Cursed by Chemistry Read Online Free PDF Page B

often days, or if lucky, minutes ahead of time, and boasted of his find to any dumbass who would believe him.
    And that made Adrian king of Dumbassdom, didn’t it? He breathed an impatient sigh. Maybe more of that autumn pollution outside would cool his mood.
    The Oracle’s self-indulgent drone—which had been going on for some time—rose in greeting as Adrian approached. “—not in the number of breaths we take but from the moments that take our breath away… like .” The Oracle emphasized the last word with a pointed click of his finger.
    Adrian didn’t bother suppressing his eye-roll. For an all-seeing deity, one would think the Oracle would be the first person to discover social networking. Not the last.
    Well, let’s be honest, he still thought he was the first.
    “What’s got you in such a poor mood, Adrian Sands…Sands….Adrian Sands?” he sang. The Oracle’s thick shoulders dipped to one side then the other in time to the overhead music, like a pair of overweight merry-go-round ponies. That same stupid jingle greeted Adrian every time he came here. “Not that I don’t just adore the brooding type.”
    Don’t respond.
    And what was it about always using his full name? Only his mother had that right, and she’d died the day she gave it to him. The spider-line threads that bound Adrian’s heart pulled tighter. Yet another glimpse of the Apothecary curse in action. One of the many reasons Adrian hated prophecy in all its forms—and the main reason why the Oracle loved to pester him.
    “Ohh and bitter.” The Oracle clicked his thick tongue, but his attention held on the monitor.
    Do. Not. Respond.
    The Oracle’s head swiveled atop the thick folds of his neck. His thin lips pursed to one side. “Boy, you need a vacation or a massage or something.”
    How does someone lisp with a tongue that big? Probably something he’d mastered over several centuries. Oracles had an unusual lifespan. Unlike Apothecaries—thank God. Death, at the ripe ole age of sixty or so, would be Adrian’s one release from his loveless misery. But then again, in death he would probably be written in the night sky, a perpetual arm’s-length from his one true love. That’s the kind of fate the universe hands you when you go screwing with the world’s most famous star-crossed lovers.
    Or if your grandfather does it for you. Or even your great-great-great grandfather—
    “Why, you pouty little drama queen. You’re darkening my entire domicile.” The Oracle lifted his head from the screen and snapped the laptop shut.
    Adrian crossed his arms. “I haven’t said a word.” Until now. Damn it. Adrian closed his eyes and tossed out his mental stopwatch. No telling how long it would take now. “Just get to the point.”
    “How am I supposed to make a living here, selling joy toys to the masses, with you acting all—” The Oracle waved his arms in a conjuring motion. “—wilty-wallflower on me.”
    “The point. You do have one, right?”
    “Your heart hasn’t even been broken yet.” The Oracle continued his rant unhindered.
    Adrian plucked a travel-sized packet of lube from its clear, plastic candy bin and pretended to study the back label. He muttered under his breath. “Could have had a million other guides, and this is what I’m stuck with. An attention-deficient deity.”
    The Oracle’s lips twisted in mock disgust. “Love sucks. You’re a hermit beyond your years, boy.” The Oracle turned. “Why did I bring you here, anyway?”
    “Is that rhetorical?”
    The Oracle’s grotesque orange and yellow, candy-corn sweater jiggled as he let out a pelican’s bark of laughter. “Of course it’s a rhetorical. I already know why I brought you. I know everything .”
    “Then you shouldn’t need anything from me.”
    “I don’t.”
    Adrian paused. Most days, he could pacify his urge to strangle the deity and keep his opinions in check, but this time proved more difficult.
    He’d forgotten just how powerful