Westside Oracle: Midlife Olympians: The Oracle Chronicles # 1

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

I am no saint and certainly no sacred advisor. Telling people what they want to hear or giving advice is something that has come naturally to me. It's how I earn my bread and butter. However, I have no real gift of prophecy.

Or, at least I thought. Turns out my Greek grandparents forgot to tell me one important detail. I'm a direct descendant of the Oracles of Delphi.

When my ex lands me in legal trouble, I make a rash decision and sign on to be the next Oracle. I can always get out of the deal, right?

Wrong.

I've signed my name in blood and that's physically binding to someone of my lineage. Being magical isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Especially, when you find yourself embroiled in an eons old family feud.

Now, I must learn to access my oracular gifts and make allies fast or end up like the last Oracle--Dead. Hermes has offered to help me with both, but I've trusted handsome men before and got burnt. That's how I ended up in this position in the first place.

Race with me across the United States to the Washington Olympics to claim my position before my enemies can stop me.