Damian's Oracle.

By Lizzy Ford.

CHAPTER ONE.

"So ... did the doc say you're turning into a vampire?"

Sofia dropped her purse on the desk in her cube without removing her sungla.s.ses. The early December sun couldn't set fast enough to prevent her pounding headache from growing worse on her drive to work. She ignored the hunk in her cube, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Vampiress," Jake pressed. "I brought you something."

He held out a bottle of red water.

"You can pretend it's blood."

"You have five minutes to leave my cube, or I'll bite your neck!" she retorted.

"Really, what'd the doc say?" Jake grew serious and sat in the spare chair in her cube.

Sofia rubbed her temples. She was better off pulling a random diagnosis out of a hat.

"No brain tumors," she replied. "Probably not the neurological issue they thought. They're looking at other ideas."

"Do they know what makes you allergic to light and eat raw steaks covered in peanut b.u.t.ter for every meal?"

"They're not raw, and I only eat them for dinner."

"Did the doc explain your mood swings, too?"

She gritted her teeth. She'd known Jake since her junior year of college. They dated in college, parted ways mutually, and ended up working for the same financial planning firm in Virginia. Normally, she felt privileged that he still gave her the time of day, what with the way he'd turned out formed like a Greek G.o.d with hazel eyes so pretty their boss swooned every time she spoke to him. But today, she didn't want to be reminded that she'd changed from a normal human being into a sunlight intolerant, moody b.i.t.c.h in the two months since her 28th birthday.

"Think you can talk the boss into letting me come in an hour or two later?" she asked.

"Yeah, easy. I just smile pretty. Doesn't work on you, but it does on her."

"Thanks, Jake. The headaches are getting worse."

"Sofi, I'm worried," he said, softening. "What's going on?"'

"The doctors don't know," she said with a sigh. "They're flying in a specialist from overseas. They said it might be some sort of rare blood disorder."

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean? That they really don't have a clue?"

"Pretty much."

"I googled your symptoms," Jake said and unfolded a piece of paper. "A lot of bulls.h.i.t posted by wannabe vampires and Twilight fans. But I found this, too."

He handed her the page.

"This is fruit punch, by the way," he said, nudging the bottle of red water towards her. "Your favorite, right?"

"I don't remember telling you that."

"Anyway, among the wacko postings, I found this site."

He held up the paper to reveal a link to a website with a single name and phone number written on it.

Damian Bylun "What is this?" she asked, accepting the paper.

Jake wiped his mouth the way he did when he admitted to cheating on her eight years ago. She lifted her sungla.s.ses to squint at him.

"It's a blog this doctor guy keeps. In it, he describes what you're going through."

"For real?"

"Yeah."

"How did you find it? I spent days surfing the net. Even Katy tried to help."

"Aw well, you and your BFF just aren't as good as The Jake. She's still a b.i.t.c.h, by the way."

She rolled her eyes. He'd never gotten over her BFF refusing to date him after she dumped him. Jake's ego was as large as his size sixteen feet.

"What does he say my symptoms are?"

"I don't know. His blog is firewalled from here, though, so you should just call him."

Damian Bylun. It struck a cord deep within her, as if she should know it. Struck by something else, she removed her sungla.s.ses and eyed Jake.

"You know you haven't spoken to me more than to say h.e.l.lo in five years. I haven't been able to get you out of my cube for the past two weeks. What's up with that, Jake?"

He chuckled and rubbed his mouth again.

"I've been doing a lot of soul searching and am just trying to ... be a better person."

She could almost see him standing before his mirror practicing the line before going to the bars to pick up chics. But, whatever he was hiding couldn't be that important.

"I'll look at this later," she said. "Go forth and leave me be, The Jake. Leave the punch."

"Sofia, I really think you should call this guy," he said, looking her in the eye. "Please."

A sense of uneasiness ran through her at the gravity in his normally light tone.

"Fine, I will."

He flashed a smile and strode from her cube. Sofia looked at the paper again. She retrieved her cell and tucked the paper into her pocket. s.n.a.t.c.hing her sungla.s.ses, she almost made it to the door before she heard Lacy's voice.

"Sofia, can you come see me?"

She grimaced and turned to see the tall blond retreating towards her office. Lacy wore a skirt too short and tight for office wear, but when you're the boss ...

"I noticed you've been taking a lot of sick time lately," Lacy said as she entered.

"Yeah, I'm having some issues," Sofia replied.

"Jake told me. HR pa.s.sed it to upper management. I need you to bring in some sort of paperwork from your doctor stating what's wrong."

"They don't know what's wrong. I can bring you another one of the notes verifying that's where I am when I'm missing work."

Lacy looked up from the memo in her hands.

"What do you mean? They're doctors. Of course they know what's wrong. And those notes aren't good enough."

"They really don't know," she said again.

"I can't make reasonable accommodations for you if I don't know what's wrong."

"That makes no sense, Lacy. If I have a doctor's note saying I'm under their care, isn't that good enough until they figure it out?"

Lacy arched a delicate eyebrow.

"No, it's not," she snapped. "I need a diagnosis, and I need a treatment plan."

"A what?"

"You deaf now, too?"

Sofia bit her tongue. She lacked Jake's golden tongue, and her bluntness had gotten her in trouble more than once. Normally she acquiesced in favor of a paycheck, but Lacy's demand was bizarre, even by Lacy-standards.

"Look, Lacy, I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm so frustrated right now. I just came back from a battery of tests that said nothing's wrong with me."

The moments the words left her mouth, she knew her mistake. Lacy's eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean there's nothing wrong? Are you making this up?"

"No, Lacy, what I meant is that whatever is wrong - "

"So you're a basket case. One of those aphrodisiacs or something."

"Hypochondriac, not aphro - "

"I meant, you're making it up!" Lacy snarled. "Aphro, hypo, who gives a d.a.m.n. They're the same thing! You've been lying to me!"

"No, Lacy - "

"Worse, you've been lying to Jake, too? Oh my G.o.d, what - "

"Lacy, stop!" Sofia snapped, standing. "I haven't lied to you. They don't know what's wrong, and I'm not making it up!"

"You've always thought yourself soooo much better than the rest of us, and I'm sick of your att.i.tude. Now you're lying to me about being sick. You know what? Until you can prove you've got some d.a.m.n disease, you're on leave without pay."

Stunned, Sofia stared at her.

"Lacy, I'm - "

"Shut up and get the f.u.c.k out!"

Surprise, then fury lit her insides.

"Fine," she said, wrenching the office door open. "But Lacy, everyone knows you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Jake."

Lacy's mouth dropped open. Dimly, Sofia knew she'd never work there again after that low blow. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her bag and hurried home, not reflecting on her behavior until she tossed her coat on the bed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Her cell rang. She dug it out of her pocket.

"Hey, Katy," she said, kicking off her shoes. "What's up?"

"Hey hon, Jake told me you quit work?"

"Jake?" she echoed.

"He's still a d.i.c.k. You're not seeing him again, are you?"

"Katy, I have a headache. I'll call you later."

Sofia hung up, frustrated. She emptied her pockets and tossed her lunch in the fridge. When she retreated to the bathroom, she flipped on the light, cringed, but forced herself to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

She was going to die. She just knew it. Whatever her disease, it had eluded the doctors for months. By the time they found out what it was, she'd probably be near-dead, like stage four cancer. She stared at her reflection, caught by something else that didn't seem right. She leaned forward, staring at her irises. Her eyes had always been a pretty shade of turquoise, her favorite feature. But instead of a rim of darker blue surrounding her irises, they were rimmed by a thick band of iridescent silver.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she whispered.

As she stared, the silver seemed to flare into a deep glow and swirl around her irises like cars around a racetrack. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The silver was still again.

"Hallucinations!"

She ran to her desk and pulled out a journal, jotting down her latest symptom.

Sensitivity to light, enhanced hearing so I can't sleep without noise cancellation headphones, aversion to fish, crave meat and broccoli, nails growing faster, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, stuffy nose, addiction to peanut b.u.t.ter, weight loss, general weakness ...

The strange symptoms went on for three pages. She read the list until panic stirred in her breast. Claustrophobic in the dark cave that had become her home, she grabbed her coat and purse and set out into the cold, brisk night. She didn't want to die, and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing the sun again like Brad Pitt in Interview with a Vampire.