Page 65 of The Shadowed Oracle
“But I am.” He still looked disgusted with himself.
“Oh stop. There are so many orphans in the world. Most of them wanted the same as I did.” Without thinking, she reached for the viseer stone necklace tucked under her shirt. After pulling it out and giving it a few strokes, she noticed Dean was still averting his eyes, struggling with what to say.
“Stop your pouting,” she said softly. “I know I’m not easy to talk to sometimes, but considering where we are now.” She gave a once-over of the high wooden ceiling, the burning fireplace, the intense night sky beaming in from the window. “It might be good to re-examine some things from my past.”
Since this journey began, she’d been subconsciously delving into memories with this new outlook. Things she’d repressed for her own safety were still littered with holes, but others came to her naturally.
“I’ve been remembering things,” she said. “Things I can’t believe I forgot. Like the car my father drove. Or the first apartment. Or, this is a good one, the fact I didn’t have a last name for the first six years of my life.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked incredulously. “How is that possible?”
“My father never mentioned it,” she said, flashing Dean a complex smile. “And child protective services couldn’t find any record of it. I’d always thought he hadn’t cared enough, that he was too lazy or too dysfunctional to go through the proper paperwork.”
“He was probably hiding you,” Dean cut in. “Didn’t want any record of your existence.”
“Maybe,” Ingrid hummed. It was a nice idea. One that she was anxious to investigate. “Still doesn’t explain why he left, though.”
“You’re right.” Dean had leaned forward, digging his arms into the table anxiously. “Whatever his excuse was, it wasn’t good enough.”
Ingrid forced a smile at that. “Probably.”
“No. Fuck that.” With a smooth urgency, Dean sat up. He seemed to be overcome with one of those heat waves he was prone to, airing out his undershirt. “He shouldn’t have left you. We’ll look into everything we can to get you some answers, but don’t lose sight of that. Leaving you was wrong, no matter the excuse.”
Ingrid stared down at her shoes, avoiding the deep, sincere gaze Dean was no doubt giving her. She only heard his deep breath, his footsteps as he paced slowly around the table, and then a sheepish laugh.
“What?” she asked, nearly breaking into a fit of her own.
“Sorry, it’s not funny. Just, if you didn’t know your surname, where did Lourdes come from?”
“The group home,” Ingrid answered, confused and a little defensive. “It was called St. Bernadette’s, after the Saint of Lourdes.”
Dean’s shoulder rounded upward, “I had a feeling that was it. The nuns, did they tell you how Saint Bernadette became a saint?”
Ingrid fidgeted in her seat, instantly plucking the memory like an errant hair. It was a connection she might’ve never made if Dean hadn’t brought it up, but now that it was there in her mind, she was stunned she hadn’t thought of it earlier.
“She had visions,” Ingrid said lowly, shaking her head. “Bernadette of Lourdes had visions of the Virgin Mary.”
“The patron saint of visions.” Dean gripped his forehead. “If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is. I mean, how many Catholic orphanages are even left in the States?”
Ingrid didn’t need to guess. “There aren’t any orphanages left. Most of the group homes are government-funded, too. I just got lucky, I guess.”
“Right. Lucky,” Dean repeated. “That’s one way to put it.”
“How else would I put it?”
For a long moment, Dean only smiled in response. His hazel eyes were bright and wide, taking in all of her at once, just like he’d done when he’d first met her on that serendipitous night. The night he attributed to restoring his purpose. His reason for going on in this fight.
“I’d call it fate,” he said. “But what the fuck do I know?”
Chapter Twenty-One
The viewof the deep valley surrounding the cabin had been beautiful that morning, light from the new day illuminating those crooked trees lining the upward pathway to the surface. Ingrid watched the shadows slowly disappear, taking the last sips of coffee that Dean had brought from home. Since Tyla had already gone out on a scouting expedition, and the other two were close behind, she decided she’d put on her armor and make the climb alone.
As it had been when first donning it, Ingrid felt both dangerously uncoordinated and thoroughly protected all at once. The cool morning breeze wriggled its way into the few vulnerabilities as she started up the path. It was made of dirt and stone, slippery but carefully arranged like steps to guide her. One wrong move, spending a moment too long gawking at the vivid color of the mountain flowers, or the almost artistic way in which the brush had grown into a leafy-green tunnel overhead, and she might’ve fallen to her death.
Considering what she’d been threatened by already, it was probably a good way to go. Less frightening, at least.
She made it to the top of the steep path, feeling accomplished enough for a short break from her macabre thoughts. Shetightened a strap across her chest, reached her arm over her shoulder to make sure her sword was still sheathed and secure, then felt the grooves in the hilt as a sort of meditation, centering herself, readying for the journey and?—
