Page 26 of The Shadowed Oracle
Very carefully, at a glacial pace, he reached into his jacket pocket. “This,” Dean said, holding what appeared to be a misshapen gold stone. “This is why that Thing left. Why you’re still here, safe, talking with me.”
Ingrid stepped forward and snagged the stone away from him without compromising the aim of her gun. Inspecting it, she noticed an intense orange and red tint to it that was glowing like a lit fire. Little dancing flames seemed to spark wherever the light caught it. Even more remarkable was how similar it was to her father’s necklace. The stone that she’d always wondered about, but couldn’t get an answer to, no matter how many pawn shops and jewelers she’d visited.
One of a kind. That’s what she’d been told. Too unplaceable to be made of any valuable material, and too strange to sell.
Yet, here was another. The same peculiar heaviness to it. The same glow. But in place of the complex memories Ingridfelt holding her father’s stone, this one beamed with unusual intensity, not only seen but felt just by coming in contact with it.
Dean pointed to it cautiously, almost like he didn’t want to disturb it, and said, “It’s called a viseer stone. It comes from where that Thing comes from, and is one of only a few weapons that could scare it away.” He broke off, as if trying to remember exactly what Ingrid had demanded of him. With the way she was staring at him, all ice and violence in her eyes, he made sure to be thorough.
“I don’t know anything about your father, I swear to you. But the symbols,” he said. “I do know about the symbols. Just not the ones we found on the bodies. That’s why I was upset. I thought you’d know. I thought the visions you were having—I was praying they’d show you. Because we are in grave danger, Ingrid. Not just you, but all of us.”
“You lied. Youliedto me.” It was all Ingrid could say in response. She was too angry to articulate anything else. Couldn’t bring herself to listen. All her brainpower was focused on the list of all the little lies that had piled up between them, and what lies she might still uncover.
“I know,” Dean said, meeting her raging glare. “And I’m sorry. But what was I supposed to say? Even if I did say something, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day. It took all of five minutes to realize that you don’t trust people.”
“What were you supposed tosay?” she stammered. “Anything. Anything true. Anything but string me along. I mean, why make me go through that in the park? Why embarrass me like that? Why let me think I was?—”
“I thought it might draw other things out,” Dean interjected. “I had my people stationed all over. They haven’t gotten back to me yet, but their silence likely means you helped. You might’ve drawn something like…” He looked down the hallway, toward the scene of the attack. “Likethatout.”
Ingrid hesitated, almost torn in two. She felt with certainty that he was sincere, but he’d fooled her once already. There were millions of reasons to run, to dismiss him entirely, but one very pressing reason to hear him out.
“The messages,” Ingrid stuttered. “Do you know who sent them? Who it is?Whatit is?”
“I have an idea, yes.” He placed his hand over the center of his chest. “But there’s a lot I’d need to fill you in on. That’s why I’ve been looking after you. I’m your friend, Ingrid. And believe me, for what’s coming, you’re going to need friends.”
Chapter Ten
Dean’s carbecame a slow amusement park ride in the darkness.
Ingrid had her eyes and her gun fixed on him as he drove, making it nearly impossible to see her surroundings as they navigated the winding roads to his mother’s old home. She only stole occasional, lightning-quick glances out the passenger window, making sure she knew which general direction she would need to start in to escape.
The last thing she wanted to do was get careless. At every curving turn she anticipated twisted metal, screeching tires, a gang of masked men, or a sea of cop cars—anything to make sure the gun in her hand didn’t give her an illusion of control. For all she knew, this man had planned for this all along.
Which seemed more and more likely.
To his credit, Dean had been blunt with her since she’d agreed to get in his car with him. He told her that those nights he’d come in to The Boneyard afterward were all by design, an excuse to be close to her, to protect her. Since the very first moment he’d met her, he was planning on a way to tell her what he knew. He just didn’t know how.
So instead, he watched her.
“All that time?” she snapped, gripping the cold steel of her gun a little tighter. “You were following me even before Kyle Twyker was killed?”
Dean seemed unaffected by her threatening tone. “Yes,” he said. “But not just me. I have friends who helped me keep an eye on you. The same ones that were watching today in the park.”
Her mind rifled through the new faces she’d seen in the last month at her bar. A few stuck out, and she shivered at the thought that one of them, or maybe even Dean himself, might’ve been the one sending her those messages. It was the first and most logical conclusion. She was being followed by a mysterious person, twisting their torment to try and appear as if he—or she, Ingrid realized, was helping.
And here was Dean, claiming to be helping, and openly admitting he’d been following her.
“How well do you know these friends?” Ingrid asked. “Did you ever think it could be one of them that was stalking me?”
“No,” Dean said incredulously. “We have every reason to help you and none to hurt you. Just, please, let me get there. Let me start from the beginning.” He yanked the collar of his shirt down, cracking the window and letting the breeze hit him. “Think about it. Think about the first night I came in. Do you remember?—”
“I remember,” Ingrid cut in. She’d never forget how he looked at her. How he stared, stuttering over his words. “And I remember that it was right around the same time I got the first message,” she added accusingly.
“That’s only becausetheycame here around the same time. That thing that attacked you. And the others. It’s all happening now for a reason.”
“What reason? What others?” Ingrid said impatiently. “You said you’d start from the beginning. So start.”
“I’m trying.” He glanced at her, unblinking, before focusing back on the road. “At the beginning it was all a coincidence. Finding you there, right under our noses. It was a miracle we got to you before they did. Truly, a fucking miracle. And so I knew, right then, my only mission was to protect you. To?—"
