Oracle of Spirits #4 (BBW Paranormal Romance)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Other Books

  Oracle of Spirits #4 (BBW Paranormal Romance)

  MAC FLYNN

  Text copyright 2016 by Mac Flynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the author.

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  CHAPTER 1

  I dreamed a lot nowadays. Strange, whispering dreams of dark rooms and quiet voices full of warning.

  The funny thing was, they were always the same, and tonight was no exception. I stood in the center of the dark room in a spotlight, and all around me were the sounds of groans, cries, and those whispering voices.

  "Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone there?"

  "Danger. Danger," echoed a voice.

  I snorted and crossed my arms over my chest. This wasn't one of those normal dreams where free-will wasn't optional. I could laugh and frown, and yell. I could do everything but leave that circle of light. Fear kept me in that light. Something inside me told me if I left that circle I could never come back to it.

  "I kind of got that from everybody trying to eat or kill me," I retorted.

  "Danger."

  "I get it already! What's the danger?" I yelled.

  "Shadow. Dark shadows."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're a load of help."

  "I don't think I'm that bad," a new voice chimed in. It was familiar, and there was a teasing quality to it.

  "Who are you?" I questioned the new voice.

  "You know who I am, so just wake up!" the voice shouted.

  My eyes shot open and I beheld the amused face of Ian Osman, my boss and, I'll admit, slight crush. He knelt beside my bed and his smiling face peeked over the horizon of the mattress.

  "You know, you're beautiful when you're asleep," he complimented.

  I sat up and glared at him in all my Medusa glory. My hair stuck out in all directions and my eyes were a little bloodshot. Parts of my face were flattened from the pillow, and my lips were dry and cracked.

  "And you're a really terrible liar, now what are you doing in my room?" I growled at him.

  He stood and nodded at the window beside the bed. "It's time to get up."

  I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was early evening, about five. The sun was gone and darkness had taken its place. I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. My fingers got stuck and I pulled out more than one strand of hair freeing them.

  "Give me a break. I'm still not used to all this night-owl stuff," I reminded him as I let fall the strands of hair from my fingers.

  "It's a cruel, harsh world that forces a beautiful woman from her beauty sleep, but we all have to make sacrifices to survive," he teased.

  I rolled my eyes and flung aside the sheets. "Does the amount of bullshit in your body ever run dry?" I asked him as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

  "I haven't found the depths yet," he quipped. He stepped aside to let me stand. "By the way, what was all that muttering about?"

  I shuffled towards the door of our shared bathroom. "What muttering?" I returned.

  "The muttering in your sleep. You sounded like you were having a nightmare," he commented.

  "I was dreaming about you," I retorted as I opened the door and dragged myself into the bathroom.

  He followed me and stuck his head through the doorway. His eyebrows wagged and his smile turned into a lecherous grin. "Was it a good one?"

  I spun around and glared at him. "I said I was dreaming about you, so it was a nightmare, now go away."

  I slammed the door on his face, and it gave me pleasure to hear his nasally voice from the other side of the shut entrance.

  "I fink you're getting stronger," he mused.

  I didn't deign to reply, but readied myself for another long, boring night with no one for company but the lecherous clown outside the bathroom door, and his moody assistant, Cronus.

  "What kind of a name is Cronus, anyway?" I muttered to myself as I washed my hair. "I mean, come on? What the hell does it even mean?"

  I washed up to where I wouldn't break any mirrors or turn anyone into stone, and walked downstairs. Voices drifted out of the front parlor, so I took a peek around the corner and into the room. Ian sat in his usual chair and Cronus stood in front of him with a small tablet phone in his hand.

  "When do we meet them?" Ian asked him.

  "This evening," Cronus replied.

  "When do we meet who?" I spoke up.

  Ian grinned at me, but Cronus didn't even turn around as I entered.

  "A new case, and one that might pay us a little more than the last couple," Ian told me.

  I plopped myself onto the couch and snorted. "So we might get a buck?"

  "Or maybe even two," he joked. He returned his attention to Cronus, but nodded at me. "You may as well tell her what you told me."

  Cronus' frown deepened, but he turned to me and read the notes from his tablet. "A Mr. Titus Cash contacted us tonight through our mutual acquaintance, Officer Morgan. He explained that his house, which up to now suited him and his wife, has recently become haunted. He infers that it may be because of recent renovations to the oldest portions of the structure."

  "What kind of haunting are we talking about? Noises?" I guessed.

  Cronus glared at my intrusion, but continued. "Knocking, footsteps, shadows, objects moved without anyone remembering moving them-"

  "The usual poltergeist things," Ian spoke up.

  "So why don't they just call an exorcist?" I suggested.

  "An exorcism was attempted, but failed. The hauntings have increased exponentially over the last week, and an apparition has been witnessed on the third and fourth floors," Cronus continued.

  "So now we have to clean up the mess left by an idiot priest," Ian grumbled.

  Cronus lowered his device. "So it appears."

  Ian sighed and rose from his chair. "Well, I guess we'd better not keep them waiting."

  I jumped to my feet. "Can I come, too?" I requested.

  He turned to me with a grin. "Of course. If I let you stay here you might get into trouble with a satyr, and then I'd be jealous enough to have to kill him."

  I raised an eyebrow. "What's a satyr?"

  Ian chuckled. "I'll tell you when you're older, but we've got some clients to meet."

  All three of us got into the car and drove to the usual meeting spot, a park not far from where I used to live. For this trip, though, I got out and walked with the guys over to the gazebo near the center of the park. There was already a fancy car in the parking lot when we arrived, and a well-dressed couple stood uneasily beneath the roof of the gazebo. They were middle-aged, though the woman tried to hide her wrinkles under too much makeup. A fur stole was wrapped around her shoulders, and she wore a short, tight dress that showed off her curves and a few more wrinkles on her legs. Her hair was tinted and short, and wrapped in a tight bun behind her head. The man was gray-haired and wore a tailored suit with shiny buttons and shinier black shoes. He held
a cane in one hand and a frown on his face.

  We walked up the short flight of steps onto the gazebo, and Ian approached them with his hand outstretched.

  "Good evening. My name is Ian Osman, the owner of the paranormal agency," he greeted them. The gentleman shook hands, and the lady offered hers. Ian gallantly took her hand and kissed the top.

  She graced him with a small, tense smile that had no warmth. "You certainly have more class than the police," she complimented him.

  "We have more time on our hands to be so, but my assistant here, Mr. Cronus, tells me you have a very unique problem which we may be able to solve," Ian commented.

  The gentleman, Mr. Cash, pursed his lips and gave a nod. "Yes, or at least we hope you can help us. The-well, the strange occurrences began about three months ago. You see, my wife and I bought an old estate outside the city about five years ago to retire, which I did six months ago. We recognized that the house needed some work, and hired a contractor to perform the work. It was shortly after that that there were the-well, the problems."

  "Has anyone been injured because of these problems?" Ian asked him.

  Mr. Cash nodded. "Yes. Several painters and carpenters have fallen from their ladders. They say they were pushed. Another worker was shoved down the stairs."

  "So only shoving?" Ian wondered.

  "Yes, but the noises have become louder, and as I told your assistant over the phone an intruder has been spotted on the third and fourth floors," he added.

  "Typical signs of a poltergeist, but I'd need to investigate further, and as soon as possible," Ian advised.

  Mr. turned to his wife. "What do you think, Ada? Shouldn't we better allow them?"

  "Are you sure you can handle this case, Mr. Osman?" Mrs. Cash wondered. I noticed her gaze fell on Cronus and me. "It is a delicate matter and needs the most professional of touches as we wouldn't wish for our acquaintances to know of our 'problem.'"

  Ian smiled and bowed his head to her. "You have our utmost confidence, Mrs. Cash. We won't tell a soul, or at least not one living."

  Mr. Cash set a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Come, my dear, we must have someone handle this problem or we won't be able to invite any of our friends over."

  "What of that organization the priest recommended to us? That Paranormal Association, or whatever it was?" she suggested.

  Ian chuckled. "I can assure you, Mrs. Cash, we can get the job done better than anyone from the Paranormal Society."

  "But not at a better price," she argued.

  "My dear, we can afford both of them, and think of the expense we've gone through with all the renovations," her husband reminded her. "We can't very well abandon them and sell the house. Not if its reputation preceded any sale."

  Mrs. Cash sighed and waved her hand at us. "Very well. You have your case, Mr. Osman, but we will only pay half down. The rest you will receive upon completion of your task to rid us of these things."

  "Thank you for the honor, Mrs. Cash," Ian replied.

  And with that we got our next job.

  CHAPTER 2

  "What a snob!" I snapped as we drove home.

  "Ghosts aren't that choosy, so we can't always choosy with our clients," Ian pointed out.

  I fell back against my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. "But she didn't have to look at us like that. She probably thought we were garbage."

  "Or worse, but we got the job and not the Paranormal Society, and that's what matters," Ian commented.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why does that matter?"

  "Because they're idiots," he explained.

  "That doesn't really tell me anything," I argued.

  "Revel in your ignorance," he advised me. He looked through the rear view mirror at me and smiled. "Besides, we'll have a lot of fun with Quinn and Ceci on this trip." Cronus stiffened.

  I blinked at him. "They're coming?"

  He nodded. "It's a big estate, and the more eyes the merrier. Besides, Ceci might give you a few more pointers while we're there that she hasn't given you during your training with her."

  I slid down in my seat and frowned. "I wish she could tell me how to control that Blessing stuff."

  Cronus slightly turned his head back in my direction and one glaring eye fell on me. "If you do not know how to use the skill then I recommend you control your emotions and avoid using it at all."

  I glared back at him. "That Blessing thing saved my life twice. I don't think I'm going to stop using it."

  "Cronus has a point," Ian spoke up.

  "You're going to take his side now?" I growled.

  "If you have a gift that's powerful enough to blast that many Phantoms into bits then it should be used sparingly. That means controlling your emotions and using your talismans instead of the Blessing. Besides, relying on the Blessing isn't that safe. You have to cry or give some blood to do it," he told me.

  I sank deeper into the seat and tried to burn holes through the backs of their headrests. "Is this the thanks I get for saving your hide twice?" I grumbled.

  "It's not about who saved who. You could hurt yourself doing that," Ian warned me as he looked at me through the rear view mirror. "The Blessing is a dangerous ability. Very few mystics ever obtain that kind of power, and not many of them live to brag about it. At least not for very long."

  I turned my face away and sighed. "Fine. I'll try to use the talismans."

  Ian smiled. "Good. I'd hate to go to the funeral of such a beautiful woman. Besides-" He gave me a goofy grin, "-I don't look good in black."

  I broached his personage-with the dark overcoat and dark attire underneath-and snorted. "Yeah. We all know how bad you hate black."

  "It's a weakness," he agreed.

  The next appointment to meet our new illustrious clients was the following day at their estate. Ian loaned me a bag for the trip, and I packed what little clothes I'd appropriated from him. We piled into the car for the long road trip.

  "So how far away is this place again?" I asked Ian.

  "It's an hour outside the city. We should reach there by sundown, and Quinn and Ceci will meet us there a little after that," he replied.

  "Why not meet us at sunset?" I inquired.

  "Quinn couldn't get off work any earlier from his hot dog stand," he explained.

  I blinked at him. "Come again?"

  Ian chuckled. "The paranormal is just a side-job. Quinn's main occupation is as a hot dog vendor on the streets, but don't tell him I told you that. He's a little touchy about it."

  "Believe me, I won't bring it up," I swore.

  Except maybe to crack a couple of jokes about mustard and ketchup.

  I wasn't too interested in the drive through the familiar city, so I pulled out the book Cecilia let me borrow a week or so back, Demons and Their Nemesis. The index had a whole list of strange names like lamia, Baal, Beelzebub, and Pontianak, and sub-chapters with how to kill them. The most familiar to me was the vampire section. The usual methods of decapitation and staking were, surprisingly, applicable. I'd have to ask Ruthven if that was true.

  That reminded me of something, and I leaned forward between the seats. "Did you give Ruthven that code? The one Cronus found at the factory etched in that ankle tracker?" I asked Ian.

  Ian continued looking ahead, but nodded. "Yep. He didn't have a clue what it meant, either, but he's looking into it."

  "And anything about that guy in the white suit?" I wondered.

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not a thing, but he's still looking into that, too."

  I fell back with an air of defeat and took up the book again. There was one section that caught my attention. It was at the way back, past all the separate entries, and seemed to be a catch-all. It read thusly:

  All demons and evil creatures have one common weakness: they cannot withstand the power of Light. It is a symbol of hope, goodness, and purification, all traits that are detested by the dark beings, of which demons are a minor subset. Likewise, Light's progeny, Fire, is also use
ful in fending off, or even destroying, such evil creatures as are represented in this book. One need only have an inner Light, whether granted by a blood lineage or through a noble life, to ward off some or all levels of evil.

  I snorted and shut the book. I wasn't narcissistic enough to believe my inner light came from a noble life. Maybe in another life I'd been a good girl, and that goodness had rolled over like cell phone minutes into this life.

  "What are you reading?" Ian asked me.

  "Just some book Cecilia gave me," I told him as I tucked the book into my bag.

  I glanced around us at the countryside. The blocks of asphalt jungle fell away and became rolling hills filled with fields of food and livestock. Small white farmhouses with picket fences dotted the landscape like nostalgic Kinkade paintings. Here and there was a large red barn, or a large commercial dairy that wreaked of cow manure. We passed through a few small towns that were more like satellites for our city, and the people paid us no notice.

  We arrived at our destination just before sunset. The Cash estate abutted the road, but the house itself stood at the end of a half-mile gravel driveway, and was shielded from prying eyes by a row of dense trees that followed the public road for two hundred yards before the plants took a sharp ninety degree turn away from the road. Short ornamental trees lined the driveway, but at this time of year they were skeletal shades of themselves. The lawn was brown, but not dead, and was dotted with ancient oak trees and random rows of tall, thin cypress. The cypress trees shielded the house from the driveway.

  We didn't get a clear view of the house until we were twenty feet from the roundabout in front of it. The tall, stately manor built in the Baroque style came into view, a towering behemoth of stone and wood with four floors and a full attic. The structure would have occupied half the length of a football field, but wasn't quite as deep. A large, angled cellar door embedded the ground on the right-hand side told me there was a basement. The tall, wide pane windows of the flat facade glared down at us like we were unwelcome guests, and the massive oak door in the front that sank into the wall seemed to me like a mouth waiting to swallow us.