The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1) (10 page)

Did I bring on the apocalypse?

“Roz,” he whispered. “I need to see the Oracle.” Maybe his vision of her had been a kind of otherworldly directive. As in,
Seek the Oracle
.

A soft hand brushed Connor’s upper arm, one of the only places that didn’t ache. “You’re not strong enough. Maybe in a couple of days.”

He coughed again. “I don’t have a couple of days.” They might as well be on the same page. In forty-eight hours, he’d be worm food. If he was going to do this, it had to be now.

“I’ve never tried to open a portal before.” The only way to speak to Ilvane directly—her true identity and location were protected by the Coven—was to port his mind to hers. And only witches could open psychic portals.

Connor gently cleared his throat, trying to gather strength in his voice. “It’s important.” He held his best friend’s gaze, even after he got light-headed and a little nauseous.

Roz broke eye contact first. “I’ll find a candle.”

“Hold on,” the third woman said in a faint German accent. “He’s not up for any heavy lifting.”

He closed his eyes briefly, their voices drifting around him.

“It won’t hurt him. A spiritual manifestation of his thoughts and personality will port to the Oracle psychically. It doesn’t require any physical energy. I’ll be doing all the work. He’ll just be lying there.”

The doctor said something, but her voice faded. He may have passed out for a sec because time leapt forward. Roz urged him into a semi-reclining position and placed a candle in his hands. He tried to focus on it, but his thoughts blurred. Ow. His chest hurt.

Roz lit the wick. “For the record, I think this is a stupid idea.”

“I agree.”

He looked up at the sound of her voice. The girl he’d saved from Volk. There was something important he needed to say to her, but what?

He frowned, unable to dredge up the memory. Well, crap. “Start it.”

Roz called upon her power, and the room sizzled with magical energy.

Connor stared into the candle flame, and his vision wavered as a numbness crept through his body, beginning in his fingertips and spreading up and out.

He blinked, and the tiny golden flame exploded into a child’s bedroom. The pink and white ruffled bed told him it was a girl’s room at that. Wrong, wrong, all wrong.

“What do you want?”

A skinny adolescent leaned against the doorway, her hands on her hips. He took in her lavender-streaked hair, metal orthodontics, and neon eye shadow. She wore a top she couldn’t fill by half. She looked like twelve trying to be twenty-one.

“My fault.” Connor spoke normally. No more hospital room rasp. In fact, he wasn’t in pain anymore. And his apparition wore jeans, a T-shirt, and black leather boots. He was himself again. Except he shimmered, half visible. “I tried to port to the Oracle.”

“Yeah?” She cocked her hip and popped her gum like a firecracker.

She was about as far from the Oracle as a person could get. “Sorry.” He backed up, nearing a wall. Would he fade right through it? He didn’t try to find out. “My friend made a mistake.”

“What did you need to talk about?”

“It’s personal.” He wasn’t sure he had the time or the strength for a second try. Maybe it wasn’t even possible to port to the Oracle. Maybe some Coven magic prevented it and sent the penitent to a random civilian as a joke.

“I’m not getting any older. Spit it out.”

Connor narrowed his eyes and gave her a second look. No, it couldn’t…

Because if it was, then he’d made a monumentally stupid decision—killed himself—for a fucking lie.

Rage and shame blazed within him, consuming him. He fisted both hands, wishing he could use them on himself.

“You’re Ilvane?”

Ilvane the Oracle, the greatest seer in the world, was a skinny kid who slept in a ruffled canopy bed? And she had the nerve to give him attitude? He’d abandoned his mother for this girl, making him no better than dear old dad. He’d dragged Roz away from her home and family. He’d hunted Olek, and now he’d killed himself. For her. For nothing. This girl had taken hold of his average life, targeted it with an RPG, and left him standing amid the rubble.

“Call me Caitlyn.”

Connor stepped nearer. “Do you take pleasure in ruining people’s lives? How dare you pretend to be a seer? I hurt people because of Ilvane. I’m dying because of her.”

She crossed her arms and popped her gum. “How ‘bout you take a breath, k, cowboy? Did you come all the way out here to yell at me?”

He took another step, jabbing his finger at her. “Ilvane the Oracle has been writing prophecy since the 1980’s. You’re a fucking poser.”

Her arms dropped, but otherwise she didn’t react. Probably he wasn’t the first unhappy customer. “Number one—the more times you drop the F bomb, the less shocking it is. And two—I am Ilvane. So, don’t you feel stupid?”

Chapter Seven

Connor scowled. “Bullshit. You’re not old enough.”

“Thank you.” The so-called Ilvane flipped her lavender-streaked hair and batted her lashes, as if flattered. As if he wasn’t five seconds from losing it. “I’m the latest. This old hippie chick from California was the first, but she died. The Fates weren’t done prophesying, and since I was rocking a natural precognition, they chose me to take over. Bam!” She made an explosive gesture with both hands. “New name, new powers, new freaky-deaky destiny.”

He shook his head. A child in braces decided his fate? The surprises were coming so fast Connor couldn’t keep up. His life was so utterly trashed he might as well go with it.

“You’re for real?” His breaths came quicker, though he didn’t technically need to breathe in his current psychic state.

The girl blew a pink bubble, and then sucked it back in with a wet, popping sound. “Duh. You ported to the Oracle. Here we are.”

“How long has it been you?”

She lifted a tube from her old-fashioned roll-top desk, squirted green lotion into her hands, and rubbed it up and down her skeletal arms. “Almost four years.”

He didn’t know what hurt worse. That he’d killed himself for the prophecies of a smart-mouthed tween or that she wouldn’t even give him her full attention. He stalked closer.

“You wrote the Connor from Cleveland prophecy?”

“Yeppers.”

His equilibrium returned, and his thoughts crystallized. Perhaps all was not lost, merely off track. He took another step in her direction. “You wrote that if I released Oleksander it would be the end of human beings on earth?”

“Did I?”

Connor ignored her because he had a feeling she was being irritating on purpose. “I abandoned my mom. I dragged Roz across the country and away from her family. I hurt people. All so I could kill Olek and prove you wrong. Instead, he’s free and I’m dying, choking on my own blood in the godforsaken Nevada desert.”

“You’re dying?” Caitlyn scrunched up her face. “That’s one way to get out of a prophecy.”

“This isn’t a joke.” He’d meant to yell at her, but his words slipped out low and pathetic. “You have to tell me—you owe me—does Olek win? Are people doomed? Will he infect the whole world?”

“I don’t owe you anything.” She closed the distance between them and waved her hand through his body. Connor startled, sidestepping. It didn’t hurt, but it was weird.

She laughed. “That never gets old.”

“Will you be serious, please?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m really sorry things didn’t work out the way you hoped, but I’m not a life coach. I hear the words, I pass them on to the Coven, they publish them, and I fulfill my sacred duty. Yada, yada, yada.”

“I’m dying,” he groaned. It was worth repeating.

“How do you know dying today isn’t your destiny?”

“Because it isn’t fair.”

She smirked. “Don’t make me say it.”

Connor chuckled, couldn’t help himself. He was so fucked. So much for answers. His anger burned out slowly, flame by flame, until he was left a smoldering husk of regret.

“How old are you? Eleven? Twelve?”

Caitlyn opened her mouth, and then closed it. She seemed to evaluate him, but wouldn’t answer.

Whatever. His shoulders slumped, and he stared hard at the floor. Nothing was as it should be. He almost didn’t want to rejoin his body. Could he stay inside the portal forever, eventually evaporating down to nothing?

But that was the coward’s way out. He must return and prepare his best friend for whatever came next. “What am I supposed to tell Roz? She’ll be alone. Or Alina?” The girl was stranded in a foreign country. He had to do something to help her get home.

“Alina?” The Oracle grabbed both sides of her head and panted. “You have Anya?” She doubled over. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

“Hey.” Connor moved closer, but he couldn’t affect anything in the room. “What’s wrong?”

She collapsed to her knees, quivering. “I can see what’s inside her.”

He went cold, as if all his blood had pooled into his belly and turned to stone. “What is it?”

“Stay away from her,” Caitlyn exclaimed, her voice on the edge of hysteria. “The two of you—together—if you go bad…” She squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head, her face distorted and flushed with pain.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Her mom or dad, maybe.

Ilvane shouted, “Get out of my head!” She raised her right hand and flicked it toward him, as if brushing away a fly, and Connor kicked backward through a blinding flash of light.

#

“How long can he do this?” Ali asked.

She’d never seen anyone port before. It wasn’t as cool as it sounded. More like creepy. Roz spoke spells so softly and so rapidly, her words were a long stream of breath and clicking teeth. Magic crackled in the air. Connor sat paralyzed, his gaze pinned on the flame, but he was unfocused and far away. If Roz messed up the spell, would he be comatose forever? Ali glanced at the witch. Exactly how good was she?

Connor exhaled and went limp, his head lolling against the pillows. The candle tipped onto the mattress, spilling liquid wax, and Ali leapt forward to help, but Roz blocked her.

He coughed, and blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. When Ali rushed the bed, Roz’s elbow caught her in the ribs.

“Doc!” Ali shouted, elbowing her back.

Connor startled, opening eyes ringed with shadowy bruises. “It’s too late.”

No. She’d saved him. She’d watched his heart rate reappear from nothing. Her hands had done that. He couldn’t die now.

“Alina’s dangerous,” he breathed.

She froze, even her breath refusing to move for long seconds.

Julia brushed past her, stethoscope bouncing between her breasts. “What happened?” She didn’t wait for an answer, checking the machines recording Connor’s pulse and blood pressure.

Roz backed away from the bed, giving the doctor space. “He’s gonna be fine,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’ll be okay.”

Ali liked to think of herself as an optimist, but the witch put even her to shame. Connor wasn’t getting better. And he probably wasn’t going to be fine. She eased out of the room, but his haunted eyes seemed to follow her no matter how far away she got. She nearly tumbled into the waiting room, gulping air. She couldn’t stay a minute longer.

Dangerous? He had no idea. She leaned against the whitewashed wall, winding her arms around her waist. Or did he? What if he’d made it to the Oracle? What if Roz’s spell had worked and now Connor knew everything? Her secret. Her shame. She had to get out of there before he woke up again.

“Can I use your computer?” she asked Maria.

“Uh, I guess. Sure.”

Ali slumped in the receptionist’s seat, glancing at and away from the old couple huddled in plastic chairs. She clicked onto the Internet. “How far are we from Los Angeles?” she called to Maria. There was a British embassy there and an international airport. She’d pick up her purse on the way, if it was still in her uncle’s yard, and high tail it to California.

The woman paused sorting tiny boxes in a cupboard. “I don’t know. Two or three hundred miles.”

She’d have to hitchhike, except there were real live vampires roaming the highways and byways. Maybe she could borrow a car. Or hire one with an IOU.

The front door burst open, and a man entered, speaking in loud, rapid Spanish. Julia ducked out of Connor’s room and answered in equally abrupt syllables.

In English, Julia said, “Maria. My duffel.” The doctor accepted a large shoulder bag from her assistant.

“You’re leaving?” Roz appeared in the hallway. “What about Connor?”

“I can’t do anything more for him.” She pocketed keys and a wallet. “Transport from Vegas is on its way.”

“Wait,” Ali called, but the doctor followed the man into his car as if she hadn’t heard. Alina turned on Maria. “What the hell?”

The clerk shrugged. “His girlfriend is going into labor. Julia’s also a midwife.”

How could Ali explain that she wanted to get to Los Angeles ASAP, and not sound heartless? Maria wouldn’t understand how badly Ali needed to keep her secret. If Connor had so much as an inkling, she must leave immediately. She’d love to see him on his feet and whole again, but him talking about her threat level had sealed the deal.

She pushed away from the computer and ran out the back, stumbling to a stop at the edge of the alley. Someone had planted herbs and veggies in a set of four old tires, and it gave off a leafy, earthy smell. It didn’t help. Nothing helped.

Too much fear and burning flesh. Too many bruises and bleeding wounds. She scratched the stitches in her throat. It was so wrong. Her uncle. Stefan. Connor. She covered her face with both hands. Tears threatened. And not the dainty kind. A full-on sob built under her ribs.

But she wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not yet. She held her breath, forcing the tears away. She hadn’t cried in public in years and years. She wasn’t going to start now.

A wildflower at the garden’s border had been crushed under someone’s careless shoe. She crouched to get a closer look. Though crumpled, its petals limp, it would eventually struggle upright. She helped it, gently lifting it out of the dirt.

“Why would he say that?”

Ali stood, flushing at Roz’s harsh tone. She was super glad, now, that she hadn’t given in to the tears.