He stared at Skye in her gray cotton tank top, her long, blond hair tangled and damp from sleep. It took a moment for his head to clear, then he touched her beautiful face. “I am sorry, mia amore.”
He’d heard something but couldn’t remember what had awakened him. A deep sense of foreboding filled him. It was the same fear that had built in him more than ten weeks ago when he’d first arrived in Santa Louisa from St. Michael’s in Italy. The closer he’d gotten to the mission, the more apprehensive he’d become. For good reason. He’d been able to save only one man from the horrors at Santa Louisa de los Padres: Rafe. The others, all twelve priests, had died.
Could he have saved them if he’d arrived earlier? He studied demons, he didn’t hunt them; he could exorcize weak demons from inanimate objects like buildings and artifacts, but he was ill prepared to battle demons who had a plan.
Skye frowned, her brows knit with worry, her cop eyes sharp and focused in the dark. “It was a joke, Anthony. What’s going on?”
“You’ll think I’m being foolish.”
“Never.” She sat up next to him, her bare thigh pressing against his shorts.
He touched her again, needing to ground himself. Despite being together a short time her love gave him great strength. He soaked in her presence and said, “I want to go to the house again.”
They both knew he meant the empty lot on the cliffs where once a house had been, before it burned and tumbled into the pits of Hell, just three days after the slaughter at the mission. Skye thought he was obsessed with the ruins, but he still went out there several times a week. He’d tried every trick in the book to figure out what bothered him about the place, other than the fact that both he and Skye almost died that fiery night on the cliffs in November. He’d even performed an exorcism a couple of weeks ago and felt absolutely ridiculous, because of course there was nothing there to be possessed. He’d tested for sulphur, for blood, for anything that would signal to the demonologist that an evil spirit was in the soil itself. All negative.
“First thing in the morning,” Skye said, putting a hand on his arm. “You haven’t been sleeping well for weeks, you’re exhausted. Between rebuilding the mission and sitting with Rafe at the hospital, you haven’t had time to yourself.”
“Or for you.” He kissed her. She was his lifeline in these troubled times. She had faith in him, and even when he did things she didn’t understand, she stood by him. “I love you.”
She smiled and put her hand on the back of his neck. “Lie down,” she whispered and kissed him lightly. “I know how to get rid of that headache.”
He took her hand into his and kissed it. “I want to go to the house now.”
She silently stared at him, trying to hide her concern, but he saw the worry in her green eyes, in the way she tried to shield them when he frowned.
She relented. “All right, we’ll go.”
“I can do it alone.”
“No.”
“Skye-”
“You’re not going alone. If something is going on, I need to be there.”
“It may not be a crime in your jurisdiction, Sheriff.” He tried to keep his voice light, but the seriousness of the matter overshadowed his attempt.
“You’re not going alone,” she repeated. “We’re in this together.”
As they dressed, Skye asked, “Why tonight?”
“I heard something.”
“The ruins are miles away.”
He didn’t respond. “The earth shook. It woke me.”
She cocked her head. “Earthquakes are common in California.”
“I told you you’d think I was foolish.”
She crossed the room and grabbed his shoulders. “And I said I’ll never think you’re foolish.” She was angry with him. “I don’t understand everything you do; I don’t have your faith or your experience. But I love you, and I have faith in you. That’s all I need. If you heard something, if you felt something, then we’ll go to the ruins and make sure no one is messing around. I don’t want that-that thing back in my town.”
He touched her face. “Mia amore.”
“Let’s do this fast so I can bring you back to bed.” She smiled and nipped his ear playfully.
He returned her kiss, but when she turned to check her gun and holster it, his smile disappeared. He’d like nothing more than to make love to Skye and fall back to sleep until dawn, but he wasn’t wrong about the ruins. There would be no more rest tonight.
FOUR
Fiona’s temper flared as Raphael Cooper-who shouldn’t even be here, let alone awake! — repelled her energy right back at her.
She diverted the cosmic electricity into the ground, making the earth shiver. The trapped demons growled as they began to take form. She had to complete the ritual before they regained their strength.
She’d wanted Cooper dead from the beginning because he represented the only true threat to her plans. However, others in her coven believed he’d gleaned important information from the priests at the mission-knowledge that would be valuable to them in their quest. In addition, Cooper was of St. Michael’s Order and therefore knew many of their secrets. That had been the turning point for Fiona. She wanted to crush the Order for what they’d done to her and her ancestors. So she agreed to allow him to live on the condition that he was kept under the coven’s control in order to extract what he’d learned.
But they hadn’t pulled out a fraction of the information in his head, and now-somehow-he’d awakened from the coma they’d put him in.
“You have no idea what you are doing, you fool!” she screamed at Cooper. Lily broke through the circle, causing a psychic fissure. The trapped demons growled, sensing the deterioration of the invisible chains that kept them imprisoned. Fiona couldn’t send any of her coven after Lily without further weakening the traps and risking their lives. She used all her power to fortify the double circle that kept the demons under her control. Over the increasing rumble above and below the earth, Serena began the final spell from the Conoscenza that would bind the Seven to the arca.
But it was too late. The arca was running away.
“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in pr?lio et colluctatione,” Cooper began.
“Stop him!” Fiona realized he was attempting to send the Seven back through the gateway! It would not work. He spoke in Latin, an exorcism rite, but there were no demonic possessions here. Not yet. And the arca was getting away.
The rage she felt was immeasurable. For decades, she’d sought the Conoscenza. She’d believed in it when others-some who perceived they were wiser and more powerful than she-insisted it had been destroyed. She’d proven them wrong! She’d embarrassed St. Michael’s Order because they’d emphatically stated that the book had been destroyed. Now, Fiona commanded respect from covens across the world. And this man, this diolain, was not only jeopardizing decades of her work, but centuries of preparation by her ancestors.
She raised her hand. “In the name of Belial, I command thee to thy knees!”
The layers between Hell and earth were thin here, and the simple demand shook the ground. Cooper paused, pain crossing his gaunt face, before he continued his verbal assault.
She turned to Garrett. “Take him down.”
Garrett rushed the intruder, but Cooper held out his hand and spoke in a language even more ancient than Latin. Garrett bounced off an invisible shield and dropped to the ground.
“Fiona,” Serena exclaimed, eyes wide, “that’s the language of the Conoscenza!”
Fiona couldn’t think now of how Cooper knew the book, as the demons roared from their traps, shaking the foundation of her control. They could not be contained in the bowls forever, and with Cooper trying to reverse the ritual, she was losing them.
He continued to speak in the most ancient of languages and Serena murmured spells to counter him.
“Turn the bowls,” Fiona commanded her coven. “Release the Seven.”
Her followers stared at her, surprised. They w
ere not allowed to question her.
“Do it! Or my wrath will be greater than any demon on earth! Turn the bowls and protect yourselves!”
The women turned the bowls that contained the demons and, while chanting protective spells, stepped into the inner circle. The demons roared, now free from the chains of Hell. They swirled within the trap, frenzied by their freedom. If the arca were here, the ritual would be near complete. The next step was for the arca to draw them inside herself.
If not for Raphael Cooper! He had sent her off, and now the demons had nowhere to go. Nowhere but freedom to roam the earth.
“You are to blame!” she pointed her finger at him. “You take responsibility for the deaths and souls the Seven will claim!”
She turned her face to the heavens and chanted, “Belial, Hecate, Sammael, and all the named and nameless fallen ones, I command thee to shield thy servants, protect the sanctified, and mark the one who thwarted my will!”
The demons broke through their traps, swirling within the double circle, faster and faster, a tornado of smoke and fire, as the Seven lost their growing physical forms and melded within each other, in and out, gaining strength and speed and volume as they rose like a column and surrounded the coven.
Cooper was brought to his knees by a screeching tumult of such intensity that it vibrated within the circle. All dropped to the ground, unable to stand, holding their ears. The candles were snuffed out all at once, and blackness fell. It was chaos as the light vanished-no moon, no stars, no flame. The gut-wrenching sound of demonic screams filled the void.
With an invisible explosion, the Seven burst through the double circle, up and out, into the world.
“Get him,” Fiona told Garrett as she rose from the ground. “Now I will learn his secrets.” She would take deep pleasure in torturing Raphael Cooper. He would tell all he knew before she was through. He would renounce all he believed in and swear allegiance to Fiona!
She would make Cooper suffer. Suffer for as long as it took her to hunt down each and every one of the Seven, even to the ends of the earth. He would pay dearly for his interference.
“He’s gone,” Garrett said.
“He’s not gone. Serena! Light!” Cooper could not have fled so quickly.
Serena fumbled in the dark and came up with a flashlight. She cast its beam around the circle.
The coven members were rising from the ground, the stench of fear rising from their skin. Pitiful.
Cooper was nowhere to be seen.
“How did he breach the circle?” Fiona demanded.
“How did he know the language?” Serena countered.
“Garrett, you and Ian stay and destroy the circle and bring the vessel.” She waved irritably toward Abby’s dead body. “Then find him. I want Raphael Cooper in front of me before sunrise.”
She looked at the others. “Disperse! Quickly! Speak to no one of this. Punishments you could never even imagine await anyone who betrays me.”
“Dammit!”
Moira slammed her fist on Jared’s dashboard as he stopped his pickup truck at the end of the short road that led to ruins along the cliffs.
“They’re gone,” she lamented. And for a split second, she was relieved. She wasn’t ready for this confrontation; she wasn’t ready to die. Guilt washed over her-she needed to prepare herself for the inevitable. She’d been trained for this moment, and now she wanted to run? She could never live with herself if she did.
“Maybe you’re wrong,” Jared said. “Maybe this isn’t what you thought.”
For a split second Moira hoped she had been wrong. It had been a mistake to come here, and she’d misread the vision. The feeling she had ten days ago when she walked across the scarred foundation and saw a burning river of tortured souls beneath the earth’s surface. No, she knew she was right about Santa Louisa, but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. What made her think she could beat her mother at her own evil game? Fiona had a lifetime of experience and a passionate-obsessive-desire to control the underworld. The power of Hell was on her side. Moira had fear, revenge, and a couple of years’ training with the top demon hunter in the world. That made her little better than a novice. An amateur. And amateurs died while masters prospered. Fiona, most certainly, was a master.
But if she didn’t do something to stop Fiona, Peter’s death wouldn’t be avenged. If she didn’t stand against evil, she stood for it. If she didn’t die fighting evil, she allowed it to flourish.
Rico always quoted some guy who’d said all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. Being cocky, and scared, finally Moira had countered with, “You’re a man, I’m a woman. So you do it.” Rico just stared. He had no sense of humor. And when you faced life and death on a regular basis, Moira didn’t understand how anyone survived without enjoying a little humor in life.
She took a flashlight from her pocket and opened the passenger door. “I’m checking it out.” The interior light came on, and she quickly reached up and flicked it off.
Jared became incensed. “We have to find Lily! She’s not here, no one’s here! Where’s her car?”
She understood the kid’s frustration. What if … She shot a glance at Jared. Her instincts told her he wasn’t possessed or under a spell, and both Father Philip and Rico told her to trust her instincts, but she still doubted herself. With minimal movement, she reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small bottle that looked like Visine. She squirted it toward Jared and the holy water hit him on the cheek.
“Hey!” He wiped his face, scowling. No mark, no steam, no rage, no rolling eyes. Even the strongest of demons couldn’t hide their first pained reaction after being hit with holy water, even if it was no more annoying than a bee sting.
“Sorry.” She pretended to put a drop in her eyes and pocketed her emergency “test” kit. She didn’t know why she had it. When she’d faced someone possessed, she knew it as certainly as she knew her name. But Rico insisted, and she was good at following orders. Most of the time. Sort of.
“I should have gone to Abby’s house first,” Jared mumbled. “Lily is probably there.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I’ve called her cell phone ten times … maybe she’s mad at me.”
“Stop second-guessing yourself.” Moira should have sat on the girl, or pushed her harder. Lily had seemed too fragile to handle all the information about the dangerous game Abby was playing with magic, and Moira had avoided the harder truths. Some people weren’t ready for any truth, let alone the tough facts. Friends who played with the dark arts were already too far gone, but Lily wouldn’t have been able to accept that truth about her cousin and confidante, Abby Weatherby. Once committed, there was no turning back. Once a person tasted dark power, giving it up was impossible.
So Moira had told Lily to stay away from her cousin, to let Moira know if there was anything strange going on, if Abby confided in her. She’d damn well learned her lesson-rely on no one else-and she prayed Lily was alive.
“We’ll just look around the ruins for ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll know if the coven was here. Maybe we’re not too late.” She said it to give Jared hope; she didn’t believe it.
A reluctant Jared followed her into the night. Almost as soon as she’d stepped from the truck, Moira smelled evil. A subtle aroma on the edge of the ruins, growing with each step she took. Incense. Poisoned incense. Strong herbs and odors to control spirits. But it was the sulphuric stench of Hell itself that raised the hair on her arms and made the scar on her neck burn. As Moira neared the midpoint of the spirit trap, she slowed her pace, her feet heavy as lead. Slower. Slower. She wanted to run back to the small, safe island off Sicily and lock herself inside St. Michael’s fortress. She didn’t need this, didn’t want it, but she could not shirk her responsibility.
All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men-and women-to do nothing.
As Moira approached the wide circle painted in white on the grou
nd, it became clear that the ritual had been interrupted. There were signs of violence-overturned candles, disturbed earth, a feeling of unrest, of commotion. While no candles burned, the scent of extinguished flames hung in the low-lying fog.
There, in the middle of the circle, was a dead body.
Jared saw it right after she did.
“Lily!” he cried.
“Don’t-” Moira tried to stop him, but he pushed her aside and ran into the center of the ruins.
Moira hated being this exposed. There was nowhere to hide, but at least she’d be able to see anyone approach as easily as that person could see her. A small consolation.
Jared knelt next to the body. When Moira looked over his shoulder, she saw it was not Lily, but her cousin Abby.
She lay naked and dead on a red silk sheet. Her eyes were open, her mouth gaping, but there were no wounds on her body. No knife marks, no claw marks, no burns or any external sign of how she died.
Could she have been poisoned? There were impressions in the sheet and ground where bowls of incense had burned, and in the daylight Moira could probably identify what herbs and resins had been used, by scouring the ground for spillage and faint smells. But Fiona and her coven were smarter than that; they wanted to intoxicate their victims, not poison them. They didn’t make those kinds of mistakes.
If Abby Weatherby was dead, they wanted her to be dead.
Jared put his fingers to Abby’s neck, presumably to check for a pulse, but Moira snapped, “Don’t touch her!”
“We have to get her to a hospital,” he said.
“She’s dead.”
“How do you know? You don’t know that. She could be-”
Moira said, “Look at her eyes, Jared. Open, glassy, and her mouth-dammit, she’s dead and you must not touch her.”
She didn’t know why that was important, or even if it was. Maybe it was more important for the cops, none of whom would believe that something supernatural had killed the teenager. Without a doubt this was Fiona’s handiwork. The drama, the location, the oversized circle, the elaborate symbols.
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