Carnal Sin

TEN

Velocity spanned half a block, from the corner to a narrow alley wide enough for one car. Opaque black glass, embedded with blue and green neon lighting that flowed in a minimalist version of ocean waves framed the exterior on two sides. It had the simple, understated elegance only achieved with a lot of money.

“You’re quiet,” Rafe said.

Moira didn’t address his unspoken question. She’d pushed their argument in the garage aside; she had to focus on her other senses, not the feelings between her and Rafe.

“I’ll bet they charge twenty bucks a drink,” Moira muttered. “And they probably don’t have Guinness on tap.”

“It doesn’t look open.”

Moira pulled out her phone and looked Velocity up. “Friday night, open from five until two. It’s only three. I don’t really want to hang around for the next couple hours.”

A woman walked out of the building, an oversized tote over her shoulder. She wore impossibly tall heels, but when she reached the corner, she slipped them off and put on Vans.

“So we know people are inside,” Rafe said.

“I can pretend I’m interviewing for a job.”

“I doubt they interview right before opening.”

“I can pretend I’m a health inspector.”

He just stared at her and shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about this. The demon can go anywhere it wants, right?”

“Pretty much, though they’re probably looking for easy marks.”

“So why here?”

She thought about it. “You’re right, you’d think the demon would want to spread its warm fuzzies. Why stay in one club? There’re probably a hundred of these places that appeal to the raging-hormone crowd.” Moira straightened. “Maybe-” She hesitated.

“What?”

“As far as we know, no one in Fiona’s coven was affected by the demons. Yet we know they were in contact with Envy’s victims.”

Rafe nodded. “The demons could be connected to them in some way. Following them around.”

“If Fiona figures this out, she’ll have a way to bring the Seven back together by reuniting her coven.”

“Not if we trap them first.”

She glanced over at the nightclub. “Maybe Fiona is here.”

“Moira-”

“I’m not planning anything stupid, Rafe. I just want to be prepared.” She switched subjects, because Rafe seemed to understand too much about what she was thinking. She didn’t want to lie to him about what she had planned when she found her mother. “Let’s check out the alley. Maybe I’ll sense a spell at work. Maybe that frat boy had a curse on him.”

“You think you can sense the magic even after two days?”

“Possibly. After being so close to Envy, I think I can pick up on residual energy, over and beyond the foul stench the demons leave behind.”

“Their scent doesn’t last long.”

“Probably not two days.”

They walked past the building toward the alleyway that ran parallel and several blocks south of Wilshire Boulevard. Moira relaxed, focused on the energy in the area. But Rafe’s close presence distracted her. She felt his emotions, and they were all directed toward her, even as he looked down the alley and assessed the area. His feelings were clogging her senses.

“Rafe, I need to go down there alone. You’re messing with my head.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled, widely, hoping to alleviate Rafe’s worries. No luck, he still looked concerned.

“I’ll be right here.”

Moira walked slowly down the alley. It went all the way through to the street on the other side, but was narrow and didn’t look as if it was used for much of anything but servicing four dumpsters. A few unmarked doors on both sides of the alley suggested emergency or employee entrances.

Craig Monroe had been found with his pants around his ankles, with no outward sign of homicide. Had there been no demon’s mark on the college kid’s back, Moira wouldn’t even be here. It would have been a human crime, not a supernatural murder.

What drew the demon to Velocity? What made it stay? Why had it not spread the deadly rages of unrestrained lust far and wide? Perhaps it wasn’t as easy as simple contact. Moira realized there were far more complexities to these demons than any of them understood. What needed to happen before the demons affected someone? It had been more than two weeks since the Seven Deadly Sins had been released. Had the demon Lust been in Los Angeles since the beginning, or arrived more recently? Envy had managed to destroy many lives and families in two short days; why was Lust taking so much longer?

Moira moved farther down the alley. Though direct sunlight was nonexistent between the buildings and the stench of days-old garbage uncomfortably filled her olfactory senses, she’d nevertheless much rather be here than in the morgue watching some dead guy get cut open.

While the signs of police activity were gone-and there were no convenient chalk outlines like in the movies-Moira knew exactly where the body had been found. In the center of the alley between two dumpsters was a surprisingly clean square of stained cement. It had probably been picked clean by cops collecting evidence.

She leaned over, noting a faint stain on the gray brick wall, at approximately the height where a sitting body would rest. Her heart quickened when she considered it might be washed blood, but that was impossible. Craig Monroe hadn’t had a scratch on him.

Moira touched the wall. A wave of pain spiked down her nerve endings and sent her jumping back several feet.

An odd, unsettling sensation washed over her as the pain faded. She wanted to run far away, but if she didn’t figure out what was going on here in this alley, who else would? She slowed her breathing and concentrated, using her “Spidey Sense,” as Rico in a rare moment of humor dubbed her sharp instincts. Intuition, a sixth sense, whatever others might name it-she had it in spades, and she’d worked hard to learn to decipher her subconscious thoughts and feelings. But it didn’t come easily. And honestly, she didn’t like it. Opening her senses forced her to lower her guard, making her vulnerable and defenseless. But there was no other way to know for certain whether there had been demonic or magical energy in the area.

She reached into her jacket, her weapons now within easy reach.

Her peripheral vision darkened. The air cooled around her. A light breeze swept down the alley, rustling newspapers and food wrappers that had missed their designated receptacle. The sky overhead grew darker and lights came on at either end of the alley and over doorways, except for the one door marked VELOCITY EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE.

Lights … why were the lights on in the middle of the day?

It was no longer day, it was night. Moira froze, rooted in her spot, staring at the dark space between the dumpsters, and realized a young man stood there. Craig Monroe.

“Damn, but you’re hot,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m doing this here. I want to fuck your brains out.”

With shimmering brown hair that seemed to sparkle in the dim light, a voluptuous woman stepped forward and kissed him. Moira couldn’t see her face. She knew this was a vision-it had to be a vision; they couldn’t see her. But she was awake! It seemed so real. And it was more vivid than a vision, brighter. She smelled the alley, felt the chill, and saw everything sharply-too sharply, as if altered through a prism. She glanced around her, but everything was dark. All Moira saw were lights above doorways and deep, endless shadows.

She had no sense of emotion or life from the images in front of her, as if they were ghosts.

If Craig Monroe was a ghost reliving his last moments, trapped between Heaven and Hell, this alley was now haunted. Moira was no expert on getting rid of ghosts. Demons, yes; ghosts were a whole other business. Ghosts could be dangerous, but they weren’t a direct threat and they rarely roamed. Moira could contact any number of people to deal with Monroe and release his soul to wherever it was supposed to go.

Monroe didn’t seem to see her, and he didn’t look like a ghost. Or act like a ghost. While he stood right in front of her, she knew better than to try and touch him. She didn’t want to give him an easy way to get inside her.

“I’m so hungry for you,” he said with a primal growl. He was looking right at Moira, but not at her. She remained frozen, ready to run or fight.

The woman said, “What do you want?”

“Suck my dick. That’s what you promised.”

The woman laughed, a low, seductive sound. She kissed him and he grabbed at her, eager, greedy. Fisted her hair violently in his hands. Pushed her down to her knees so hard it had to have hurt, but the woman didn’t protest. She unzipped his pants and pulled them with his boxers down to his ankles. His penis jutted out, hard and red and quivering.

“Do it!” Craig commanded.

The woman took his dick into her mouth and he groaned. Oddly, Monroe looked pained as he thrust himself into the willing woman’s mouth, his hands pressing her head against him, unconcerned about whether she could breathe or whether he hurt her. His knuckles were white from the pressure, and he grunted. Moira wanted to beat him senseless for the complete disregard he showed for the woman, as if she were there solely for his pleasure.

Moira knew this wasn’t real. But it was. It wasn’t happening now, but it had happened. She’d heard of imprinting, where an act of violence imprinted itself on a place and certain people-empaths-could sense the crime. But she’d never heard of anyone actually seeing the act itself unless there was a ghost involved.

One of her hands moved to her pocket that had salt. Her other hand was wrapped around her dagger.

The color drained from Craig’s face and he cried out, “What-what-” then his body jerked, his eyes bugging out in complete terror. His mouth moved but no words came out, only a high-pitched, barely audible screech that gave Moira goose bumps. No human sounded like that.

The woman rose from the filthy alley as Craig stared blindly at Moira, his body sliding down the wall as he fell, dying.

He’s not seeing you. He’s not seeing you.

“No-” His voice was weak. Moira didn’t know if she actually heard him, or if it was her mind filling in the plea.

The woman put her hands on his head and said, “Vestri animus est mei, adeo mihi.”

Your soul is mine, come to me.

Craig’s spirit-his soul-rose from his body. Not a ghost, but his actual soul. Moira had never seen a soul as it was ripped from a body, but she’d heard it was possible. Had nightmares about the possibility. Craig’s cursed soul was a dark-gray glowing mist. It wrapped around his body, trying to get back in. The woman opened her mouth, sucking in the mist-his soul. Her entire body momentarily darkened, then it shimmered seductively. She dazzled, becoming even more beautiful than she already was, unnaturally stunning.

The demon turned and saw Moira. Her eyes widened in total surprise. Moira reached for her dagger, not understanding what was happening. Had she slipped back in time? Impossible. She almost laughed. After what she’d seen and done in her life, backtracking a couple of days seemed plausible!

Then she recognized the woman-the same brunette she’d had the vision about that morning. The woman who was possessed.

Craig Monroe had been killed two days ago. The chilling realization that Moira was sharing some sort of experience or memory with this vile demon terrified her, but she stood her ground. Swallowing her fear, she said with surprising authority, “Deus, in nomine tuo salvum me fac, et virtute tua age causam meam! Deus, audi-”

The demon cut her off. “Moira, darling. You do not understand.”

Moira held out the sacred blade, ready to defend herself or kill if she had to. She didn’t want to take an innocent life, prayed she could save the victim the demon was using.

“Deus, audi-” she started again, her voice cracking.

The demon laughed. “You foolish child.” She grimaced. “But now I need to find another vessel. That displeases me.”

With a flick of the demon’s wrist, Moira was flung across the alley and slammed against a brick wall. She fell to the filthy ground with a thud. Trying to rise, her vision blurred and her head ached. She closed her eyes. A wave of heat crossed over her and she tried in vain to stand, then she collapsed.

I just need a minute …