When I quit being a fake fortuneteller to be the Oracle, of course the job had strings attached. Olympic-sized strings.
A modern epic of Homeric proportions with romance, belly laughs, and ibuprofen chasers
After my mother died when I was the tender age of four, I moved in with my yiayia and papus. My Greek grandparents filled my head with ancient myths of heroic deeds, tragedies, and poems. They spoke to me in Greek and taught me to read and write in the language. It felt like they were preparing me for something.
When I was a teenager, they died. I got pregnant, married my sweetheart and lived a pretty miserable life. With the exception of raising my son Luke, of course.
I made a living telling fortunes. It paid the bills that Carlo couldn’t cover with his wise guy money. My dreams of being a hero were long forgotten.
Then, on the same day, I received a Dear John from my husband, a call from my son to come stay with him in Seattle, and a visit from a mysterious woman.
Turns out, I’m the real deal. I have the power to read the future. Now, I’m racing against unknown enemies to get to the west coast and claim my position.
I do have a helper. The guardian angel who saved me from the same fire that ostensibly killed my mother. Except, he’s no angel. Hermes is a literal god.
Will I make it to Washington to claim my inheritance, or will I meet the same fate that’s befallen the last Oracle?
