Page 37 of The Shadowed Oracle
“That little guy,” he said. “It won’t do much good if another Wrane comes to you in the night.”
A frightening thought, but best left for tomorrow. “And what about you?” she asked, arrantly unserious. “What if you stalk me in the middle of the night?”
“Funny.”
“Was it?”
Both of them stood in silence, looking directly at one another until Ingrid felt the slightest unease, dropping her eyes to the floor. She didn’t even move when Dean’s hand disappeared from her sight, moving close to her but again stopping short.
“It’ll get easier,” he said. “We’ll take it slow with the lessons, so the information doesn’t feel like an overload.”
“Thank you.” Ingrid smiled and went back inside.
“Goodnight,” Dean said through the door.
“Goodnight.”
She faced her new room, listening to his footsteps as they faded away. A twin-sized bed sat in the corner, a drawerless side table next to it, with one antique lamp resting atop and a desk planted in front of the small, barred window.
Bare essentials, just like the rest of the house. The only other noteworthy thing in the room was the closet. Seeing it, she was reminded she’d left her suitcase in Dean’s car. It only carried the clothes she’d brought, though—her purse, gun, and her father’s necklace were all on her person—so she felt it was okay to leave it for the morning.
Everything, she decided, could be left for the morning.
To her surprise, the only thing she could think of, even after her world had been dug up from under her and turned on its head, was finding a place to rest.
The second her head hit the pillow, she drifted off, enjoying the most peaceful, dreamless sleep she’d had in a decade.
For the first time since she was just a child, the monsters left her alone.
Chapter Twelve
Ingrid might’ve sleptuntil noon if she hadn’t been woken up by distant, straining voices. They were gruff mumbles and hollow intonations, low enough in volume that she thought she might’ve imagined them. Once the sound fully faded, her eyes opened. She lifted her head slightly, welcoming the flood of light that came in through the window.
Even with the two minor spills she’d endured, she felt completely revitalized. Her vision was clear. Muscles were light and loose. And her mind, despite everything, felt ready for the day to begin.
She’d worn her clothes to bed and only needed to sit up and slide her feet into her shoes to get ready. Standing and making use of the better lighting, she examined the room. It seemed a bit smaller than she’d initially thought, but then she realized Dean had brought her suitcase and a few other things inside, giving the space a more cramped feel.
She didn’t know how to feel about him coming in while she was sleeping, though that indecisive sensation didn’t last long. On an antique banquet table, like one might find in a fancy hotel, there was an enormous breakfast spread prepared for her. Danishes and bagels and crispy toast were splayed out on a largeserving dish, complete with jam and avocado and cream cheese. Fresh fruit was piled separately in three smaller bowls, and on the side of all that was a plate of thick-cut bacon, stacked six or maybe eight pieces high.
The smell alone drew her in quickly. She grazed between the fruit and the bacon, making no attempts to pace herself or to avoid leaving residue on the corners of her mouth. After the plate was empty, the bowl of strawberries nearly finished, she stopped mid-chew when she noticed a note, folded, propped up, with her name written on the front. She opened it.
You’ll need a good meal before we start today, but I didn’t know what you liked. When you’re ready, come out to the living room or the front porch. There are some people I’d like you to meet.
As if the words sharpened her senses, she suddenly noticed the same muffled voices that she’d heard when first waking up. They hadn’t been imagined, and they seemed even closer now. She swallowed the mouthful of strawberries still in her mouth while moving quietly toward the door.
The voices were coming from the living room. Instinctively, she turned the knob and cracked the door. The distance between her and these mysterious new guests was short, and although she wasn’t sure why, she didn’t want them to know she was awake just yet.
With only one ear pressed against the small opening in the door, hearing exactly what was said was impossible. But she could hear how grave the conversation was. It was a disagreement. Maybe even a heated argument. With fleet steps, she made her way down the hallway, stopping at the wall separating her from the kitchen.
There were two other voices besides Dean’s. Both were accented, from somewhere in the UK. One male, deep andgravelly. And the other was female, also deep, but with more warmth, even as she desperately pleaded with Dean.
“We’ll be vulnerable either way,” the female said. “Fuck the risk. We are already at risk. We need to act now.”
“I can’t,” Dean contended without pause. “There are too many possibilities for why he’s here. The coincidence is strange, but we have to be patient. Call in everyone we can. Make plans.”
The way he spoke unsettled Ingrid, and she couldn’t help but feel that same sensation she’d had back at her apartment—that Dean was still hiding something from her. She listened closely as more was said about this mysterious “he” Dean spoke of, but without context, Ingrid was left completely in the dark. All she could ascertain was that the two guests disagreed with Dean and that all of them, unmistakably, were afraid.
“We’ve already tried calling in backup,” the deep, male voice said. “Everyone is too tied up with their own defenses.”
