Page 36 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

The most vexing thing, however, was how easy Dean had slipped in the compliment, and the utter comfort he now had sitting on it patiently, waiting for her reaction.

“That was… nice,” she said hesitantly, voice catching. “Thank you.” What little awkwardness she felt bubbling up inside evaporated when Dean simply waved her off.

“Speaking of your face,” he went on. “We’ll need to disguise you.” He reached down to his large duffel bag again, rummaging around for a minute. The clanking of glass and the rustling of the linens he’d used to prevent breakage made it seem like a much deeper compartment than she’d thought.

Finally, he pulled out a small box. A leather eyeglass case, weathered at the corners, and engraved with a small K .

“Glasses, really?” Ingrid asked. “You got a wig in there, too?” She would’ve laughed if she weren’t so underwhelmed. Ealis producing a weed that could turn her into a human-sized chameleon, but not something to change her facial features had to be a joke.

“Not glasses. They’re contacts,” Dean said. “Damn good ones, too. At least, when Karis wore them, I always thought so. Here, take a look.”

With a grandiose presentation, Dean opened the case and lifted it in front of Ingrid. There were six small mounts made of clear glass, all holding lenses that would turn her eyes a dark brown.

“Made here in Ealis, of course,” Dean said proudly. “From Viator tissue and a concoction of two other wonder plants called—well, no, that would bore you. My point is, you don’t even need to clean them. They have their own anti-bacterial coating inside.”

Ingrid took a closer look at the lenses. They didn’t seem extraordinary, or even creepy, considering what Dean had just said about “tissue.” But they did present a possibility that Ingrid tingled at the thought of.

Her eyes had always been a glaring example of her otherness, her isolation.

She’d gotten so used to people asking about them, complimenting them, ridiculing them, staring at them.

And now all she had to do was cover them with a small piece of…

whatever it was, and poof , they were gone. She’d be just like everyone else.

She didn’t pause before snatching the case from Dean. As she carefully put them on, she said, “I never asked about the red eyes. Is it that well-known in Ealis? That only Oracles have them?”

Dean confirmed the question hurriedly, as if he thought Ingrid might change her mind and deny the disguise.

“Absolutely. It’s what drove Karis to Earth in the first place.

With another war brewing, he knew he’d have to leave.

He knew someone would come after him eventually.

A thin layer over his eyes wouldn’t change that.

He’d lived mostly in seclusion and disguise, but still, people knew. The name Karis was legend in the West.”

“So if anyone sees me? Sees my eyes?” Ingrid trailed off.

“Yes,” was all Dean said, letting the realization sink in.

She’d have to wear these things in her eyes until it was over. She’d have to pretend. To keep herself a secret. Even stranded on a new world, she still had to wear masks.

“Now, where were we?” Dean continued rifling through his bag, digging through it wildly, removing trinkets and baggies like a magician pulling a ribbon from a hat.

It was yet another jar he settled on, but Ingrid gleaned immediately that this jar was different.

Something in the way Dean looked at it was oddly concerning.

He held it oddly, too. Far away from his face as if he was worried about getting a whiff of it.

With both hands covering the glass to hide its contents, he said in a cautious tone, “This one requires a disclaimer. Could be difficult to stomach.”

“Yeah yeah.” Ingrid made a circling motion with her hand, urging him to go on.

No matter how grotesque it was, she couldn’t imagine a plant being able to turn her stomach.

She’d had to clean the public toilets after a New Year’s party in her first year at The Boneyard, after no less than two busboys quit over an accidental projectile in the women’s room.

She’d barely winced at that sight, so she figured she could handle a?—

Ingrid halted as her eyes met a pale, fleshy insect the size of a tarantula.

What looked like twelve legs stuck out from a bulbous pink body.

At the back was a long stinger, and atop the torso was a circular head, near-white hair sprouting out sparsely, with monstrously big eyes perched like a frog’s.

“Oh, no! Why!?” She had never seen a more unsettling combination of traits on a creature. Not even the Ungii came close. She closed her eyes and turned her head. “When did we switch from plants to dead insects?!”

Dean only chuckled, ignoring the question. “It’s called a Swinett. Fascinating little thing. Incredibly resourceful.”

Ingrid held back her disgust as best she could.

“The stinger is full of venom, poisonous enough to kill an elephant. Its eyes can roll back 180 degrees to see if anything is approaching. But the real prize is this, here.” He titled the preserved corpse upside down.

“At the center of its abdomen is a spinneret. Like a spider. Though, instead of silk, it produces a far stickier and more pliant substance.”

Still looking away, Ingrid asked, “That’s great and all, but, umm, how will this help us?”

“How will it help ? The webbing is translucent! We can set undetectable traps. Even big bad Sylan would need a good twenty to thirty minutes to get free of this stuff.”

Ingrid frowned. “But… it’s dead.” Last time she checked, getting a dead thing to do anything for you was somewhat difficult.

“Correct! But that’s the beauty of it. The web glands continue to work after death.

Did you notice there wasn’t any formaldehyde in this jar?

” He didn’t wait for Ingrid to answer. “That’s because the exterior body doesn’t decay at all.

Only the vital organs. Which are broken down inside and used to make, you guessed it, even more web. ”

Even with her head still turned, Ingrid could hear the grin in his voice.

The way that he spoke of it was like a child with an obsessive toy collection.

It made sense in an endearing, if not fairly creepy way.

From what Ingrid had learned of his upbringing, there weren’t many hobbies available to him outside of weapons training and mechanical engineering.

Not exactly suitable for a boy of six. But magical plants and little critters?

It was nearly reminiscent of a normal American boy.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Ingrid said, rounding her eyes back to him finally. “The few times you came here to Ealis, when you were younger, what was it like?”

He didn’t need time to think about it. “Intoxicating. You’ve seen part of it, and it’s still so beautiful, but back then, when Makkar was just starting to spread his influence, even the air gave you a high.

People travelled without worry. Friendly little animals were running around everywhere.

And the markets on any given day, it was like going to the circus, except all the tricks were real. It was every little kid’s dream.”

“And your mother never thought about staying?” Ingrid asked gently. “Of trying to live here full-time?”

“No. We couldn’t. Only a year later, Makkar’s power had spread too far.

The anti-human narrative was everywhere.

It wasn’t safe, so we had to stop visiting, had to forget about it.

I just didn’t ever think I’d forget the magic of this place in the process.

After that was gone, it was impossible to think of Ealis in a positive light, or how the secret of it created this massive, gaping divide between me and kids my age. ”

Ingrid felt a tug of sorrow at his words.

It hadn’t fully dawned on her until then how similar their early lives were, how easily she could relate to Dean’s strife, and how young and unprepared he’d been to handle it.

Then, noticing the way the starlight hit his tanned skin, she remembered Dean’s scarring all along his chest and torso.

Even during their escape, she’d gotten a good look.

They appeared old, with stretched and pale ridges only present in wounds suffered long ago.

She wondered if he’d gotten them as a young man, or as a boy, when training for this very war he was now thrust in the center of.

“That’s exactly how I thought of the Shades haunting me,” Ingrid offered after a moment. “Always felt like it built this massive wall up between myself and everyone else. I still catch myself holding my breath, waiting for the nightmares to come back.”

Dean’s head dropped slightly, like her words had knocked the wind out of him. “I always took it for granted when Karis taught me how to block the Shades out. To keep them away for good. So I… I can’t imagine. If they ever come back, I’d be happy to teach you the viseer-less method.”

Ingrid nodded. “If Tyla lets you, that is.”

“Ahh, right. She did seem opposed to the idea.” Dean acted as if he’d forgotten about the embarrassing moment until now. “But soon you won’t need either of us. You’ll surpass all our abilities in no time, so I’m going to serve you in any way I can before then.”

“Serve?” Ingrid laughed, choking on the words. “I’m not a fucking queen. Relax.”

Dean remained serious. “You could be. You could be my queen, someday. A few of the Eastern kingdoms lost their rulers early on in this war. And very few of those kingdoms pass down the throne through blood. If you defeat Makkar, you could have your pick. They’d welcome the last Oracle with a parade and parties lasting weeks.

” He looked at Ingrid shyly.. “I don’t know. Something to think about.”

She was silent a moment, fighting the urge to ridicule the idea further, before settling on a sarcastic whisper, “I’ll mull it over.”

“Really?” Dean sat back in his chair, the muscles in his forearms rippling as he rested his hands on his head. “You never wanted power? Never wanted to be looked up to? Little Ingrid Lourdes never had any big dreams?”

“To have a family,” Ingrid blurted out, and quickly shuddered at the admission.

Dean’s expression deflated. “Of course. Stupid question. Sorry.”

Ingrid shook her head. “Don’t be.”

“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?”