Damian's Oracle (2 page)

“We have a
Mr
. Bylun, but he doesn’t
have a blog. Perhaps you have the wrong number?”

“Ok, I admit someone else said they found
this on his blog and said I should call.”

There was a moment of silence, and she could
almost see Sondra assessing what to do.

“Why don’t you leave me your name, and if Mr.
Bylun believes it in his best interest, he’ll return your
call.”

The cryptic response made her hesitate. Sofia
sighed and raked a hand through her hair.

“Why not. I don’t have anything to lose. My
name is Sofia Fast from Crystal City, Virginia.”

“And what is your call regarding?”

“I’m sick. I have some sort of disease no one
can diagnose, and one of my coworkers gave me this number to
try.”

“Who referred you?”

“Jake Hampton.”

She heard the secretary typing.

“I’m afraid he’s not in my system,” she said.
“I’ll deliver your message. Please don’t be surprised if Mr. Bylun
opts not to return your call.”

She hung up and stared at the number on the
paper, wondering if Jake had lied to her or if he flat out screwed
up the number. He really wasn’t a man of detail, which was why she
was so surprised to see him working as a financial planner. She’d
definitely never trust her money to him.

Her cell rang, and she recognized her
doctor’s number.

“Ms. Fast, this is Linda from Dr. Mallard’s
office.”

“Hi Linda.”

“Dr. Mallard wanted me to give you a call and
schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“Oh, God, what’s wrong now?”

“The specialist he flew in from Zurich
arrives tonight. He’s apparently really interested in meeting
you.”

“Really? I’d love to come in. What time do
you open?”

“Seven. I’ll schedule you for 7:15 so Dr.
Mallard can get his first cup of coffee.”

“That’s awesome, Linda. Thank you so much for
calling!”

“No problem. We’ll see you tomorrow at
7:15.”

Hopeful, Sofia crumpled up the paper with Dr.
Bylun’s information. If Dr. Mallard’s international guest was that
anxious to see her, he must know what was going on! She sipped her
cocoa, cheered by the thought of soon knowing what was wrong with
her.

The sound of screeching tires and a scream
soon drew the patrons from the coffee shop to the window. Sofia
stuffed Dr. Bylun’s paper into her empty cup, tossed it, and joined
the onlookers lining the street. Somewhere a few blocks away, an
ambulance wailed. A drunk man staggered from a dark blue BMW. She
walked up the street to a better vantage point, curious to see what
he hit.

She froze at the sight straight out of her
vision. The little boy, Toby, spread-eagled in the street near the
storm drain. His mother was hysterical, screaming at once at the
driver and her dead son.

Coldness seeped through her as she watched
the familiar scene before her. In the distance, she heard her cell
phone ring. It ceased and began to ring again. As if in a dream,
she pulled it free and answered.

“Ms. Fast?”

The deep baritone voice pierced her
thoughts.

“This is Damian Bylun. You left a message
with my receptionist?”

Her world was beginning to spin as she
realized her vision had come true. Her legs felt weak, and she sat
heavily on the curb, struggling to control her breathing so she
didn’t pass out.

God, what’s wrong with me? I saw him die
…

“Pardon?”

Realizing she clenched the phone in her hand,
she flipped it closed and sat staring at the asphalt. Someone
touched her, and visions flared across her mind.
A pretty
brunette, mugged in a back alley, raped and killed.

“Miss, are you alright?”

Someone else touched her, took her arm to
help her stand, and more visions flooded her.
An older man with
dementia left to rot and finally die in an old folk’s home.

“
Get away from me!”
she cried, tearing
away.

She fled, staggering as she bumped into more
people and more visions flashed. She ran until the cold air burned
her lungs and the people were far behind her. She retreated to her
apartment, breathing raggedly with cold tears stiffening her
cheeks.

She closed and locked the door behind her.
She froze when she saw the disaster that was her apartment.
Everything was overturned or shredded, from the furniture to the
bookshelves to the TV lying on its face. The windows were open and
the apartment cold.

Her headache was now a migraine, and she
shielded her eyes against the light from the street that filtered
past her honeycomb blinds. She all but staggered into her bathroom.
She wrenched open the medicine cabinet for the most powerful of the
drugs Dr. Mallard prescribed for her and slammed the cabinet
shut.

Her eyes were fully silver, swirling and
glowing in the dark.

“
What is wrong with me?”
she screamed,
slamming her fists against the mirror.

Her blood spattered on the wall, and buzzing
filled her ears. She sank to the floor. Her phone began to ring
again as she slid into a dead faint.

Sonoran desert, Arizona

The White God’s Headquarters

Damian Bylun stared at the phone. It was a
cold day in hell when someone dared hang up on the White God, the
Defender of Mankind, the Tamer of Evil. Or, in the words of his
BFF, the BS Master of the Universe.

His phone rang, and he answered, expecting
the woman to return his call with a few dozen apologies.

“Damian, I’m one of your … employees. My name
is Jake H, employee number 0092841.”

He opened his PDA to do a quick search on the
number. He didn’t know the names of everyone in the latest
generation of his Guardians yet, especially not those working in
the field.

Jake H. Organization year: 2000.

Only his undercover agents contained such
little information in his database. Jake was risking getting caught
to call him.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“NOVA Sector HQ.”

“Stay there.”

He hung up and looked at his executive
officer and sparring partner.

“Han, I’m going away for a few to the
Northern Virginia Sector. Don’t hold up dinner on my account,” he
said, trotting into the 20,000 square foot mansion in the middle of
the Arizona desert he called home.

“Say hi to Laney!” Han called.

He changed into all black and strapped a
sword to his back before closing his eyes and envisioning the
interior of NOVA Sector. In a blink, he’d transported himself
there. One foot was immediately soaked. He looked down as two of
his Guardians hopped up from their positions.

“Who the hell put a pool here?” he demanded,
pulling his right foot out of the shallow end of an in-ground
pool.

The two men looked at each other.

“It was a brutal summer,” an amused voice
responded.

He turned to see one of his oldest Guardians
and the station chief – Han’s brother – leaning in the doorway to
the main house.

“Laney, good to see you,” he said warmly,
clapping him on the arm. “One of your boys called me.”

“Yeah, he’s been pacing like a madman for a
couple of hours. He’s a newbie. Be gentle.”

“It’s fucking cold here,” he complained as he
walked into the two story house in the suburbs Washington DC.

He saw the man who called him pacing as Laney
had indicated. Jake turned and stared at him, dropped an awkward
bow, and straightened, his mouth lax. Damian sat down on the arm of
a leather couch, accustomed to the reaction, and pulled off his
boot to drain the water.

“You gonna talk or stare?”

Jake looked at Laney then at him.

“I found someone,” Jake said.

“A Natural?” Laney prodded.

Jake shook his head then nodded then
shrugged.

“I don’t know what she is. I was embedded at
this company we know is operating as a cover for Czerno’s
operations. I ran into someone I knew from college.”

Damian looked from his boot to Laney, who
shrugged. Seeing the exchange, Jake began to pace again.

“She’s something. I don’t know what.”

“Can you expand a little?” Laney asked.

“She’s started having symptoms that the
doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong. She turned 28 two months
ago, and started having all these issues, like she’s a vamp. She
can’t go out in sunlight … “

He trailed off, deep in thought.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy - “

“Already do,” Damian said. “You wanna tell me
why I’m here?”

“I recently gained access to this database
that the company’s owner uses. They have a file on her. Her phone
and computer are monitored. They have records of her vitals – like
her body temperature and shit like that – and copies of her medical
records. I found an email the owner sent to an email address we
know Czerno uses. It says they want to force the
transformation.”

“She’s a Natural,” Laney said, frowning at
him. “Treat her like any other. We’ll assign her a Guardian and
bring her in.”

“No,” Jake objected. “The email said she’d be
ready soon for the procedure Czerno wants her to undergo. A medical
procedure where he’s going to drain all her blood and replace it
with his.”

Damian held up his hand. He’d begun to think
their recruitment standards were slipping, until Jake mentioned the
operation. Surprise trickled through him.

“Did it say why?” he pressed.

“No. Just said he wanted it done soon,
because he wasn’t taking any risks, even if she hadn’t started
transforming yet. I gave her your number, but I doubt she
called.”

Only an
oracle
’s blood was drained to
force her to bind with her master. The measure was taken to give
him unfettered access to her visions. Century-long wars had been
fought in his father’s time over who claimed a discovered oracle,
no matter how competent the oracle turned out.

He met Laney’s gaze.

“It’s virtually impossible,” Laney voiced his
same thought.

“There haven’t been any in tens of thousands
of years,” Damian said slowly. “What else, Jake?”

“That’s it. I just have this feeling … ”

“You have a Traveler assigned to station,
Laney?” he asked.

Most stations had one of the Guardians – or
Naturals – capable of traveling great distances the way he did.
Laney lifted his chin towards Jake, who nodded.

“Watch her. If anything funny happens, bring
her in, straight to my headquarters outside of Tucson. Don’t take
any chances with this one. Got it?”

Jake nodded again.

“Laney, tell Dustin what’s going on. He gets
pissy when you all call me directly without letting him know,” he
said.

“Will do.”

Damian closed his eyes and opened them,
materializing in his suite in Tucson. He stood before the low
burning fire, golden eyes swirling as he thought quickly.

A few Naturals were found every year, and he
didn’t bother to remember their names in an organization his size,
leaving that level of detail to the regional and sector commanders.
An oracle … now
that
was worthy of his attention. There had
been none since Claire, whose powers had been so weak, she was
useless to them.

He who binds the oracle, binds the
future
, his brother had once told him.

His phone dinged, and he flipped it open.

Bro, ur supposd 2 tell me when u visit.

Damian grunted, expecting Dusty’s message.
There were only two people in the world who would challenge him:
the cold master assassin in charge of the western hemisphere and
the warm master negotiator in charge of the eastern hemisphere. As
different as night and day, they were his best friends – and the
only men in the universe he trusted with his life. Of the two,
Dusty was more likely to call him to the floor when he crossed into
his business. As their king, Damian owed them nothing. As his
adopted brothers in the war against evil, he owed them
everything.

He typed a response.

Next time, boss.

He left his room for his office. The
quarterly conference held four times a century with the major
regional commanders was coming up soon, and he had more pressing
issues to resolve before it launched. He entered his office and
froze.

“Y’all need to learn to
ask
before
setting foot in my house,” he warned.

The middle-aged man with bright green eyes
standing in his study looked harmless. His frame was slight, his
hair silvered, his smile fatherly. Damian knew better than to trust
the deceptive appearance of this type of creature. They were some
of the most ancient beings in the universe, those whose first war
created the universe.

Their second war almost destroyed the
universe and ended in the Schism, the divorcing of the divine world
from the physical one and stranded the White and Black Gods on
earth, preordained to be at each other’s throats for all eternity.
The Watchers relegated themselves to the role of audience in the
basketball game that was Damian’s war.

“Forgive me, ikir,” the Watcher said with a
bow of his head.

“You’re here to fuck up my life, aren’t you?”
Damian challenged.

He crossed his arms to display roped forearms
and sat on the edge of his desk. The Watcher smiled, genuine mirth
in his unblinking gaze.

“I’ve always enjoyed this era of the White
God,” he admitted. “You have a spark your forefathers didn’t.”

“I’m glad I entertain you,” Damian said
flatly.

“No disrespect meant, ikir.”

The Watcher’s eyes went around his study, as
if this was his first visit in a great while. Damian didn’t trust
the beings that saw all, knew all, and yet spoke in riddles - if
they chose to speak at all.

“You here just to visit?” he prodded at the
Watcher’s silence.