Read Online Dark Oracle by Alayna Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alayna Williams
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by her reading, have a true grasp of the situation.
South was the direction of passion, fire, strength. In this quarter, Adrienne found a single stick perfectly aligned with true north. Isa, the rune of ice and winter. This part of Tara’s life was at a standstill, frozen. Adrienne smiled. Tara was as weak as she’d expected.
West was the realm of emotions. Two sticks crossed lopsidedly, leaning to the left, in a fair imitation of the rune Nauthiz. Nauthiz represented constraint and sorrow. In this orientation, it was reversed from its traditional vantage point, suggesting a deep shadow had fallen over her quarry, as Adrienne’s shadow fell over the rune now.
Adrienne stretched her cramped muscles and strode to the front door. She bent to examine the lock: a strong one, new. The bright brass of it gleamed in stark contrast to the weathered door.
Small obstacle, that.
Adrienne fished a set of lockpicks from her boot and made short work of it. The door swung open, and Adrienne slid her hand along the interior of the wall for a light switch. Her brow wrinkled, though. The place was still warm. . . Why was the heat on, if no one was home?
A growl emanated from the darkness, and Adrienne’s hand stilled on the wall.
She smiled, flipped the switch.
In the center of the floor stood a gray tomcat. He’d been awakened from a sound slumber, by the looks of his rumpled fur and the fact that only the fur on his back and his tail were fluffed up properly.
Adrienne shut the door behind her. “Are you the watchdog?”
The cat hissed and bolted for the back bedroom. Adrienne didn’t bother to chase him. Instead she wandered to the kitchen counter. At the edge of the beat-up refrigerator, the cat’s water and food dishes were full. Someone had been here. Feeding instructions had been left for someone—perhaps Sophia?—in a sharp-edged scrawl.
Adrienne ran her fingers over the ink. This was her enemy’s writing. It was terse, composed of no unnecessary ornamentation or flourishes. Juliane’s daughter was not a frivolous woman.
Juliane, herself, had had a touch of whimsy about her. As a child, Adrienne remembered seeing Juliane in the circle of priestesses, or watching how she would sometimes build houses from her Tarot cards to delight the children. Her dark hair hung over her shoulders, wound with tangles of jasmine. Adrienne had watched how the Pythia had favored her, how she had braided the other woman’s hair and spoke with Juliane in hushed tones beyond the limits of Adrienne’s hearing.
And the Pythia had favored Juliane’s daughter. Tara had shown little interest in her mother’s work. The few times Adrienne had seen her, the older girl had her nose stuck in a book, or else was distracted by counting stars or pebbles. She’d been shy and awkward. Bookish. Not a leader.
Adrienne’s mouth thinned to a hard line. The girl had no appreciation for what her mother could have taught her. At least Tara had a mother to teach her.
Adrienne’s parents had abandoned her quite young, beyond the reach of her memory. She had been shuffled from the house of one of Delphi’s Daughters to the next. The Pythia had said this was to develop her talents, but Adrienne knew the truth: no one wanted to be bothered with her for any length of time. Adrienne had a knack for getting into trouble: she was always the one to disappear during hide-and-seek for hours at a time, to set her bedroom curtains on fire with a magnifying glass. She’d been the girl who refused to wear shoes, whose clothes were always filthy with mud.
But she’d grown into her talents—as they had feared. Adrienne had heard it whispered that the Daughters of Delphi had only taken her in to keep her from becoming something monstrous.
Adrienne smiled. They knew she was the most powerful of Delphi’s Daughters. The formal arts of geomancy: pendulums, casting stones, dowsing—those she had been taught by Delphi’s Daughters. But she’d learned other
South was the direction of passion, fire, strength. In this quarter, Adrienne found a single stick perfectly aligned with true north. Isa, the rune of ice and winter. This part of Tara’s life was at a standstill, frozen. Adrienne smiled. Tara was as weak as she’d expected.
West was the realm of emotions. Two sticks crossed lopsidedly, leaning to the left, in a fair imitation of the rune Nauthiz. Nauthiz represented constraint and sorrow. In this orientation, it was reversed from its traditional vantage point, suggesting a deep shadow had fallen over her quarry, as Adrienne’s shadow fell over the rune now.
Adrienne stretched her cramped muscles and strode to the front door. She bent to examine the lock: a strong one, new. The bright brass of it gleamed in stark contrast to the weathered door.
Small obstacle, that.
Adrienne fished a set of lockpicks from her boot and made short work of it. The door swung open, and Adrienne slid her hand along the interior of the wall for a light switch. Her brow wrinkled, though. The place was still warm. . . Why was the heat on, if no one was home?
A growl emanated from the darkness, and Adrienne’s hand stilled on the wall.
She smiled, flipped the switch.
In the center of the floor stood a gray tomcat. He’d been awakened from a sound slumber, by the looks of his rumpled fur and the fact that only the fur on his back and his tail were fluffed up properly.
Adrienne shut the door behind her. “Are you the watchdog?”
The cat hissed and bolted for the back bedroom. Adrienne didn’t bother to chase him. Instead she wandered to the kitchen counter. At the edge of the beat-up refrigerator, the cat’s water and food dishes were full. Someone had been here. Feeding instructions had been left for someone—perhaps Sophia?—in a sharp-edged scrawl.
Adrienne ran her fingers over the ink. This was her enemy’s writing. It was terse, composed of no unnecessary ornamentation or flourishes. Juliane’s daughter was not a frivolous woman.
Juliane, herself, had had a touch of whimsy about her. As a child, Adrienne remembered seeing Juliane in the circle of priestesses, or watching how she would sometimes build houses from her Tarot cards to delight the children. Her dark hair hung over her shoulders, wound with tangles of jasmine. Adrienne had watched how the Pythia had favored her, how she had braided the other woman’s hair and spoke with Juliane in hushed tones beyond the limits of Adrienne’s hearing.
And the Pythia had favored Juliane’s daughter. Tara had shown little interest in her mother’s work. The few times Adrienne had seen her, the older girl had her nose stuck in a book, or else was distracted by counting stars or pebbles. She’d been shy and awkward. Bookish. Not a leader.
Adrienne’s mouth thinned to a hard line. The girl had no appreciation for what her mother could have taught her. At least Tara had a mother to teach her.
Adrienne’s parents had abandoned her quite young, beyond the reach of her memory. She had been shuffled from the house of one of Delphi’s Daughters to the next. The Pythia had said this was to develop her talents, but Adrienne knew the truth: no one wanted to be bothered with her for any length of time. Adrienne had a knack for getting into trouble: she was always the one to disappear during hide-and-seek for hours at a time, to set her bedroom curtains on fire with a magnifying glass. She’d been the girl who refused to wear shoes, whose clothes were always filthy with mud.
But she’d grown into her talents—as they had feared. Adrienne had heard it whispered that the Daughters of Delphi had only taken her in to keep her from becoming something monstrous.
Adrienne smiled. They knew she was the most powerful of Delphi’s Daughters. The formal arts of geomancy: pendulums, casting stones, dowsing—those she had been taught by Delphi’s Daughters. But she’d learned other
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