Death dates the oracle, p.1
Death Dates the Oracle, page 1
CONTENTS
About The Book
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Other Books By Kristen Painter
DEATH DATES THE ORACLE:
Nocturne Falls, Book Fifteen
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Copyright © 2023 Kristen Painter
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-1-941695-80-7
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Published in the United States of America
Welcome to Nocturne Falls, the town that celebrates Halloween 365 days a year. The tourists think it's all a show: the vampires, the werewolves, the witches, the occasional gargoyle flying through the sky. But the supernaturals populating the town know better.
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Living in Nocturne Falls means being yourself. Fangs, fur, and all.
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Eamon Underwood isn’t what you’d call a social butterfly. In fact, he avoids people altogether, outside of his job at his uncle’s funeral home, where Eamon is the mortician. For him, being around the dead is easier than being around the living. Mostly because of his very curious gift that enables him to see just how long a person has left to live. That knowledge makes personal interaction far too difficult.
Until he meets Troula Kouris. And sees…nothing.
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Troula comes to Nocturne Falls to join her crazy-cat-lady aunts as an oracle, one of the rare descendants of the original Greek oracles. She’s been preparing for it all of her life. Unfortunately, just before she leaves for Nocturne Falls, she gets an ominous prediction that leads her to believe becoming an oracle could be fatal. Or maybe the real danger is the darkly handsome neighbor who lives next door.
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When Troula and Eamon make a curious connection that leads to romance, it seems the fates want them together, despite the risks. Can a little orange kitten really solve all of their problems? Or will it all end in a catastrophe?
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For Jack, the best ginger boy ever. And to everyone who's ever had their heart stolen by an orange cat.
A whiff of freshly spun cotton candy drifted past. Troula Kouris turned into it and inhaled. Was there anything else that smelled as good as just-made cotton candy? She needed some of that. Not the silly business of having her fortune told.
“Come on, Tru. It’s just for laughs. And it’s your birthday!” Cindy Prentiss, another of the waitresses at Tru’s uncle’s restaurant, tugged on Tru’s arm, pulling her toward the tent that had a banner outside proclaiming: Madame Fatima, Seer of the Ages, and then in smaller print: $20, Cash Only.
“It’s a waste of money. No one can really tell the future,” Tru lied and shook her head in answer to her friend’s question. The happy chaos of the county fair swirled around them. Noise from the rides and the people on them. Food vendors hawking their wares. Music booming from the stage.
Add to that the sights and smells of the fair, and the place was like a human kaleidoscope of sensory input. She inhaled the scent of cotton candy again. “Plus, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”
Cindy kept her grip on Tru. “I know that, but we’re celebrating tonight. Before you head off to your aunts’. And I know it’s not really real, but it’s fun.”
“I don’t know …” Tru frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in such things as fortune telling and soothsaying and all that. She did. She believed in it more than most, because she had aunts who sort of made their living that way. The aunts she was going to visit tomorrow.
In fact, she was about to be able to see the future herself. But having a stranger tell her fortune seemed like it might be a borderline violation of supernatural rules. Would a vampire bite another vampire? Okay, it wasn’t exactly the same thing, but there was no telling if this Madame Fatima was real or just out for a quick buck.
Probably the quick buck. There were only a small handful of people gifted with the genuine ability to peek through the veil of time. And an even smaller handful who were directly descended from the Greek Oracles and could accurately make predictions that would come to pass. There were a few other things Legacy oracles could do. But she’d learn more about that in the next few days.
Tru knew all about the oracles, because she was one of them. She was a legacy. “I’d rather get a cotton candy.”
“We’ll get a cotton candy after.” Cindy shot her a look. “Seriously, let’s have some fun. Don’t be so uptight.”
“I am not uptight.”
Cindy laughed. “No, you’re really not. But don’t you think it would be a hoot? Plus, it’s my treat. For your birthday. Listen, with the way you look tonight, she’s probably going to tell you that you’re about to meet a man. Like right here at the fair.”
Tru laughed. “Yeah, okay. I do look good tonight, don’t I?” She’d taken extra time with her hair and makeup, knowing Cindy’s propensity for selfies every five minutes. Tru did not want to look like a wreck on the eve of her thirty-third birthday.
“Yeah, you do.”
Tru walked with Cindy toward the tent. Cin was like a dog with a bone when she got her teeth into an idea. And the sooner they got it over with, the sooner Tru could get some cotton candy. And maybe ride the Cyclone again.
Cindy whipped out her phone at the tent’s entrance, posed beside Tru, and held the phone in front of them with her outstretched arm. “Say cheese!”
“Cheese,” Tru dutifully replied as Cindy snapped away.
After that, they went in. Inside, the tent was pretty much what Tru had expected. Scarves and tapestries and trippy wall hangings transformed the interior into an Aladdin’s cave. Loops of beads, shards of crystal, and little mirrors dangled from overhead, casting around the light of the numerous candles like sparks. A few strings of fairy lights added to the atmosphere, while the scents of vanilla, musk, and patchouli perfumed the space.
Overlapping Oriental rugs covered the floor, and piles of fat, square cushions made up the seating area around a low table that was probably an old cable spool cut in half and draped in more scarves and tapestries.
At the center of the table, cradled in an upright claw of patinaed brass, sat a serious crystal ball. The largest Tru had ever seen. Not quite the size of a soccer ball but definitely bigger than a softball. Maybe this woman was legit. A crystal ball that size wasn’t cheap. She knew, because she’d priced them out recently.
Which was totally something all soon-to-be oracles did right before their thirty-third birthday.
The draperies at the center of the back wall parted, and a woman walked out dressed in a paisley caftan trimmed in black lace. Her eyes were heavily lined in kohl, her purple-streaked hair tied back with a length of patterned silk, and she wore as much jewelry as Tru figured it was possible for one person to wear. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, even a jangly chain belt—she was covered in silver links, and beads of semi-precious stones like moonstones and rose quartz.
The woman looked at both of them, then spoke to Tru. “You wish to know your future?” she asked in a heavy, slightly Middle European accent.
“Sure,” Tru said, playing along but thinking about cotton candy. She was undecided on whether to get the pink or the blue.
The woman held out her hand. “You must cross Fatima’s palm with silver.”
Cindy dug in her purse. “I don’t have that much change.”
Tru snorted. “It’s just a saying. I’m sure paper money works just fine.”
Fatima nodded. “Fatima also takes credit cards, PayPal, and Venmo.”
Cindy whipped out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it over. “Here you go.”
“Please.” Fatima gestured toward the table as she tucked the cash deep into her cleavage. “Sit.
Tru and Cindy settled onto the big floor cushions as Fatima did the same. Tru was surprised at how sturdy the cushions were. She’d half-expected to feel like she was just sitting on the floor.
Fatima put her hands flat on the table on either side of the crystal ball. “What do you want to know?”
Tru shrugged. “I guess what my future holds?” She already knew about her immediate future. Tomorrow, she’d be off to Nocturne Falls, where her aunts, Cleopatra and Delphina, made their home. Once there, Tru would go through the ceremony of the oracles with them to claim her powers.
She’d apprentice with them for at least a few months, until her powers matured. Then she’d be a full-fledged oracle, capable of seeing through the veil of time. What happened after that was up to her, but most likely, she’d move to Nocturne Falls permanently and work with her aunts.
“You must have questions,” Fatima insisted. “Something more specific. Come now. What would you like to know?”
Tru shrugged again. “My birthday’s tomorrow. How about what will my thirty-third year bring?”
“Focus on that. Fix it in your mind.” Fatima nodded at the crystal ball. “Then put your hands on top of the crystal, palms down.”
Tru did as Fatima asked. The crystal was cool to the touch. Tru glanced over at Cindy, who was grinning.
“Pay attention,” Fatima demanded.
Tru looked straight ahead again. “Sorry.”
“Now,” Fatima said. “Close your eyes and open yourself to the spirit world so that your future might become as crystal-clear as the ball under your hands.”
Tru was a little disappointed in having to close her eyes. Mainly because she was curious about what Fatima was going to do next. With a sigh, she closed them.
Mostly. She left them open a slit. Just enough to see what Fatima was doing, which wasn’t that hard with the fake lashes Tru was wearing. She’d bought them for herself for her birthday and decided the fair was as good a place as any to try them out.
They were a little heavy and probably way too Kardashian for her, but they seemed to be doing a great job of hiding the fact from Fatima that her eyes weren’t completely closed.
Fatima put her hands on the crystal ball just below Tru’s. “Spirits, open the doorway between worlds. Show us what lies ahead.”
Tru did her best to focus on the question like Fatima had told her to do while also watching the woman’s hands.
Suddenly, the crystal ball filled with inky blackness.
Fatima hissed like she’d been burned, then let out a strangled cry and pulled away.
Tru opened her eyes all the way. The black swirled and pulsed with a life of its own. There was no heat or any feeling of movement, but her hands seemed to be glued to the crystal. “What is that?”
Fatima hissed at her, the slightly European accent gone in favor of one that was slightly more New Jersey. “Get out.”
Tru yanked her hands free as Cindy jumped to her feet. “We paid you. Tell us what it means.”
Fatima crawled backwards toward the draperies, grimacing. “It means … your friend is about to meet death.”
The quiet of the recording booth felt like an oasis to Eamon. The stillness was nearly a palpable thing. It wrapped around him like a cloak of invisibility, soothing and perfect in its tranquility. If only he could spend all of his time in here, his fortress of solitude.
But people refused to stop dying.
He took a sip of hot tea, then tapped the Record button and leaned into the mic. “Death comes for all of us. But sometimes, it comes sooner than expected. An accident, an unexpected illness, and, occasionally, murder. That was the case for Sarah Lynn Trent of Camden, Illinois. Join me, Eamon Underwood, your host, as I dig deeper into the mysterious and unsolved slaying of Sarah Lynn Trent on this season of Murder Most Foul.”
He hit the button to start the intro music.
Just then, the small, low-wattage bulb on the desk lamp flashed twice. On, off. On, off. With a sigh and a gentle roll of his eyes, Eamon pressed Stop on his recording. He knew too well what that signal meant.
He picked up his cup of tea and went to the door, already knowing what he’d find on the other side.
His uncle, Seamus Underwood. The older man smiled at him. “Morning, lad. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but …”
Eamon nodded. “Who is it this time?”
“Samuel Young. Resident of the retirement home. I’ve sent Clark to fetch him.”
The retirement home usually meant one thing. “Natural causes?”
“Aye.” Seamus shrugged. “The man was ninety-four.”
Eamon felt some relief. There was some comfort in those who’d made it that long. “I’ll get ready.” He hadn’t planned on going into the funeral home today, but then, Death had its own plans and followed no one’s timetable.
And as the undertaker, he had no choice.
“Good lad. I’ll be there in a wee bit to deal with the family. Blue skies all day today.”
“Thank you.” Eamon went off to his room, which was just across the hall at the back of the house. He showered and dressed in his usual black jeans, black shirt, and black sports coat. He put his sunglasses on his head, grabbed his keys and wallet, and went downstairs, his now-empty mug in his hand.
The big Victorian that he shared with his uncle had more than enough space for the two of them. Eamon had considered getting his own place, even looked at a few online, but living alone would mean dealing much more frequently with people.
Living with his uncle allowed him to bypass a lot of personal interaction. And his uncle was good company. And a good man. After all, he’d opened his home and business to Eamon when he’d left Scotland behind for a fresh start in Nocturne Falls.
Didn’t hurt, either, that Eamon had someone to watch football with. Someone who understood real football. And someone whose impending death he couldn’t see.
Such was his special gift, one landed upon him by a lineage of men who’d been too attracted to the wrong women. Banshees and pixies and selkies. A few witches here and there. Tales of a grim reaper, which Eamon thought had to be true, and vampires, which Eamon wasn’t so convinced of. Even rumors one of his great-great-grandfathers had taken up with a cait sith, a witch who could transform herself into a cat.
Why were all these powerful supernatural women interested in the Underwood men? Because, according to legend, there had once been an Underwood ancestor capable of transforming himself into the most desired of all magical creatures. The symbol of their homeland: The rare and elusive unicorn.
Load of nonsense, if you asked Eamon. A unicorn? Not bloody likely. He flat-out refused to believe it. He knew there were all kinds of supernatural creatures in the world, but there was no way the Underwoods were descended from a line of unicorn shifters.
That was something someone had conjured up along the way to make them all feel a little better about themselves.
What he did know to be true was that all of the strange bloodlines had left the Underwood men with a curious mix of mostly inconsequential supernatural gifts. They’d become magical mutts, essentially. Whether they’d had any real power of their own to begin with was still in question, but now some had none. Some could do a wee bit of magic. A few more had been gifted with the Sight. And then there was Uncle Seamus, who could predict the weather with an uncanny knack.
