“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter, clutching the phone tightly.
The ringing stops and I cease pacing as I hold my breath.
“Hi, this is Blake Wilson. Sorry, can't come to the phone right now, but feel free to tell my answering machine whatcha need. It can't keep a secret, so I'll find out about it eventually.”
“Fuck,” I curse, waiting for the BEEP.
As it sounds, I grip the phone close to my face and say, “Blake, so help me, you had better be okay. I’m sorry I wandered off—I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I’m by the cavern entrance. Please, please just come find me.”
Pressing the off button, I turn sharply and start racing back to the cavern.
The woman and her two kids chase after me, yelling something at my backside. Their arms are flailing in midair and their faces are red with anger as they point at the cellphone I still have gripped between my fingers.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I say, stepping toward the woman handing it back to her. “Rahatsızlıktan dolayı özür dileriz. Hadi bakalım.”
She snatches the cellphone back and skins me alive with a look before throwing her arms around her kids and rushing away. They speak frantically in Turkish—clearly pissed.
“I said I was sorry,” I call out after her.
Well, that’s me scarring her and her kids for life. Way to go, Diana. They’re never gonna help another poor soul like me again.
Taking a deep breath, I butt the palm of my hand to my forehead and turn back to the cave.
Where in the hell would he be? Better yet, how the hell am I gonna find him?
The tourist groupings have dwindled to only a small handful of people as the sun continues to set. Without the ability to reach out and find Blake with my abilities—I’m truly lost. We only have a few hours before the girls are moved and I don’t even know if Blake managed to get in touch with Interpol.
What if he hasn’t? Holy crap, could this seriously get any worse?
How am I meant to split my allegiances between saving the girls and finding Blake? Hell, for all I know, he needs saving too.
I am so in over my head.
I curse myself again for not having a backup plan with Blake in case we get separated.
Christ, you’d think after all this time I wouldn’t be so dense.
On the verge of hyperventilating, I hunch over, trying to slow my breathing. My fingertips dig into my scalp as I wrack my brain.
There has to be a way to find him.
A young man’s voice filters into my awareness as he says, “Yeah, Mom. We’re on our way back to the hotel. Seriously, you should have come out this way. You would have loved it. The Temple of Apollo is amazing. Plus, we hiked to this cave by the site—”
I stand up, suddenly revitalized.
Of course—I’m Diana freakin’ Hawthorne. I’m Apollo’s Oracle—or so I’ve recently come to understand—and even if I can’t get a read on Blake, I can get a read on everyone else.
My eyes flit to the young man just a few feet away. Reaching out with my abilities, I search his recent memory for any signs of Blake to see if he may have seen what happened. I might not get a full idea, but perhaps snippets the way I was able to with Aiden. Unfortunately, it’s all clouded with make-out sessions with the redhead he’s standing next to.
Immediately, I turn to the next person—an older gentleman with a broad, worn smile and kind eyes. He’s been here a while, but unfortunately, his eyesight isn’t very good, and he spend the majority of his time listening to his tour guide who’s been urging his group to start heading back to the tour bus.
The tour guide hasn’t seen anything unusual—she’s been too hell bent on rounding up the stragglers, so she can meet up with her boyfriend for a romantic dinner in town.
I switch from person to person, hunting for the information I’m looking for—but no one, not a single person witnessed anything about Blake I can use. Unless of course, I’m being completely blocked.
“Dammit,” I whisper under my breath. “Okay, okay… there has to be something I’m missing. Or someone.”
Trekking the last bit up to the cave’s opening, I walk inside and have a look around. A man and woman with one small child are all that remains inside. I take a seat on one of the stones resting at the entrance and close my eyes, allowing my senses to reach out and find their way to the man first.
He’s enthralled with the geological formation and the way the cavern was created. Clearly someone with far less imagination than the others I’ve surveyed, as he doesn’t overly care about the sociology or history. His wife stands by his side, nodding her head and holding the young child’s hand. She acts engaged with whatever the man’s saying about the rock—but her mind is back at the hotel as she longs for a bath and a glass of wine—alone. She’s been the one chasing the three-year-old all day and all she wants in this whole wide world is for a few minutes to herself.
Releasing a sigh, I open my eyes and bite my lip.
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
How is this even possible? How can a grown ass man just disappear?
I roll my eyes. He could have been thinking the same thing about me. I wandered off into the—
No… he wouldn’t have gone deeper into the cave without knowing where I was. Would he?
Suddenly, I get flashes of a police car and a puppy—the name Chase comes to mind. It switches to a disjointed image of a mask and a cartoon-like cops and robbers imagery, but still with dogs. Something like Papatroll comes to the forefront but I have no idea what the hell that means.
I sit up straighter, trying to find the source of where the images are coming from. My eyes rest on the little boy whose eyes are trained on the dark abyss leading deeper into the cavern. It’s freaking him right out.
The images change again to a brightly colored water gun pointed at the middle of a man’s back. It switches to a man, with arms raised like the cops and robbers imagery as he gets edged toward the back of the cavern.
The little boy shudders, remembering…
“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” the man with the gun says. “Make a scene and you’re dead. Start walkin’— you’re comin’ with me.”
The three-year-old’s parents are nearby, but they’re too busy talking to each other. The toddler hasn’t been allowed to do much of anything, so he’s been watching others closely and making up his own stories.
Even though he’s much lower to the ground, I push myself to dig deeper into his mind, trying to parse out reality from whatever fiction he’s associated with what he saw. I never get a glimpse of the men’s faces, the little boy is too engrossed by the gun, but then I catch it—the clue I’m looking for: Blake’s signature ass. It’s at the perfect height for the little boy to take in fully as Blake gets shoved past him and pushed into the darkness beyond.
My eyes pop open and I’m on my feet.
Racing into the gaping entrance to the rest of the cavern, I pluck my small flashlight from my pocket and enter the pitch darkness. Pressing the button, the LED springs to life, illuminating the pathway ahead. At first the tunnel is wide and direct, but the further I jaunt, the more turned around I get. Tunnels and offshoots splay out in every direction—some larger, some extremely narrow—and without a good read on the man with the gun, I can’t hone in on Blake or where he’s been taken. And I sure as hell can’t go ask the boy for more details. I’m lucky I got what I did.
My feet hit the dusty ground in rhythm with my heartbeat—rapidly.
What if I can’t get to Blake in time? How long has it been?
Would the man kill him?
Could he already be dead?
I pull up short in the middle of a larger opening, with five offshoots branching out in front of me. Clenching at my side, I shine the flashlight to the ground, searching for any signs of footsteps—or a clue to the direction Blake was taken.
“Dammit—he’s gotta be here somewhere. But which one—” I curse aloud, raking
my fingertips through my hair. “C’mon, Diana. Where did they go? Which direction?”
I take a breath, trying calm myself and use my gifts. My tongue brushes my lower lip, as I close my eyes and concentrate. Instantly, I’m overcome with the sensation of dizziness and nausea as the Mnemosyne symbol flashes in my mind—still blocking any access to Blake himself.
“Dammit,” I mutter, dropping to my knees.
There’s still a way to find Blake, but it means losing everything—
“This can’t be happening—it can’t be the only way.”
The fingertips of my left hand press against my lips as I clutch the flashlight firmly with my right.
My heart thumps unevenly as I weigh my really shitty options.
I’ve waited for this day for longer than I can remember—the day where I knew I could finally grow old and die—and before I can even accept, it’s being pulled out from under me.
What kind of sick joke is that?
On the other hand, Blake’s insanely capable—what if he’s already managed to get out of the situation? Or used his background to overtake the asshole with the gun?
I could be throwing it all away for nothing.
I bite my lower lip.
But what if he hasn’t?
Is that a risk I’m willing to take?
I shake my head, my nostrils flaring.
What if he just needs a diversion—or a little help? What if by holding off, I get him or the girls killed?
The musty odor of the cavern triggers the newly gifted memories from before and I can’t lose Anastasios’ soul again.
Sighing in defeat, I know exactly what I have to do.
18
RACING BACK TO THE VORTEX and the place where I carved Mnemosyne’s mark, I come to an awkward halt as I trip over my own two feet and slam my right shoulder against the cavern wall. My ripped skin aches, but it doesn’t matter—it will heal, and I’ll live on. I can’t say the same for Blake or the girls if I don’t take immediate action. I need to locate him and there’s only one way I can force it to happen.
Rubbing my shoulder, I widen my stance and take a deep breath. Lifting my head high, I call out into the black abyss, desperation permeating every word.
“What good are these gifts if I’m left blind and helpless when it really matters? Come on Apollo, or Mnemosyne, whoever it is I need to bow to or kiss ass. Give me something to work with. People are in danger here and I can’t sit on the sidelines,” I say, lowering my head and whispering, “I can’t lose him again.”
I flare my nostrils and clench my fingers, curling them so tightly into my palms they begin to lose blood flow.
One at a time, as if held up by invisible torches, purple flames burst from the walls. They cast an eerie light, not dissimilar from the Violet Flame invocation weeks before with Demetri. Stumbling backward, I cry out in surprise and the sound reverberates off the cavern walls.
My senses are suddenly inundated with Mnemosyne’s trademark scent of jasmine and roses and I know she’s heard my beckoning and come to me.
“What’s done cannot be undone without expressed permission, Pythia. You know this to be true. To unlock that which you seek—it requires a decision to be made. One which may only be made by you. Do you accept your immortality and responsibility in the aid of Apollo? Will you secure your role as the rightful Oracle of Delphi?”
My eyes widen as I take in this surprising news.
The Oracle of Delphi—that’s what I am?
What would that role even entail?
Blinking back the tears burning in my eyes, my heart folds in on itself. I’m so close—I could have it all. A life, a love of my own. I could finally age and die— But if I don’t regain my gifts fully, I can’t help Blake and I may lose my chance with him altogether. Hell, maybe I already have.
Chewing on my lip, I flip back and forth between my decision.
This is not the way I like to make decisions—impetuously, impulsively. Not anymore. But what choice do I have?
“I accept,” I say, the words stinging my tongue as they tumble out.
I can’t believe I’m throwing it all away—but there’s no other option. A new sense of purpose—of direction emboldens my being. If I can unlock my memories and the rest of my abilities, I’ll be able to see everything more clearly. I’ll be able to help Blake—and help the girls.
Suddenly, from the center of the room, the same style of pedestal from my memory rises from the ground. This time, instead of a golden bowl of water, the large bowl in the center is pounded silver; reminiscent of the way moonlight pools along the water’s edge.
Jasmine and rose continue permeating the air and while I see no one, I sense the power and presence of the Goddess.
“You have performed powerful magic, Pythia. More potent than you realize. The water from my river will return to you that which you’ve forgotten and lift any blockages to the memories they shield back. Be ready for the deluge. It will give rise to a power you perhaps didn’t realize you were holding at bay,” Mnemosyne says, her words echoing within and around me.
Swallowing down my trepidation, I nod. “I understand and I’m ready.”
“Drink, and it shall be done,” Mnemosyne’s voice is like music on the wind as it tinkles with its own air of magic.
Stepping forward to the pedestal, I take a deep breath and peer within. The water ripples gently around the edge of the bowl and my mind flashes back to the last memory I was gifted. To think it all comes full circle. I was here, crying out to the universe, to Apollo and Mnemosyne, to take my memories as I wished away the despair I felt for losing Anastasios.
And now, I’m right back where I started, desperate to have everything returned so I can save his reincarnated soul.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed I’d be here. Especially since reincarnation never seemed plausible since I never received any insights it was—
Holy shit—that’s another way this spell affected what I could see.
Shaking away the mild revelation, I cup my hands, dipping them in the cool, clear water and raising the liquid to my lips. I drink in the power and energy from the Mnemosyne River—or at least a small offering gifted to me by the Goddess herself. I allow it to wash away all the blockages I’ve placed upon myself—knowing full well there’s no turning back now.
I will live my life eternally and in the servitude of Apollo—for whatever that means.
It also means I will watch Blake live, grow old, and die—if I’m lucky.
When nothing happens from the first sips, I dip my hands in again, and continue to consume as much of the water as I can bear. I’m acutely aware of the clarity and cleanliness in the motion this time around—there’s no blood on my hands, no tears. But the same fierce determination stirs inside my belly.
Without warning, the cavern itself rumbles—the walls and ground both quake with the energy of Mnemosyne’s magic. Stones unhinge from their hiding places along the walls and ceiling, crashing to the floor around me. From behind me, deep crevasses eek across the wall where I carved Mnemosyne’s mark, fracturing the stone and forcing slabs of rock to slam to the ground; annihilating the symbol and any power it possessed.
An outburst of energy explodes from the stone slabs and I’m thrown forward in the momentum. Swirls of purple, blue, and white streaks circle around me, unbinding me from the pull of Mnemosyne’s mark. Dropping to my knees, I steady myself on the floor, my fingertips digging into the rock and dirt beneath me as I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to heave. Just like before, I clutch at my stomach, doubling over as whatever magic imbued in the water releases its torrent within me.
Memories flood into my awareness, bursting through and inundating all of my senses—every single one. All of my experiences; sight, sound, taste, smell, touch—I recall every glance, every embrace, every stolen moment with Anastasios. There was a reason I lost my entire first twenty-four years—he was there, with me, every step of the way. He and I were
inseparable from the moment we could crawl, walk, and talk. There wasn’t a moment where Anastasios wasn’t somehow intertwined with my life and it was clear, even to the Gods, how intertwined our souls were.
As small children, we would play down at the Gulf of Corinth, carving small boats in the driftwood and racing them together. We would sneak out at night, playing in the moonlight and telling each other ghost stories. Then, when adolescence followed us, we would sit by the same water’s edge, watching the sunset through stolen kisses. I remember the smell of his skin as his lips lingered on mine and the way he always tasted like grapes.
I close my eyes and touch my lips.
His eyes were the same color as they are now—a deep, passionate brown with more flecks of colors hidden in the intricacies of his irises.
When I was tapped to become one of Apollo’s priestesses—we didn’t know I would become his sole prophetic vessel. Neither of us knew I would become immortal—not at first. But as this news arose, Anastasios was there with me when it rocked my world. He held me and kissed my forehead as I swore to Apollo, then and there, that I would never serve a master who would be so cruel. I didn’t want the burden of being alone forever, but Anastasios promised me he would remain by my side in whatever way he could—even if it meant we could never really be together.
He joined Apollo’s guard—just so he could protect the Temple and all of the priestesses inside—but everyone knew he was really there for me.
He was strong, and capable, and loyal like that. There was no one else—not a single soul I could ever have imagined myself with. Even Apollo himself took second place to the love I felt for Anastasios.
But the day my sister took him from me—
Iphitheme.
My eyes widen with newfound enlightenment as the memory returns.
He didn’t die of natural causes. It wasn’t the natural course, or the plan Apollo had laid out. Instead, it was my sister—a priestess in my inner sanctum who took matters into her own hands. How could he have seen her betrayal coming when he swore an oath to protect her?
Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book Page 18