Order of the Omni: A Supernatural Romantic Suspense Novel (The Immortalies Book 1) by Penny Knight (good english books to read txt) 📗

Hesitantly, I touch her on her back to offer her support. But as soon as my hand makes contact, she falls flat on her stomach, hitting the ground with a thud.

Silence.

The crowd goes quiet. I raise both hands, scared people will think I have done something to her. Looking around, the masses have already started to eye me suspiciously. I don’t know what to do. She feels like my responsibility.

Bending down, I feel for a pulse. But before I get a chance, she springs to her feet and I jump back, shocked at how quick she moves after all that has happened. My mouth drops open as I stare.

Colour has returned to her face, eyes back to normal. You would think I had just imagined everything.

Have I?

I question myself, but one quick look around at everyone and nope, they’re all just as mystified.

What the hell is going on?

“BOOOO!” the grey-haired lady yells, scaring and shocking everyone into a panic. The crowd disperses. Everyone’s looking down at their phones or pretending to be busy, anything to get away from this crazed lady.

The grey-haired woman looks back to me and smiles wide skipping away. Leaving me with my eyebrows raised and a dumbfounded look on my face.

“Are you ok?” the porter asks me, concerned.

“Um... I...” What can I say about what just happened? Other than I’m freaking out? My head is still pounding, and now my ribs are hurting where the laptop fell on me. All of this, plus the fact this woman just had an exorcist moment, doesn’t even compare to her knowing about my dreams. I’m lost for words. No, I am not ok. Not one bit.

But I still have my work assignment to complete, and Mr. Carrington will soon be here.

“Uh, yeah. I’m ok.” I turn to answer the porter, shaking my head out of my stupor. “I will be fine, thank you.”

“That was...” he pauses as he thinks of the right word, “Uh, intense.” He shrugs.

Hmph, that’s one word for it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” The message tone on my phone goes off. I don’t need to look to know who that is. It would be Topher, and he’s probably wondering where I was.

The porter goes to say something else, and I politely tell him I am running late. I almost break into a run until I reach the front doors of the hotel.

The cold air hits my face. It’s a relief, my body’s like an inferno. If pain wasn’t radiating out of my head, I would take my time and admire the stunning details of the foyer. But I only manage to lift my eyes from the delicate marble floor long enough to find the sign to the women’s restroom. Quickening my pace, I reach the door and push it open, hoping to find it empty.

Finally, something goes my way. There’s not a peep when I enter. The doors of the stalls are open. I’m alone. First, I need to cool my blood that burns under my skin. I turn the tap on and scoop cold water into one hand. The other hand I use to twirl my long, thick dark brown hair up and splash some much needed relief to the back of my neck. Where the pain and heat seem to come from. I gently rub the water around and cringe, remembering the tattoo that sits there mocking me. One that I didn’t want and don’t remember getting.

During these operations, where I infiltrate a business or building, I wear a deliberate disguise. Hairpieces, contact lenses, sometimes even a padded bodysuit to change my physical shape, whatever I need for the case. Today I opted to forgo the auburn curly-haired wig I was meaning to wear. There’s no way in this free world I’d deal with pins in my head today. In fact, I did not alter my appearance at all. Now that decision angers me. Fingers crossed, no one witnessed that scene outside the hotel.

Dropping my long wavy hair, it falls down my back. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looks tired and worn, my large brown eyes seem smaller and my lids are heavy and strained. Even with my makeup, there’s a red tinge coming through and beads of perspiration dripping from my forehead. It’s getting harder to stand, my body trembles as the grey-haired woman flashes in my mind, the events stuck on replay.

What the hell happened? One moment I thought she would die and the other she would kill or infect me. Just seeing her spit blood was one thing, but her mentioning my dreams? How can I begin to process that? I don’t even want to. I have become good at putting memories in boxes in my mind, locking them up, and swallowing the key. This feels like one of those times it’s needed.

I grip tighter with both hands on the basin, trying to steady my feet, my heart racing. The floor sways beneath me. Taking deep long breaths, my hair feels as though it’s choking me, so long and thick and weighing me down. I have to put it up, but God, I hate exposing that tattoo. It’s not like it’s ugly, just the thought behind it. But if I don’t, I think I will face plant onto the cold hard floor. I need to cool down.

I work to tie a loose bun on the top of my head, giving me some relief. As my hand drops to my neck, my fingers trace over the mark. I wish I could say it was a dumb idea. Even that I was drunk or I let some ex-boyfriend convince me to get the ink. But I can’t. The truth is, I don’t know when I got it. All I know is, it’s been there since I was nine years old. It’s not clean and crisp, and my skin is raised like it was once infected. Not like ink from a needle, more like