him like an electric current. NO. What Hera promised

  wasn’t natural. He couldn’t think about Nana.

  Hera wanted him to sell out Eva. Get her on the Astral Plane. Why?

  “Jonah?” said Joey.

  “What?” he said a little forcefully. “Sorry—I’m—” He didn’t even finish.

  “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a…nevermind.” Joey decided against it.

  “Are you alright, Jonah?” Eva called out from her spot in the middle of the main room. “Find anything good in there?”

  Jonah didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t up to telling her about his past with this house yet, and he certainly wasn’t going to speak on Hera’s visions. He thought the Sirens were bad, but Hera—he could never admit to the images she showed him
.

  “Old history,” he muttered. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Eva shook her head. “Why did Elliott send us here?” she asked with heat. “I was so sure there would be more to it than just the episode. If it weren't for Frederickson, this would have been a waste of time.”

  Her voice caught on the end of that sentence, but it looked as if she swallowed down the emotion.

  Jonah was fuzzy on that part, too. Elliott couldn’t have lured them here just for Hera to try to bribe him with fabulous prizes. She could’ve done that anywhere. So what other reason was there for them to bring Jonah and Eva to this place?

  “We need to return to the estate and reconvene with Jonathan, Terrence, and

  Reena,” said Cyrus. “Eva, Joey, go ahead. I want a quick conversation with Jonah.”

  Eva frowned. Jonah did, too. He wasn’t up for private conversation. Especially right now. He hadn’t had time to reorganize his thoughts.

  Cyrus jerked his head towards the door and the other two left. He then looked Jonah right in the eye.

  “What did Hera show you?”

  “Huh?”

  Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. “You heard me, boy.” “‘Boy’ isn’t my name,” grumbled Jonah.

  “Then be a man and answer the question,” countered Cyrus.

  It stopped Jonah in his tracks. “I’d rather not say,” he evaded. “She just—she just knew where to nail me in a way that I didn’t expect. I can’t compartmentalize it.”

  “Thought so.” Cyrus placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Here is my advice to you, Jonah. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t try to compartmentalize it,” replied Cyrus. “It only weakens your mental faculties, and that makes you more susceptible to Hera’s games. Whatever she showed you must have had a grain of truth and desire in it, or it wouldn’t trouble you so. I implore you to simply accept it and move forward. Hera can only use against you what you use against yourself.”

  For some reason, this brand of advice sounded vaguely familiar to Jonah. “Huh.”

  “You have to have your wits about you, Jonah,” warned Cyrus. “Hera will eat you alive if you don’t.” He cracked the muscles in his hands. “We need to figure out the significance of this house,” he continued. “Elliott lured Eva here by having spiritual hostages, and Hera used it to show you the desired prizes of your heart. Those are not random occurrences.”