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
Other Books
Oracle of Spirits #2 (BBW Paranormal Romance)
MAC FLYNN
Text copyright 2016 by Mac Flynn
All rights reserved.
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CHAPTER 1
I'd gone far down the rabbit hole, and I wondered how deep I had to go to hit the bottom. It was the same harrowing night of the hags, and I still sat in my bed with Osman seated opposite me in the wooden chair.
"Let's just cut to the chase and you tell me the details about this paranormal mess," I commanded him.
Osman took a puff on his cigarette before he stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "All right. Cronus and I help people who have paranormal problems, especially ones who might not know they have them."
"You mean people like me?" I guessed.
"You, and others who are a little harder to convince that they're being haunted," he told me.
"Skeptics," I commented.
"Exactly," he confirmed.
"So how can a novice mystic like me fit into your agency?" I wondered.
"That depends on your abilities," he replied.
"And those might be what?" I asked him.
"Destroying phantoms with talismans, for one," he reminded me. "And with some training you can probably sense their presence."
"And what's the pay?" I inquired.
"Sometimes there's pay, and sometimes there's not," he replied.
I gestured to the room around us. "It can't be that bad if you can afford this place."
He turned his head left and right and let his eyes wander over the room. "This was financed by my past life."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you haven't always been a werewolf?"
He shook his head. "No, only ten years."
"I'm guessing the change wasn't exactly your choice," I mused.
"Not exactly, but that's in the past and you don't want to hear about old stories," he commented.
I snorted and gestured down at my bruised body beneath the sheets. "I think I've got some time on my hands."
Osman shrugged and leaned back in the chair. He lit a cigarette and tucked it into the corner of his mouth as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"What I'm about to tell you took place ten years ago. I was a lot younger then. Had a job as a cop with a girlfriend I thought I might marry. Anyway, I was out on a beat with my partner when we got a call about a robbery. The suspect was near us, so we went after him," he told me. He leaned back and shook his head. "If we would've known it was a werewolf we would've waited for backup, but as it was we caught the suspect in the alley near the jewelry store. The thing came at us so fast we barely had time to fire off a few shots before it charged into us. It went for my partner first. His throat was sliced open. He was dead in seconds."
I winced. "I'm sorry."
He took a puff of his cigarette and shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Anyway, I shot at the beast, but the bullets didn't even slow it down as it jumped me and bit my shoulder trying to get at my throat. I managed to pry it off my shoulder and shoved the butt of my gun into its mouth. Steam rose up out of its mouth and I smelled burnt flesh."
"Silver," I mused.
He nodded. "Silver. Well, the thing screamed and stumbled back. I stood up and looked at my dead partner, and something inside me snapped." He ran a hand through his hair and bit down hard on his cigarette. "The next thing I knew the creature was dead, and it didn't stick in that form for long. Killing a werewolf means it reverts back to its human forms, and this one was no exception. There I was standing over the dead body of the suspect with a deep gash in my shoulder and my partner nearby with his throat torn open."
I cringed. "That doesn't sound good."
He shook his head. "It wasn't the greatest predicament I'd been in. Backup decided to come, and that's how they found me. I still had the murder weapon, my gun, in my hand." He leaned back and shook his head. "They had a hell of a time snapping me out of it enough to pry it from my tight fingers."
"So did they charge you with murder?" I wondered.
"No. There was enough evidence on me to justify self-defense, and my partner being dead helped my case," he explained. "I was taken to the hospital where I recuperated, but I was discharged from force for mental health issues because nobody would believe what I saw, and the only witness was my dead partner"
"So they thought you were nuts?" I guessed.
Osman nodded. "Pretty much. I went to counseling for a few weeks, but the doctors there were all quacks. Besides, I knew what I saw, and what made things worse was the stuff I started seeing and smelling."
"Werewolf perception?" I guessed.
He shook his head. "No, this was different. I started seeing shadows where there wasn't anybody, and I could smell death everything." He tamped out the short cigarette and his eyes flickered up to me. "You have any idea how many people die in a city every day?"
"A lot?" I guessed.
"Yeah, and some of those people don't go to the other side. They linger here and stink up the place with their rotting souls," he told me.
I wrinkled my nose. "Sounds delicious."
"It smells like a charnel house," he told me. He leaned back and furrowed his brow. "I found that I could see and smell these dead people, and I saw what happened when spirits stayed on earth a little too long. They'd start to change."
"Change into what?" I asked him.
"Into monsters," he explained. "Some would start off slow, and others would be quick, but they'd all change. Some turned into hags and poltergeists, and others got the pleasure of being the creature you saw, a phantom. Others got worse."
"Worse?" I repeated.
He nodded. "Yeah. They're called wraiths, and if you think those phantoms are terrifying just try meeting a wraith in an alley on a moonless night. It'll age you."
"So other than strange company, what's the catch?" I wondered.
"The catch was they could see me, too, and some of them weren't too keen on that," he revealed.
"Did you try telling anybody about this?" I wondered.
He pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, my girlfriend, Tiffany, but she didn't want to hear about it, not after I'd already lost my job and quit my counseling. I tried to get my act straight, go normal, but once you go into the paranormal world you never come out."
I cringed. "Comforting."
He sighed and shrugged. "That's the way it is for both of us. Like you said, we're both cursed. Yours is just natural."
"Doesn't exactly give me comfort," I retorted.
"Sometimes the cards we're dealt aren't that great, but we've got to make the most of it," he commented. He stood and half-turned away from me. "But I think that's enough of my story. You've got enough on your plate without hearing about my mess."
Wait." I reached out my hand towards him. "You can't leave in the middle of a story."
His eyes studied me. "You sure you want to hear the rest?"
"Why not? Is there that much left?" I returned.
He shook his head and turned to fac
e me. "No. I came home from a job interview one night and found Tiffany dead on the living room floor with a wraith over her."
I felt the color drain from my face. "I'm. . .I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Osman managed a bitter smile. "It's fine. It's in the past, remember? Anyway, it'd taken her soul and all I could think about was destroying it with this curse I had. Maybe go out with a bang. Let's just say that even with my powers the fight was short, and I would've joined Tiffany if Cronus hadn't come out of nowhere and destroyed it."
I wrinkled my nose. "So he's like your guardian angel or something?"
Osman gave me that strange crooked grin of his. "Something like that. He's the one who taught me about the different kinds of dead and paranormal people like mystics and whispers. He also told me I was different from other werewolves. Very few can actually sense the dead."
"How'd you get stuck with that?" I wondered.
He shrugged. "Just the way the ball bounced for me. Now I'm stuck as a werewolf with this unusual job and a rather unusual partner. All because I wouldn't wait in the car for backup."
CHAPTER 2
"Could be worse," I spoke up.
"I could be dead?" he teased.
"No, you could be a Phantom," I pointed out.
He smiled. "I have to admit that would be worse."
"So why this business? For revenge or just because you're good at it?" I guessed.
Osman's smile slipped off his face and he frowned. He put his hands on the edge of the bed and leaned towards me. I leaned away, but our faces ended up only a few inches from one another. His voice was soft and soothing, like a breeze on a hot summer day.
"Because I get a chance to meet beautiful women like you."
I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. "You're impossible."
He stumbled into the chair and plopped down. His smile returned and he wagged his eyebrows at me. "But not undate-able," he argued.
"How does your ego fit into this house?" I quipped.
"I can fold space and time, but speaking of time-" he glanced at his watch, "-it's just about time to get to work. That is, if you still want the job."
I glanced out the window and realized the sun wasn't rising, it was setting. "How long was I knocked out?" I asked him.
"Most of the day. Having your soul nearly removed from your body is takes a lot out of you even when it doesn't," he commented. He stood and looked me over. "So you still want the job?"
"Yeah, but I'm going to want a few things from my apartment," I told him.
He shook his head. "I wouldn't advise going back there, at least not at night."
I furrowed my brow. "Is helping you going to help me find out why that guy and his pets were after me?" I wondered.
He shrugged. "Maybe, but I'll help you whether you help me or not." He leaned towards me and grinned. "But I would appreciate the company of a beautiful woman," he added.
I gestured down at my clothes. They were fifty shades of muck from the river road.
"If I'm going anywhere then I'm going to need some new clothes," I insisted.
"Well, there are my clothes," he offered.
My shoulders slumped and my face fell. "Is that the only choice I have?"
"There's always 'or nothing,' but I don't think you want to take that one," he replied.
"Where's your closet?"
"I'll get you the clothes. You just stay here," he commanded me. He turned and strode towards the closed door.
"But you don't know my size," I pointed out.
He paused at the door and turned to me with that grin. That evil, crooked grin. "I think I've gotten enough view of you to guess."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned him.
"It means I'll be right back," he promised. He slipped into the hall and disappeared around the corner.
I scowled at the door and hopped out of bed. My legs were a little unstable and I stumbled towards the door like a drunken sailor halfway through their three-week shore leave. I reached the door, flung it open and stuck my head out. What I got for my trouble was a face full of shirt.
And it didn't belong to Osman.
I stumbled back and tripped over my own feet. The floor welcomed me with open hardwood floors as I fell backwards, but a hand whipped out and caught my arm. I jerked to a stop and looked up into the unsmiling face of Cronus.
"You shouldn't be here," he warned me.
I tried to wiggle from his grip, but his hand stuck, so I glared at him. "It's not like I want to be here," I pointed out.
"You don't know what you're dealing with," he persisted.
I wrenched my arm from his grasp and stepped back. "I'm dealing with a guy who doesn't know how to treat ladies."
"What are you two doing?" Osman spoke up as he popped out of his door. His customary overcoat was back on and there was a smile on his lips, but his narrowed eyes told me he wasn't exactly happy to see us together. He walked over to us with a couple of folded shirts, pants, and socks tucked under his arm. "Having a glaring contest?"
I jerked my head at Cronus. "And he's winning."
Osman wrapped an arm around me and turned me towards the room. "Well, don't take that personally. Cronus isn't too fond of anyone in the human, or inhuman, race," he told me as he caught the door with his foot and slammed it in Cronus' face.
"So don't take it personally because he hates everybody?" I guessed.
"Pretty much," he agreed as he set the clothes on the bed. He stepped back and gestured to them. There was a limited assortment of t-shirts and jeans with plain white socks and a couple of belts. "I hope some of these are your style."
I picked up a shirt and raised it to my face. "I suppose they look like they fit," I commented.
"You could try them on. I wouldn't mind waiting," he offered.
I lowered the shirt and glared at him. "Outside."
"No, here," he corrected me.
I jerked my head towards the door. "Wait outside with your creepy partner."
He shrugged and turned away. "All right, but I was going to tell you what we're doing tonight."
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "Fine, you can stay in here, but turn around, and I swear to God if I find you peaking I'm gouging at those pretty yellow eyes of yours."
Osman turned to me and grinned. "So you think my eyes are pretty?"
"Just turn around," I growled.
"Spinning," he agreed as he looked the other way.
I snatched up a clean blue shirt and a pair of jeans. "So what are we doing tonight? More banshees?" I asked him.
"Those were hags, and no. We got a call from one of my connections at the police station that said something about a disturbance at a new business in an older district of town," he told me.
I kept one eye on him while I dressed. "And this is weird how?"
"They don't appear to be coming from anyone, or anywhere, in the house, but everywhere," he explained.
I zipped up the jeans which finished my dressing and turned to him to cross my arms over my chest. "Stop with the mysterious act and just tell me what we might be up against."
"Possibly a haunting, but I can't be sure without a look," he revealed.
"And you can turn around now," I informed him.
He turned and smiled at me. "Not bad. You should wear my clothes more often. Or maybe nothing at all."
"This is only until I can get to my apartment during the day and get my own clothes," I reminded him.
Osman stepped over to me and inspected my attire. "My clothes look better on you except for the jeans. You might need a belt for that."
I shifted a little and even my wide hips could barely keep the waist from slipping. "I guess."
"Allow me," Osman offered. He snatched a belt from the bed and stepped up so there was only an inch between us. I stepped back, but he wrapped one arm around me to hold me still. "Now be a good girl and hold still," he commanded me.
I pressed my hands against his chest and leaned aw
ay from him. My death glare didn't do its job. "I think I can handle this on my own," I told him.
"Perhaps, but it's more fun this way," he argued.
I couldn't break his hold, but I was stiff as he looped the belt through the belt loops around the waist of the jeans. He buckled the belt and set his hands on my hips before he admired his job.
"Not bad, if I do say so myself," he commented.
I tried to push away from him, but his hands stuck on my hips. "You know, since I'm going to be working for you this could be called workplace harassment," I warned him.
"It could, but the Paranormal Society doesn't exactly handle those types of disputes," he informed me.
I wrinkled my nose. "Paranormal Society? Is that a real thing or are you just bullshitting me?"
"Both. The Society is full of bullshit, but it is real," he told me.
"And they do what exactly?" I wondered.
"Oh, investigate paranormal activity, make rules they don't follow themselves, try to rule everyone with an iron fist, the usual bureaucratic stuff," he explained.
A smirk slipped onto my lips. "Sounds like you don't like your competition."
He snorted. "You're being really generous calling them that, but we do butt heads every now and then on investigations. And speaking of that, we'd better get going. Cronus doesn't like to be kept waiting."
I almost regretted when Osman pulled his warm body away from me. Almost. We walked to the door shoulder to shoulder.
"What's that guy's story, anyway?" I asked him.
Osman grasped the knob and paused. That serious look of his slipped onto his face and he shook his head. "I told you my back story, but if you want his you'll have to get it out of him yourself."
I cringed as Osman opened the door and passed by me. "I think I'd rather face a dozen Phantoms."
"We've done that before. I wouldn't recommend it," Osman commented as he led me down the hall. Cronus was nowhere to be found.
"So what's with those pieces of paper, anyway? What's written on them?" I wondered.
We paused on the stairs and Osman rummaged through one of his overcoat pockets. "That reminds me. You might need these." He pulled out a pack of paper wrapped with a rubber band and handed them to me. "They're your own set of talismans."
I took the pack and turned it over in my hand. "All right, but what do these symbols mean?" I persisted.
"It means 'Put to Rest' in Latin," he told me.
I squinted at the symbols. "This doesn't look like Latin."