Oracle of Spirits #1 (Werewolf Shifter Romance) Read online

I clutched at my fast-beating heart and glared at Osman. "You really are trying to get us killed, aren't you?" I growled.

  A crooked grin graced his lips and he shrugged. "It was an honest mistake," he protested.

  "Honest, my ass!" I snapped at him.

  He leaned to one side and looked down at my mentioned spot. "And as nice an ass as it is, we really should get going."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "I'm not going anywhere except home alone."

  "I told you that wasn't an option, and I mean that in the most persuasive way," he insisted.

  I held up my hands in front of me. "Listen. Whatever the hell's going on, I don't want to be a part of it," I countered. "I've got no car, a crappy apartment, and a difficult job, but I sure as hell am not trading it in for the shit you've thrown at me."

  "I haven't thrown anything at you. This trouble is centered around you," he argued.

  I threw my arms in the air and paced a spot in front of him. "There's no way anybody's after me. I'm not special enough to have a stalker, much less a phantom stalker."

  "The Phantom Whisperer we met disagrees, and all that matters is his opinion," Osman persisted. "And since you insist on being difficult, then I have no choice."

  "I'm not being-hey!" Osman picked me up and swung me over one shoulder so my stomach lay over his bony shoulder and I had a great view of his back. "Let me down! This is kidnapping!"

  "You'll thank me later," he told me as he sprinted off across the roofs.

  I had a front-row seat to the long drops beneath us as we jumped and sprinted over the remainder of the block's roofs. Osman took the last fire escape to street level and I was dropped into the front passenger seat of his car. I tried to jump to the driver's side and out of the vehicle, but he wrestled me into the seat and grabbed the seatbelt. He pulled the strap across me and tied the belt to its buckle. Osman stepped back and admired his handiwork as I writhed and squirmed in the tight strap.

  "Let me go!" I demanded.

  He shook his head and walked around the car to slip into his seat. "I'm really sorry about this-"

  "If you're sorry then let me go!" I snapped.

  "Sorry doesn't mean I'm stupid," he argued as he started the car. He pulled out onto the deserted street and we drove in the opposite direction of my home, and at a speed that definitely wasn't legal. "If I let you go then that guy and his phantoms will kill you, or worse." He looked over to me and studied me. "You sure you don't know why he wants you?"

  I rolled my eyes. "I'm pretty sure. The only thing I've got is a creepiness factor that scares people."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting that."

  I squirmed in my seat. "Damn, because if you were you'd probably not be doing this to me."

  "What sort of creepiness?" he wondered.

  I shrugged as much as I could in my bindings. "I-" I didn't get to finish before a dark shadow landed in the backseat. "Phantom!" I screamed.

  Osman yanked the steering wheel and we veered onto the sidewalk. He whipped his head back and his tense face softened. He also got us back on the road and chuckled.

  "That's just Cronus," he told me.

  I tilted my head back and saw it was indeed an upside-down pale stranger, the one who'd stalked me on the bus. "How the hell did you get back there?" I asked him.

  We must've been going fifty down the streets, and I didn't see any flight suit or strings to slide him into the seat.

  That crooked smile graced Osman's lips and he shook his head. "Don't expect too many answers from him. He likes to play it cool." Cronus glared at the back of Osman's head, but didn't reply.

  I slumped down in my seat prison and frowned. "So what are you going to do with me, anyway?"

  Osman wagged a finger at me. "No changing the subject. We were talking about you and your weirdness. You were going to explain to me your strange vibe."

  I turned away from him. "It's not a vibe, it's just what I do sometimes."

  "And what's that?" he persisted.

  I shrugged. "I know people's names when I don't remember hearing them, and sometimes I know there's a problem somewhere nearby, and it turns out there was." The car slowed down. I looked ahead for an obstruction, but there was nothing there, so I glanced at Osman. He had his full attention on me and there was a contemplative, serious look on his face. "What? Okay, fine, it's not that weird, but it gets the patients riled up."

  Osman faced ahead and pursed his lips. "I guess that explains it. . ." he muttered.

  I frowned. "Explains what?"

  "Why those guys were after you, or maybe it doesn't. We'll find out," he replied.

  I tilted my head and my face twisted into confusion. "What's that mean?" I asked him.

  "It means hold on," he told me.

  "I'm kind of strapped-what the hell!" Osman punched on the gas and we flew down the road at top speed.

  Now I prayed the belt would hold as we sped through the streets of the dark city. Osman kept to the back roads to avoid traffic, pedestrians, and cops. I watched the blur of a city change from my residential area, through the older commercial district, and to an old part of town I'll kindly refer to as 'slummy.' The houses were older than my grandparents and in worse health. Most of them were small bungalow-types with roofs that sagged and yards that looked like they'd never met a sprinkler they liked. The windows were covered in plastic for the coming winter and the weathered doors saw better days decades ago.

  There were a few exceptions. Among the bungalows were a few old Victorian mansions with sagging porches and yards that looked like they'd never seen a sprinkler, much less hated one. The peeked roofs stabbed the sky and a few worn decorations shaped as faces glared down at us from their high perches.

  "We looking for a vampire to stake now?" I quipped.

  Osman smiled. "Not quite."

  He drove us around a corner of a block and took a right into a narrow, dirty, garbage-filled alley. Both sides were lined with leaning wooden fences and the occasional ancient, leaning garage. I got a whiff of the place and wished I had my hand to plug my nose.

  "Putting me through this stench is against the Geneva Convention," I warned him.

  "You have no idea," he returned.

  We soon arrived at a garage that didn't lean. One of the two-floor, full-attic Victorian houses graced the front part of the lot like a sore on the end of a witch's nose. Osman stopped the car and pressed a button on the dash. The garage door raised and we drove into a relatively clean space. The door shut behind us and enveloped us in pitch-black darkness. I saw Osman's shadowy form hop out of the car and soon his hands were at my seat belt.

  "Now don't get any ideas about screaming or trying to run," he warned me as he untied me. He opened my car door and helped me out. "It wouldn't do you any good. My neighbors are rather used to screams and gunshots, and a woman running down the street screaming about kidnapping won't get you much attention, or attention you'd want."

  "You ever heard of the old saying 'birds of a feather flock together?'" I asked him.

  "Yes, but I haven't had my wings plucked like some of my neighbors," he quipped.

  Osman guided me around the front of the car and to the front of the garage. Cronus opened the door that led to the backyard, and we passed by his frowning face and onto the wet dirt of a yard. The back of the house had a single door in the center of the rear wall that was protected by the wrap-around porch. A tall wooden fence without breaks or cracks surrounded the entire backyard. Above us was the dark, clear sky of an autumn night, and far-off came the sounds of shouting and yelling, followed by a gunshot that made me cringe. Someone just lost an argument.

  Osman had a firm grip on my arm and led me across the lawn. We walked up the few short, broken steps onto the porch and Osman let me go to unlock the door.

  I bolted.

  I spun around and avoided Cronus with a quick hop over the railing that surrounded the
porch. My feet hit the weed-choked ground running and I covered five yards pretty fast, but I didn't stand a chance. Someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me off my feet. A foot off my feet. I dangled in the air and tried to free myself, but the person had a vice-like grip. I twisted around to find myself staring into the disinterested face of Cronus.

  Osman walked up behind Cronus and lit a cigarette. "I told you not to go anywhere," he reminded me.

  I grabbed onto Cronus' hand and tried to rip it off me, but his fingers didn't even twitch. "What the hell are you guys?" I questioned them.

  Osman jerked his head over his shoulder at the house. "Come inside, willingly, and I'll give you some answers."

  I frowned, but being a foot of the ground meant I didn't have much of a choice, so I nodded. "Fine, you win. For now." Cronus set me down. I rubbed my wrist and cast a side-glance at him. "Ate your Wheaties today, huh?" He just frowned at me.

  Osman slipped past him and set his hand on the lower part of my back. "This way, beautiful," he instructed me.

  I rolled my eyes and shrugged off his hand. "I'm going to be expecting the truth from you, not a bunch of lies I might want to hear."

  He held up his hands and the cigarette dangled from his lips. "All right. A guy can get a hint. Follow me."

  Osman led me back to the door and this time we went through it. The house was built in two halves with the hallway in the middle. I could see all the way down to the front door and a banister in front of that and to the right told me where the stairs to the second floor stood. There were some open doorways on the left leading to a study and at the front was a living room. The right side led to the kitchen and dining room.

  The whole place was freshly painted, and the old wood floor was sanded and polished. The light fixtures above us were dusted and shone with modern light bulbs. I didn't catch a whiff of decay or even dust.

  I followed Osman down the hall while Cronus followed behind me like a creeping shadow. I glanced over my shoulder and glared at his stoic face. He didn't blink and his movements were so fluid that I was reminded of a well-oiled clock or some other punctual machine.

  "You mind not creeping me out?" I requested.

  "Yes," was his bland reply.

  I was in one of the circles of Hell, but at least I was about to find out which one.

  CHAPTER 9