Chapter 7
GRIFFIN
It’s funny how your opinion of someone can shift so quickly, how you can start to see someone in a different light. Better. Prettier. I’d had a fascinating night, studying Bradley in the way he studied, learning so much about him in so little time.
How his lips silently mouthed words I could never hope to understand, how his finger followed those same words on the page, how he fell so thoroughly into his work that it was as if he’d been transported to a different dimension.
Adorable, frankly, and if I’d sidled up next to him, snuggled into his side while he worked—something I was tempted to do several times over, trust me—he wouldn’t have noticed.
The same way he didn’t notice me dozing off on the couch, how he didn’t notice me making bacon and eggs so he wouldn’t collapse from hunger.
And the entire time, his position remained unchanged, that little fringe of hair falling over his eyes, biting on the back of his thumb when he lingered too long on one page.
I was enchanted. Yes, entranced by Bradley Brooks, exactly as the manuscript had entranced him. And yet all of that fell away when he made his small suggestion about where we should go next.
The oracles. Ugh. Just a few reasons why I distrusted the oracles? Half the time, they got their divinations wrong anyway. The other half? Pretty sure they just made it up. Anything to score a paycheck.
And don’t forget the worst part, which was tracking them down in the first place.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin looking,” I told him. “This is your territory. You figure it out if you want to talk to them so much.”
With balled fists and an upturned lip, Bradley said he would, as miffed with me as he had been grateful when I’d served him breakfast. But maybe, he said, after he rested his eyes for a bit. Maybe after a tiny nap.
Poor guy definitely needed some rest. I didn’t begrudge him, covering him in the threadbare throw I’d found forgotten under yet another pile of books. Again my perception shifted when I glanced at him sleeping, his lips parted, his jaw stubbornly set. Maybe he’d be more malleable when he woke up.
Nope. When I emerged an hour or so later, after taking the time to freshen up in Bradley’s bathroom, he was gone. As I stared at the shabby blanket he’d left in a heap on the sofa, the bathroom door slammed behind me, faucets at full blast as he washed up, brushed his teeth.
Through the door, I calmly, quietly explained how oracles were unreliable at best, absolute scoundrels at worst. And through the door, mouth presumably full of toothpaste and foam, Bradley replied with a muffled, “Nope. Oracles it is.”
And so oracles it was. I followed Bradley out of his building, because yes, as someone who actually lived in Moraira City, he had an inkling of where to look for local oracles.
They tended to stick together, shunning society at large because of their particular powers and vulnerabilities. To the untrained eye, an oracle enclave could be disguised as an artists’ commune, a hippie co-op, a homeless encampment.
It could also be disguised as a solid brick wall.
“I hate this,” I said, glaring up at the dilapidated wall as our rideshare drove away. Graffiti, faded tatters of old posters—it looked just like any old wall you’d find on any city block.
Bradley rapped his knuckles against the brick. “Hush, Gallows. I went clubbing with you last night, even if every last bone in my body was screaming for me to run the other way.”
I snorted, smiling for the first time in hours. “And you clubbed that guy real good. Remember, with the chair? Admit it. You had a good time.”
He rapped the brick again, smiling and swatting at me with the other hand. “Maybe I did.”
I checked him with my shoulder, grinning as he teetered off balance. “Maybe I can show you a good time some other time, after this is all over.”
Bradley blushed. I wished I had a mirror handy so I could check if I was blushing, too. A thousand dollars a day I was getting from this guy, but suddenly the money didn’t seem all that important anymore. I actually liked hanging around him.
“This one,” he said, returning his focus to the wall, knocking on one of the bricks. “And—yep, that one, too. I think we’re set.”
He rapped his knuckles against what seemed to me like a random sequence of bricks. A special code, a secret knock, for those in the know. When he finished, the bricks glowed and intoned with little chimes, following his exact pattern, a game of Simon Says.
And then, bit by bit, the bricks slid apart, a series of stony clicks and thunks as they revealed an entire oracle encampment.
I goggled at the sight, all these colorful tents and tiny homes and wagons, like someone had surgically extracted a slice of a music festival and airdropped it right behind this random brick wall somewhere in the industrial district.
The brick was gone, but now we were met with a wall of sound—people laughing, chatting, making music. The smell of cooking wafted from one of the larger tents.
All these sensations that were previously concealed, hidden away from the mundanes, or even from magical people who might mean them harm. Because as good as the oracles were supposed to be at seeing, they were even better at staying unseen.
A man with beaded, braided hair and a huge smile ambled up to us, all cheerful and friendly. He was all pockets, too, from his cargo pants all the way up to his sleeveless vest, the kind a photographer might wear.
“Welcome,” he said, his fingers splayed out as he slapped his hand against mine, taking it in a firm handshake. Then for good measure, he held on to my wrist with his other hand.
Strong fingers, rough palm, incredibly warm skin. He was a good deal shorter than me, and I had to lower my chin to return his smile. That was how I noticed his sandaled feet, how they pointed outward, the width of his stance. Open. Trusting. Inviting.
Everything within me still resisted, scrambling for an excuse to instinctively view the oracles with suspicion. But this man with the sparkly smile, and seriously, the warmest hands ever, was threatening to win me over.
“Griffin Gallows,” I said. “And this is Bradley Brooks, and we’re here to—”
“Put ’er there,” the man said, pulling his patented double handshake on a suitably frazzled Bradley. He went through the same emotions I had—casual suspicion, followed by comfort.
“We don’t mean to intrude,” Bradley said, “and we’re incredibly grateful for your hospitality, but—”
The man held his hands up, then wagged his finger with a cheeky smile. “I know you’re here looking for help.” He gestured past our heads, back the way we came from. “Everyone comes looking for help.”
I glanced over my shoulder, almost jumping out of my skin when I found myself staring at a full brick wall.
“But you know that we can perform a very particular service for you,” the man continued. “One that we are more than willing to render—in exchange for a kind donation to our community, of course.”
That was oracles for you. Trust the people who claimed to be able to see into the future to always be one step ahead—especially when it came to matters of payment.
Bradley sifted through his pockets, pulling out a pen. “Who should I make the check out to?”
The oracle gestured at himself, fingers poking out through the holes in his gloves. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’s ever opened a checking account?”
Quick as it came out, the pen went back inside his pocket. “Oh. Sorry. Of course. I didn’t—”
“Just messing with you, kid,” the oracle said, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, throwing me a little wink. “Wallace B. Jenkins.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to grin back. Oracle humor. Real cute. Bradley’s pen scritched away.
Couldn’t blame the oracle for wanting to make a living, though. It wasn’t that the oracles of Moraira City didn’t want to be part of regular society—it was that they couldn’t. Almost by definition, an oracle spent a huge amount of their life outside the physical realm.
Little things we took for granted were rendered impossible—going to school, holding down a job, hell, even eating.
Weird how I didn’t make that connection earlier, with Bradley entering what was practically a trance-like state as he studied the manuscript.
An oracle in his own way, temporarily exiting this world through the pages of books.
It was different with every oracle, how some considered their gift a blessing, how others considered it a curse. Some might straddle this world and the one beyond, seeing things that were never meant for human eyes, learning secrets the human mind wasn’t built to grasp.
Others had their heads buried so deep in that ethereal other place, dwelling there for so long that the physical world might not even feel like home anymore. And so the oracles supported each other, forming clusters and settlements like this one.
Those who still lived lives tethered to our reality protected the ones who lay dreaming. And the ones who saw everything with closed eyes, those were the ones scouring hidden worlds for precious knowledge, for deadly information.
Bradley handed over the check. Our new friend Wallace examined it with gleaming eyes, his brows shooting all the way up to his hairline.
He stuffed the check into one of his myriad pockets and beckoned for us to follow.
I cursed myself for not taking a peek sooner.
Mage clans and dynasties that amassed huge amounts of wealth weren’t unheard of, but just how rich were these Brooks people, anyway?
I nudged Bradley as we walked, keeping a careful distance from Wallace. “You know it isn’t safe to carry around blank checks like that, right?”
He shrugged. “I knew the oracles would want a donation, and I’m sure it’s even less safe to walk around with wads of cash. Besides, I’ve got my big, strong bodyguard to protect me.”
I cleared my throat, glancing down at my arms. “So you think I’m big and strong, do you?”