Carnal Sin

ELEVEN

Rafe ran toward Moira as she flew across the alley and hit the brick wall. Intense rage and deep-seated fear filled his mind even as his instincts had him scanning the area for threats. Moira tried to rise, then collapsed. She wasn’t moving by the time he’d reached her side.

Rafe glanced at the wall where Moira had been staring. There was nothing there. He’d known something was wrong, but she’d made it perfectly clear she needed space to concentrate, and his presence distracted her. If he had gotten there sooner, she wouldn’t have been hurt.

Her charge is extremely dangerous and any distractions will prove fatal.

Rico’s warning came unbidden, and Rafe scowled, pushing the thought from his mind. But Rico had planted the seed, and now Rafe feared his former trainer was right.

He knelt next to Moira and checked her pulse. Strong. Rapid, but steady. Thank God. She was unconscious, though, and that worried him. “Moira? It’s Rafe.” Her face had a nasty scrape from where she’d fallen, and there was a bump on the back of her head. He pulled his hand from her hair and came away with a smear of blood, but there didn’t appear to be a deep cut.

Dammit, he shouldn’t have let her go down the alley alone!

Her knife had fallen out of her grip. He heard something behind him and quickly pocketed the dagger inside his jacket.

“Slowly move away from the body,” commanded a deep voice behind Rafe. “This is the police; keep your hands where I can see them.”

He hesitated. Moira’s gun was partly visible.

“Now!” the cop shouted.

His back to the police officer, Rafe gently placed Moira’s head on the ground, and while doing so shifted her jacket so that her gun wasn’t visible. He couldn’t take the chance that the cop would see him remove it from her holster. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the cop, who had his gun drawn and aimed at Rafe.

Rafe said, “She needs help.”

“Step away from the body.”

“I’m not leaving her lying in this filthy alley!”

“Step away from the body,” the cop repeated as he walked briskly down the alley, his eyes never leaving Rafe. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Rafe did what the cop demanded. The cop knelt to check Moira’s pulse, his gun still on Rafe.

“What happened?” the cop said.

The alley door across from Rafe opened-it was the employee entrance to the nightclub. A muscular black guy walked out. “Trouble, Detective?”

“Call an ambulance, Reggie. How long has she been out?”

Rafe said, “Two or three minutes.” He started toward Moira and the cop said, “Stand back. Do you have identification?”

Rafe began to retrieve his wallet and the cop shook his head. “Back right pocket,” Rafe said.

“Turn around, put your hands on the wall.”

Rafe complied. The cop pulled out his wallet. “You can turn around, but keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Name’s Raphael Cooper. I live in Santa Louisa.”

The cop’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “Santa Louisa?”

Moira moaned and tried to get up. Rafe stepped toward her, and the cop put a hand on his chest. “Hold it, Cooper.”

The detective looked again at Moira. “Moira O’Donnell,” he said as he recognized her. “From the morgue.” He shook his head. “Well, fuck me. I told Sheriff McPherson to stay the hell out of my case.”

It would have to be Detective Grant Nelson, the lead cop in the deaths they were investigating.

“Skye didn’t know we were here,” Rafe said.

“I don’t buy that for one minute.”

Moira got up on all fours. “Please,” she said, “no ambulance.” She spit out saliva tinged with blood.

“Moira,” Rafe said, “don’t move.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Nelson helped Moira sit up and lean against the wall. It was obvious to Rafe he’d spotted her gun as his stance changed from helpful to suspicious.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded of Moira, watching both her and Rafe closely.

She took a deep breath, glanced at Rafe, then proceeded to lie smoothly. “I was walking down the alley and someone pushed me against the wall. I must have banged my head harder than I thought, because I went out.”

“Who pushed you?”

“I don’t know.”

“They? How many?”

“Three boys. Older boys, in their teens.”

“They just ran through the alley and pushed you down.”

“They were huddled together. I think I surprised them.”

“Know what they look like?”

She shook her head.

“White? Black? Purple?”

She glared at him. “White. Skinny and dressed like kids-jeans and T-shirts. It happened fast. My head hurts.”

“An ambulance is on its way.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should be checked out.”

“I said I am fine.”

“Why were you here in the first place?”

“Is it a private alley?”

Rafe saw that Nelson was getting irritated with Moira’s answers, so he said, “Detective, we just wanted to see the club where the kid died.”

“You’re not a cop. Your friend the sheriff doesn’t have jurisdiction. You’re interfering with a police investigation and I swear, I’m this close to taking you both to jail.”

Moira paled, and Rafe wasn’t going to let anyone imprison Moira again. He said, “We’ll go, Detective. Sorry to have caused a problem; we didn’t mean to interfere.”

“Nelson,” Reggie said, “the girl doesn’t look too good.”

The detective lost some of his hard edge. “Let’s get her inside.” He glanced at Rafe. “You want to help me?”

Rafe wrapped one arm around Moira, Nelson did the same on the other side, and they helped her to her feet.

“I can walk,” she insisted, though she leaned heavily on Rafe. Her eyes were half closed and Rafe noticed she was trying to shake off the dizziness.

Reggie opened the employee door. “This is the break room. You can sit in here a minute.”

Rafe said, “Let’s get you some water.”

“Cancel the ambulance. Please.”

“No,” Nelson said.

“Please,” she said again, in her don’t-argue-with-me tone.

“It’s against my better judgment,” Nelson said, then nodded to Reggie, who was back on his cell phone, shaking his head.

As soon as Moira stepped through the doorway into the break room, she felt magic. It wasn’t strong, but there was enough here to have her skin tingling. She wasn’t consciously searching for it; the wave hit her unexpectedly, and she shivered.

“What is it?” Rafe whispered.

“Detective,” Moira said, “could I get some water?”

Reggie said, “I’ll get it. I’ll tell Wendy you’re back here.”

Damn, she didn’t want to talk around the cop.

Reggie popped his head back in. “Nelson, there are two cops up front.”

Detective Nelson said, “Stay here. I’m serious.” He tapped Rafe’s wallet. “I’m keeping this, because we’re not done talking.”

As soon as he left, Moira stood. When Rafe protested, she said, “I’m fine. Shaken. I had a vision. I think.”

“What the hell happened out there? A ghost?”

“A demon.”

He reached for his dagger, but Moira motioned for him to keep it hidden. “Not now, in the past.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either. I thought at first it was a death imprint-everything darkened, the lights came on, and I saw Craig Monroe walk in front of me, followed by a woman. It was the same woman I had the vision about last night. The brunette.”

“You’re certain? The woman you thought was possessed?”

Moira nodded. She felt so cold just remembering the image of Craig Monroe dying so violently, his soul drawn out before he was gone. She sat down again to collect her thoughts.

“At first I thought she was a victim and he’d been infected. By the way he was treating her-she seemed to be willing, but he was rough and mean. She gave him oral sex, but right when … you know … something else happened. He was dying. He saw something in her face and he was scared shitless-I couldn’t see her face, but I saw his.” She shivered. “He begged her to stop, then she sucked his soul out of his body, swallowing it with her mouth. She’s a demon-very powerful-but she was definitely in a human body.” She frowned. “I didn’t know she was a demon-I couldn’t feel anything, no magic, no otherworldly power; it was like watching a movie. But when she spoke she said his soul was hers.”

She hesitated, and Rafe prompted. “How did you get thrown against the wall if it was a death imprint?”

“It was the demon. She saw me.”

“That’s impossible.”

She scowled. Rafe sounded as though he didn’t believe her. “I don’t know how it happened! She turned and saw me. It was unreal. Like-like maybe I went back in time. I know that’s not possible-dammit, I don’t know what’s possible anymore! But the demon saw me, looked right at me, called me by name!”

Rafe looked as though she’d slapped him. “The demon talked to you?”

Moira couldn’t stop shaking. Rafe sat next to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed. “Moira, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe now.”

“Safe.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then whispered, “I don’t think we’ll ever be safe.”

“Have you heard of anything like this before?”

She shook her head. “I started an exorcism-I knew subconsciously that it wasn’t going to work, because Monroe was already long dead and the demon wasn’t there, but I thought maybe the demon was just coming back to the scene of the crime, or I was in Hell or something. I don’t know! But she looked at me, laughed, said I didn’t understand. Called me a fool and tossed me against the wall. Didn’t touch me. Couldn’t.” She opened her eyes. “She knew me.”

“Anthony understands how demons operate. I’ll call him.”

“He’s still on a plane to Italy.”

“We’ll figure it out. It could be a mind trick, a spell-something that had you seeing Monroe’s death.”

“She said something else, that she had to find another vessel. I think she was angry that I’d seen her victim. But I don’t know the woman. I don’t know where to start looking.”

Moira stood, and Rafe said, “You need to take it easy. You have a nasty bump.”

“I’ve had worse. I need to shake it off. I don’t like it here.” She began to walk around the room, stopping in front of the employee lockers. She closed her eyes, her hand inches from the front of each locker as she walked by. “There’s magic here.” She hesitated in front of the next locker. “And here.” She kept going. At the end she stopped. “There’s a witch for virtually every locker! But this one belongs to the leader.”

“How can you tell?”

“The strength, the power. It’s in her clothes, in everything she has.” She looked at the name on the locker. She blanched.

“Moira?”

“Donovan. It says Wendy Donovan. That can’t be a coincidence.” One of the witches in Fiona’s coven who escaped during the chaos when they trapped the demon Envy was Nicole Donovan. She had seduced a cop and had an in with the police. Information obtained by her had helped the coven elude police. Nicole had also recruited students from Santa Louisa High into the coven and had nearly killed Moira.

The door opened and Detective Nelson walked in with a stately, beautiful woman in her thirties. The woman glared at Moira. “She looks fine to me.”

“Wendy, I just need a place to talk to them and find out what happened in the alley.”

Moira knew that Wendy was the head witch, the high priestess, and this was her locker. Magical energy bubbled beneath the surface of the woman’s skin, ready to lash out, but she kept it under tight control.

Detective Nelson handed Moira a water bottle.

Wendy said, “First you come in here making accusations against me and then expect me to help you?”

“I explained I have to follow up on every lead.”

“Lead? You can’t think that the lawyer’s death had anything to do with the club. We’re already dealing with press issues because of what Kent did.”

“I’m not going to publicize this. You know me better than that.”

Wendy didn’t look happy, but Moira suspected it had more to do with her presence than with Nelson’s investigation. The negative energy coming from Wendy was aimed right at her. If she was a witch tied into black magic like Moira thought she was-and her sister was in fact Nicole Donovan-Wendy would know who she was, and who her mother was.

“Fine,” Wendy said, “but we open in forty-five minutes, and I need you gone.”

“Can we use your office?” Nelson asked.

“No,” she said and walked out.

Moira said, “Hostile, isn’t she?”

Nelson ignored her comment. “What were you doing in the alley?”

“We told you.”

“I’m not buying it. Did McPherson send you down?”

“The deaths of Mr. Monroe and Mr. Erickson are connected,” Moira said. “You saw the marks on their bodies.”

“The coroner found no evidence of homicide,” Nelson said.

“Then why are you still investigating?”

He hesitated. “Do you have evidence that proves the deaths were not natural?”

Neither Moira nor Rafe said anything. Detective Nelson looked tired and frustrated. Moira began to feel odd-the hair on her skin rose. She feared she was being watched, but when she surveyed the room there was nothing here. Yet … she trusted her instincts. Slowly she relaxed the internal barrier that protected her senses. She allowed herself to feel the magical energy building in the air.

“We might be able to help,” Moira said.

“You have evidence?” He sounded sarcastic.

Moira was taking a risk telling the outsider anything, but she didn’t know how else to bring him to their side. “Does Wendy Donovan have a sister named Nicole?”

The question surprised Nelson, and the answer was clear on his face even before he said yes.

“I knew it,” Moira said.

“Meaning?”

Rafe answered. “Nicole Donovan is wanted for questioning as a material witness in the murder of a priest two weeks ago.”

“Ask Sheriff McPherson,” Moira added.

Detective Nelson stood. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t tip them off!” Moira said.

He looked at her squarely. “I have no intention of doing any such thing, but I’m going to verify your accusation.”

As soon as he left, Moira said, “Do you feel something?”

“No-but I can tell you do.”

“I don’t know exactly what, but I think someone is in the process of casting a spell. It’s not a full ritual-too subtle-but it’s definitely here.”

Moira went back to Wendy Donovan’s locker. She picked the lock in five seconds and Rafe said, “What are you doing?”

“We’re leaving, but I need to know where I can find her.”

“We should call Skye, get her over here to straighten this out. I don’t want you going back to jail.”

Moira closed her eyes and said, “I think-it feels to me like the spell is aimed at Detective Nelson.” She looked at Rafe. “What if that’s what they’re doing? Trying to get him to put us in jail? Right where Fiona can get at me?”

Panic rose and she swallowed uneasily.

“Okay, let’s get out of here. He’s not going to be happy if we walk out but I don’t see another option.”

“Better we walk than if he finds our weapons.” She frowned, reaching into her pocket. “My-”

“I have your dagger.” Rafe slipped it from his pocket to her. She breathed in relief. “But he saw your gun. Didn’t say anything; maybe he thought you’re legal because you work with Skye.”

“He knows I’m not a cop. I’d rather take my chances out there than here. But I want to see what’s in the witch’s locker. Maybe she knows where Fiona is.”

She looked through all Wendy’s things. “No wallet, nothing! We need to find out where she lives. Maybe Nicole is there, hiding out-dammit, she needs to answer for what she did! How do we find her? Follow her when she gets off work?”

“We should talk to Jackson Moreno.”

Moira froze. She closed Wendy’s locker. Jackson Moreno-she had tried to forget about him and his family. She’d been so arrogant, so damn stupid back then. When she thought she could save everyone. When she thought everyone wanted to be saved.

“No,” she said emphatically. “We don’t need him. Besides, he won’t want to help me.”

“Jackson knows more about witches in Los Angeles than anyone else.”

“I know, but-”

“He has supplies; he’s supported St. Michael’s for years.”

“He’s not one of us.”

“Technically, neither are you!”

Moira bit the inside of her bottom lip. It was true, but she expected comments like that from Anthony, not from Rafe. It hurt, reminding her that she was still alone.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said immediately, his voice full of remorse. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s obvious you have issues with Moreno. But Father Philip trusted him. What about you? Do you not trust him?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said softly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, and there’re some people I don’t want to see again. But you’re right-Jackson will know everything there is to know about Wendy Donovan, or know where to get the information.” She held up a small book.

“What’s that?”

“Wendy’s spell book. It seems to be notes and ideas, not her primary grimoire. But it might help us figure out exactly what she’s up to and how it connects to this demon.”

She suddenly jumped, her neck ice-cold.

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to leave now. Detective Nelson is returning. I can’t go back to jail, Rafe.”

“I’m not letting anyone take you anywhere.” He grabbed her hand and they ran out the back door.

Rico stepped into the sanctuary of Olivet, but he didn’t feel the relief he normally experienced when he arrived at the place he called home in the foothills outside Missoula. They were close enough to the city that winter posed only an inconvenience, while many other places in Montana were completely cut off.

Olivet itself was a virtual fortress, with four connected L-shaped buildings surrounding a courtyard that blossomed breathtakingly in the spring and summer. When Moira had first arrived at Olivet, for her original assessment six years ago, she’d come in May, and the only time he’d seen peace cross her face was when she walked through the lush gardens in the courtyard.

Lodging was in the main building, along with their classrooms. The other buildings were off-limits to most people. But it was the deceptively small structure in the back, connected through underground tunnels that extended deep into the mountainside, where Rico brought the tabernacle.

Tobias-one of a set of triplets left at the doors of St. Michael’s as infants twenty-eight years ago-was waiting for Rico when he arrived. He and his identical brothers Darius and Joseph had unusual gifts that made them indispensible to the Order. Rico did not like the term “psychic,” for it felt unholy, but it was the closest to the truth. The triplets could communicate and share information with one another telepathically, which was an invaluable gift when you needed information immediately and there was no access to phone or computers. More so, the triplets could almost see out of their brothers’ eyes. Rico had done extensive testing on the brothers to make sure there was no evil at the core of their gift, and he’d even brought Moira in and had her scour for magic or demonic energy that might be too subtle for Rico to recognize the signs. But it appeared that the gifts were truly heavenly-or at least, natural and not satanic. Sometimes it was hard to discern, but gifts came from within, while magic-witchcraft-came from casting spells and calling on supernatural forces.

Darius and Joseph were on assignment, but Tobias was here, keeping guard. “The storm has worsened,” Tobias said.

“Yes, but I need to go out again.” Rico placed the iron box on the table. Inside was Envy, contained in the tabernacle.

“I’ll secure the beast.”

“Thank you.”

Tobias lifted the heavy chest with ease and took it to the vault.

Rico walked down the wide hall to the small lab. He sat at a sterile table and removed a vial of Moira’s blood. One blood sample he’d hidden at the mission; another he’d placed in the box with Envy. He wasn’t certain why-he was guided by instinct. But if his theory was correct, if there was something in Moira’s blood that killed or harmed demons, then the presence of her blood might keep the demon under better control.

Rico had been asked to obtain only one sample for testing, but he’d learned that being prepared was akin to staying alive.

A ringing phone interrupted these thoughts. He answered it with a generic “Hello.”

“It’s Cardinal DeLucca. Rico?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“Is it done?”

“The demon is in the vault.”

“And did you get the sample?”

“Yes.” His stomach felt unusually tight and uncomfortable. Moira had looked at him with such intense betrayal that guilt flooded him even now. He’d done many difficult things in his life in the battle against evil, but every action was required to save a soul. Something as simple as drawing Moira’s blood shouldn’t elicit such turmoil and doubt.

He did not doubt. His faith was what made him strong.

“Have you tested it yet?”

“No.”

“You should have done it as soon as you landed.”

“I had to secure the demon first.”

“Of course.” The cardinal sounded impatient, but Rico wasn’t surprised. That the Seven Deadly Sins were on the earth threatened all of them. And with their recent losses … including Father Philip … Rico’s chest hitched. Philip had been their rock. The human cornerstone of St. Michael’s Order. Now the others looked to him for guidance, and he felt ill-prepared to be anything but the warrior that he was. Philip had been the leader; he’d been the one who led the counsel and who, in his silence, commanded the most respect.

If it weren’t for Father Philip, Moira would have been executed long ago.

“Anthony is on his way,” Rico said. “He’ll be landing in Italy just after noon, your time.” Which was only about nine hours from now. Which meant it was past midnight for the cardinal. “You’re up late, Cardinal.”

“I won’t be able to rest until I know the results.”

He sighed. “I’ll call you within the hour.”

He rose, retrieved a syringe from supplies, and drew out half the blood in the vial. He then stored the remainder in a refrigerator, capped the syringe, and left.

Tobias was dressed for the cold. Rico hadn’t asked him to join him in this assignment, but Tobias knew he was needed. “You had no choice, Rico,” Tobias said.

He nodded. “Let’s do it quickly.”

While Rico had been traveling today, Tobias had located a possessed human. The man was restrained in a demon trap in another building on the far side of the compound. Now they would see if Moira’s blood was what they suspected: poison to demons.

If they were right, then all the other research they’d discovered over the years would be validated. If her blood was poison, the words of the Unknown Martyr would be fulfilled: that only blood that could kill a demon could forever destroy the Conoscenza. Exactly as they had believed for so long.

They would have a powerful weapon in Moira against the demons that walked on earth; though the Seven could be sent back to Hell, there were others. The battle wouldn’t be over until Judgment Day. Moira’s blood would be in demand by everyone in the Order. They would bleed her to save the world, and Rico would be the one to force her to comply. He knew her well enough to know that she’d never agree to be locked here in Olivet for the rest of her life, a prisoner. But they couldn’t let her roam. If the covens knew the power of her blood they would kill her, or use her in far more painful and hideous ways to control the demons they summoned. Renegade groups-unaffiliated with St. Michael’s but whom they had worked with from time to time-would want her for their own plans, many of which went against the creed of St. Michael’s: Protect the innocent.

Many in St. Michael’s had died protecting the innocent lambs of God, but the men of St. Michael’s were preordained to this call. And others had joined them from the outside. Like Moira.

You’re in love with her.

Raphael’s accusation had contained more truth than Rico had known until the words were spoken.

But love didn’t matter when at stake was the fate of humanity.