Original Sin sds-1

by Allison Brennan

  She recognized the visitor. Jared Santos, eighteen, her sole friend in this country.

  Shocked, Jared’s dark eyes went to her knife and she quickly pocketed it. “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “So you pull a knife? This is Santa Louisa, not Detroit.”

  She ignored his comment. He still didn’t understand what they were up against, but she’d needed someone who knew the locals and the area. Jared had been her lifeline for the last week, providing her with information and transportation. He didn’t completely believe what she told him, but he’d seen and heard enough that he hadn’t turned her in to the police. And considering his father was a deputy sheriff, that was a real good thing.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be watching Lily.”

  “She’s gone.”

  Moira’s nagging fear deepened. She knew where the girl had gone, but she didn’t know why. She had come to Santa Louisa because Jared had told her on the message board about several odd incidents he and his girlfriend Lily had uncovered about her cousin Abby’s new group of friends. The fire on the cliffs-occurring the same night as her vision more than two months before-sealed the deal. Everything Moira heard was stamped with the M.O. of an actively recruiting coven. That Abby had been overweight until recently and had few friends, outside of Lily, was another big flashing neon sign warning Moira.

  “We have to find her. When did she leave? Why did you let her go?”

  Jared began, “I didn’t-”

  “I told you what was at stake!”

  He ran his hands through his short buzzcut, a pained expression on his face. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You fell asleep.” Geez. She shouldn’t have trusted him.

  “I don’t know. I–I didn’t mean to. My head’s foggy; I guess I haven’t been sleeping so good lately.”

  Fiona or one of her minions must have cast a spell over Jared. Or drugged him. Something had enabled Lily to slip away. The girl was crazy, that’s all there was to it. Moira had told her what Abby and the others were up to, but Lily didn’t believe her. “I know it’s not safe, but-”

  “There are no ‘buts,’ Lily! They are not playing games. They are deadly serious, and outsiders are not invited into their coven for a cup of tea. They are invited to be sacrificed.”

  She’d gone too far revealing that detail. No one believed in human sacrifices because the evidence disappeared. Just because there were no publicly recorded cases of human sacrifices in America, that sure didn’t mean they didn’t happen. Moira knew for a fact they did.

  “She promised she would tell me before she went to the meeting,” Jared insisted. “I don’t understand why-”

  “We haven’t time.” Moira cut him off and pushed him out the door, rolling her eyes, having no patience for the kid’s excuses. Meeting. Nice way to sugarcoat deadly occult rituals.

  She spotted Jared’s black truck parked at the end of the front row. She started to run. “Let’s go. The cliffs.”

  “Is Lily really in danger?”

  “Yes.”

  “But-”

  She abruptly turned around and he stumbled to avoid running into her. “You told me about the fire,” she said with frightening vehemence. “About the dead animals near the cliffs, Lily’s cousin Abby and all the weird things you saw. Everything matches what I know about these rituals. It’s the timing I don’t understand, but I do know we have to go right now.”

  Moira didn’t give him time to answer or argue. She ran around to the passenger side and hopped into the truck. He quickly followed and headed for the cliffs.

  During the ten-mile drive, she called Father Philip. When he came to the phone, he sounded extremely worried. She hated that she’d caused him to fear for her safety.

  “Moira, where are you? You haven’t called in three days. I was worried.”

  “I’m still in Santa Louisa.”

  “I’m checking out one more thing; then I hope to know more.” She hoped to still be alive. She very much wanted to be wrong about tonight.

  “Have you seen Anthony?”

  Her hand tightened on the phone at the mention of the name. Father Philip had told her the demonologist was in town, but because they both thought there was time, they hadn’t contacted him. Not that Moira would. Anthony despised her because of what had happened to Peter. He blamed her, even more than she blamed herself.

  “No. I told you-”

  “I should have called him when you arrived,” Father Philip said.

  “So he could get himself killed?”

  “He’s much stronger than he was seven years ago.”

  “He’s not a hunter,” she protested.

  “He’s gifted in other ways.”

  “He hates my guts.”

  “He hates no one.”

  Father didn’t know what he was saying. “I can’t risk him, too.” Her voice cracked. Damn, she didn’t even like Anthony-the man Peter had called brother-and she had to worry about him now.

  “Anthony is a grown man. He’s faced his own battles, and survived.”

  Father Philip believed in forgiveness; Anthony did not. But Moira couldn’t tell Father that. He wouldn’t believe it, or if he did, it would hurt him. And he was the last person on the planet Moira wanted to hurt.

  “You are certain about the gateway,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t go back.”

  “I have to. There’s a coven in town; all the signs are here. If this is Fiona-I have to stop her.”

  Father Philip said, “I’ll call Anthony.”

  “No!”

  “Moira, child, you can’t do this alone.”

  “He’s not going to help me.”

  “Yes, he will. You need to have faith and trust, Moira.”

  “And a little bit of pixie dust?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A joke.” If she didn’t laugh, she was going to fall apart.

  “I’ll call Anthony and be mediator. You need to explain your visions. Don’t go to the site again until you have backup.”

  “Too late, Father. I’m on my way. Something’s happening right now.”

  “Moira-”

  “I’ll be careful.” She hung up.

  “Maybe,” Jared said as he drove too damn slowly, too damn cautiously, through the thickening fog, “I should call my father-”

  “Sure. Call him. Tell him you’re working with Moira O’Donnell, P.I., as in Paranormal Investigations. That you contacted me to check out supernatural phenomena in the area and oh, by the way, there’s a coven of witches on the cliffs about to open a big-ass gateway to Hell and release Lord knows what demonic forces into the world.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

  “I’m not. If you want to call him, fine, but you’re already risking your life to help your girlfriend. I don’t know what we’re facing, and if you want to get out now, fine by me.” She didn’t want him to leave her alone, even though he didn’t know what he was doing. But she didn’t want to risk his life, either.

  “I love her,” he said. He didn’t make a move, either to leave her by the side of the road or to make a call. Love Moira understood. It made you do stupid things and it hurt worse than a knife to the gut.

  She wished she had someone to back her up other than a testosterone-fueled teenager playing Romeo to Lily’s Juliet. At least she had a getaway driver. And Father Philip would call Anthony. She knew that as certainly as she knew the sun would rise in a few hours. Whether she lived to see the next day was another story.

  “Step on it, Jared. We might already be too late.” None of Moira’s visions had been about a future event, but Fiona was still around. Rituals took time, especially with Fiona, who liked all the bells and whistles, especially with complex rituals. Moira knew this was a big one. If she cut off the head of the coven, the rest would scatter, and hopefully whatever evil they’d summoned would turn on them.

  A co
nfrontation with her mother would likely kill Moira, but she also knew that if she didn’t stop her, Fiona would destroy innocent people in far more painful ways. It was now or never.

  On the horizon, in the direction they were headed, lightning slashed the fog. It was too close to the ground. Rivers of bright lava crossed the road in front of them. Above them, a fluttering of bats … but they weren’t bats. They were an “it,” one large dark cloud with mass, with volume, evil to its core.

  She screamed and Jared jumped.

  The fires were gone, but she’d seen them. She’d seen them. Hadn’t she? Was she losing her mind?

  “What the fuck? You scared the he-”

  “Didn’t you see it? The fire? The … dark cloud?”

  He frowned. “I-it was just birds. It’s the middle of the night; they got startled or something.”

  “Denial will get you killed.”

  “What do you think that was?”

  She swallowed. She didn’t know, but whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be here. “Hell on earth,” she whispered. Then, more urgently, she said, “Go faster, Jared.”

  THREE

  Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone

  Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own

  — BILLY SQUIRE, “Lonely Is the Night”

  “Dear God, why are you doing this to me?”

  Biting back a curse, Rafe Cooper stumbled along the rocky cliffs that, to him, marked the edge of the world. It was a long, long way from his youthful island home in the blissful isolation of Sicily’s St. Michael’s.

  Earlier tonight, he’d been in a hospital bed. He’d opened his eyes with the overwhelming, undeniable compulsion to leave. How he got from there to here he didn’t know, only snippets of his two-hour journey remaining.

  When he tried to think-to remember-knifelike pain sliced through his head, lights and shadows exploding, and he had to stop until the intensity subsided.

  He knew who he was-Raphael Cooper-and he knew why he’d been in the hospital-the attack at the mission. He’d been the sole survivor. Uninjured while the others had been butchered. Comatose, according to the doctors, but that couldn’t be right. He’d been unable to see or speak, but he heard everything. He heard far too much, so why couldn’t he remember now?

  Again, pain sliced through his skull as he tried to recall what had happened during the months he’d been in the hospital.

  A grove of cypress trees provided a canopy and a place of rest. He sat on a lightning-split trunk and let out a long breath. Every limb shook, his feet were numb, and his mind raced faster than he could think. He didn’t know why he’d come here, why he was compelled as if he had no control over his actions.

  A car was parked on the north side of the cypress grove, but no one was inside. The tick-tick of the engine told him that someone had stopped here recently, and he looked around, confused and curious. He seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but he wasn’t alone.

  South of the grove he saw light within the thickening fog. Flickering light, from candles, a mere football-field length from him. Shadows of people-a dozen or more blurry figures-moved within the fog, among the flames. Fear clawed at the base of his skull; his blood alternated between hot and icy cold. Something evil was at hand.

  How do you know that?

  He considered, and shards of pain stabbed his head again, blinding him, bringing him to his knees in supplication, until his mind again went blank. He screamed, but no sound came from his lungs.

  He refocused on the scene, the still, low fog casting an ethereal glow in the vicinity.

  Be quiet, be very quiet, don’t think, don’t think a word …

  Salt air rising from the inky depths of the ocean mingled with the pungent fragrance of myrrh and musk and other scents he couldn’t identify. The candle-holding figures wore white, their gowns shimmering in the quickly disappearing moonlight.

  A coven.

  Don’t think, just act, don’t think, do, quiet quiet quiet, they won’t see me, don’t let them see me …

  Rafe didn’t know how he knew what the coven was doing, but as he neared the assembled group he understood everything as if he’d known it all along. Yet when he tried to concentrate on individual thoughts they disappeared, like a partial recognition of an old friend, or a suspected enemy. You know you know them, but you don’t remember where or why or when.

  He didn’t need to know why or how he knew, he just needed to accept the truth: this coven was summoning demons and sacrificing the girls on the altar to do it.

  Neither girl would survive when it was over. That he knew with certainty.

  Rafe told himself this was foolish, one weak man against a dozen witches. How long had he been asleep? How long had he been in the hospital, knowing time passed but not knowing why?

  Painful memories cut into his thoughts. He pushed aside the blood-soaked helplessness of his past … He had been unable to stop the witches before, when he was physically and spiritually strong; how could he stop them tonight, when he was weak and doubting? He would die in such a confrontation.

  He deserved to die. Maybe this battle was meant to be. His death to save someone he didn’t know. Dying would give him peace, silence the constant pain and pressure and agonizing memories of his murdered friends. He was supposed to protect the priests who sought forgiveness and healing at Santa Louisa de los Padres Mission; instead, he’d allowed their slaughter through his own blindness.

  How do you know what they’re doing, Raphael?

  Rafe pushed the question aside, the overwhelming urge to hurry forcing him to walk faster until he was running, and before long he stood on the edge of their circle. Even though the demon trap was in the center of a clearing, the witches were so engrossed in their ritual that at first they didn’t notice him through the fog and smoke.

  The High Priestess, with dark red hair that shimmered in the light, held a bowl over a naked girl, and said:

  “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, as God in Heaven created the angels from nothing, so I command the Seven to rise through the gate which I have opened. In the name of Barbiel, Azza, and Mammon; in the name of Moloch, Olivier, and Sammael; in the name of Beelzebub and all the Fallen: come through the keyhole and submit to my command.”

  The body of the naked girl began to convulse, and a hooded woman next to the High Priestess held a dagger above her, as if to ward off an attack. The hooded woman was familiar … but Rafe couldn’t focus on her as the earth rumbled, a growl that shot primal fear directly to his heart, putting every one of his senses on high alert.

  The girl was lifted from the ground by unseen forces as she writhed. The gowned girl next to her was still, and at first Rafe thought she was dead. But then her eyes moved, her face twisting in panic. She was an unwilling sacrifice.

  Save the arca …

  A deafening roar filled the circle and the naked girl screamed and convulsed as around her black smoke rose from the ground, then swirled like a hurricane above the coven. Lightning flashed as unformed demons crashed and collided. As the six witches within the double circle, and the one in the center, chanted urgently, the demons were drawn against their will into the double ring, swirling, straining, screaming, until they were wrenched apart, separated, into seven distinct columns that rose from ceremonial bowls into the sky. The column in the middle grew bigger, wider, darker.

  Pride.

  Rafe was too late to stop the opening of the gates of Hell. The demons were here, and he didn’t know how to send them back.

  Save the arca …

  The arca? He laid eyes on the terrified, frozen girl on the altar. The naked girl was dead; Rafe knew it as certainly as he knew he was alive. But with the knowledge that he could-that he had to-save the other girl, the arca, he broke the circle.

  All eyes shot to him. Shock registered on the High Priestess’s face as he spoke.

  The words were foreign to his tongue; he’d never heard them before. But as soon as he spok
e, his voice took on a deep, resonant command and the earth shook beneath him.

  “Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!” the High Priestess screamed. “Raphael Cooper! Stop!”

  She countered him with a curse that he could almost see bounce off him. Sharp pain in his chest told him she’d hit close. He didn’t know who or what was protecting him, but he didn’t have time to figure that out, just like he couldn’t reflect on how the redheaded witch knew his name.

  Rafe walked to the altar and pulled the girl, the arca, to her unsteady feet.

  The High Priestess began another chant, aided by the familiar witch in a different language. A language he almost knew. She was finishing the invocation that would make this girl her weapon. His head ached as he looked into the girl’s wide pupils. She was drugged, her eyes darting and unfocused, her face flushed. The incense burned low to the ground where the girls had lain, making her drunk with the poisonous, hallucinatory fumes. They would soon affect Rafe. If this girl didn’t escape, he would have to kill her to stop the ritual-a ritual that would have far more deadly results than the loss of one innocent life.

  He didn’t want to kill her. But if the ritual was complete, not only would she die anyway, but the coven would be impossible to stop.

  “Run,” he commanded the girl. “Run or you’ll die.”

  A low rumble and an overwhelming feeling of unbalance ripped Anthony Zaccardi out of a restless sleep at two that morning. He sat up, the sheet, damp from his perspiration, falling off his chest. It took a moment for him to recognize the cluttered room he’d been sleeping in for the past ten weeks, the lacey femininity of Skye McPherson’s bedroom so different than the no-nonsense cop she was outside of her home.

  He swung his legs off the side of the bed, squeezed his temples, and prayed for answers to questions he didn’t know.

  “What’s wrong?” Skye asked, putting a cool hand on his bare back.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Your thousand-degree body woke me. I swear, I’ll save a fortune on heating bills with you in my bed.”