Free Dark Oracle by Alayna Williams

things, largely through her own experimentation. How to scatter handfuls of earth that would indicate the direction of any quarry she chose. How to read ley lines, the spirit roads departed souls wandered. The Earth hummed to her, spoke to her, became the mother she’d never known.
    The title of Pythia was her birthright.
    Why give it to another, to one who had never shown the slightest interest in it? Why surrender it to Juliane’s distracted daughter? Especially now, when the Pythia sensed a great and terrible technology on the horizon, one that could be used for war as easily as it could be used to instill peace.
    Adrienne’s hands balled into fists. She could sense it, hear it whispered when she pressed her ear to the earth: something wasn’t right. Someone was interfering with the balance of earth, cleaving it in ways it shouldn’t. All of Delphi’s Daughters could hear it, in their own ways, whether it was in their scrying bowls or hinted in their astrology charts. Something terrible was coming. The Pythia was too old to see it clearly. And Tara was too weak and broken to stop it.
    But Adrienne would. Whatever it took.
    Adrienne paced through the living room. Her fingers plucked up strands of Tara’s hair from the couch, sifting through the short pieces of striped cat hair. She paused at Tara’s old work boots near the door, held the soles of those shoes up to her own. Tara possessed a slighter build, smaller feet.
    The bedroom smelled like cedar. Adrienne felt something take a swipe at her ankles when she walked by the bed. The cat. Adrienne ignored it and crossed to the closet. Tara’s clothes were not what she would have expected from a former government agent. Only jeans and loose shirts hung in neat rows. No dresses, blouses, or anything to suggest femininity. Adrienne reached for one of the shirts, a light blue chambray. She shrugged out of her jacket and T-shirt, buttoned Tara’s shirt over her chest. The shirt was a bit tight on her, but it was like trying on the quarry’s skin. Adrienne rubbed her fingers over the worn cloth, twiddling with the buttons as she searched the closet.
    Adrienne leaned forward, sniffed. Below the cedar, she smelled gun oil. An empty case for a Ruger SP-101 lay open on the floor of the closet. The foam inside the case was dented, but the revolver was missing. Adrienne guessed the gun had been stored there for a very long time.
    Her eyes slid to the dresser. She rummaged through the drawers. She found little of interest: jeans, old jewelry boxes, sweaters covered in cat hair.
    On the top perched a framed photo of a young Tara with her mother. It was the only photo of Tara Adrienne had seen in the house.
    Royal succession for the Pythia’s favor. With a swipe, Adrienne knocked it over. The glass cracked on the surface of the dresser.
    She felt a small stab of regret. She wanted to leave no trace of having been here, of having worn Tara’s skin or flipped through the pages of her books. She was reminded of the furious creature underneath the bed. Perhaps this transgression would be blamed on the cat.
    Adrienne turned out the light and stretched out on Tara’s bed. The springs squeaked as she shifted. She was too accustomed to sleeping outdoors, and the bed felt like a ridiculous luxury. The pillows smelled of her quarry’s sweat and tears.
    She lay, staring up at the ceiling, with her hands behind her head. She looked forward to experiencing those smells in person, when she’d chased her quarry down and killed it.

Chapter Five
    H ARRY L I left shortly after the moon set, leaving Tara with her notes, photographs, and the only tangible artifact of Magnusson’s disappearance: his watch. The room seemed a little less. . . alive. . . with him gone.
    She held the cool metal of the watch in her hand. Judging by Harry’s reaction, he didn’t feel the same odd, sticky aura about it that she did. It seemed somehow vacant, as if something was missing. It felt too light, and it