One week ago, I became the queen of the Oracles. One day ago, I learned the cost of such a power. One hour ago, I decided this isn't all it's cracked up to be.
There's no rest for the weary. Or the wicked, depending on how you look at it.
So let's look at it. First, I have a demon problem. I've had one all along, but now I know who it is and why she's here. And what she wants—she is not getting, Not if I have anything to say about it. But going up against a demon . . . the thought it terrifying.
Second, I have a new quest presenting itself on my front porch in the form of FIngal Mackay, Ban-he. The problem is, something is wrong. I can feel it, sense it like you know a storm is coming. How are you supposed to help someone you know has a storm at his back? I don't have a choice, but . . . I don't feel good about it.
And finally, if that's not enough, things I thought were a sure thing, safe, on my side . . . they're not. You know, because I need one more challenge. Talk about something not being all it's cracked up to be—but there's no going back. I'm the Oracle. I have my responsibilities, whether I like it or not.
If I make it out of this alive, it's going to be some kind of miracle.
