“He should have slit her throat when he had that knife on her. He’s a weak fool. Take care of him.”
Ian cleared his throat. “Can you try the blood demon again? We’re ready to go out.”
“No. Now that won’t work.”
Fiona paced, the electricity in the room sparking with her anger.
Serena explained to Ian, “It’s Moira’s blood. If Cooper has any of it on him, it’s protecting him. We won’t be able to find him.”
“What’s so special about her blood?” Ian asked. “She’s not a witch anymore.”
“She’ll always be a witch, whether she uses magic or not,” Serena said.
Fiona interrupted before Serena said more. Not because it was a secret about Moira’s bloodline, but simply because the subject infuriated her. All she’d done to protect Moira as the Mediator was now being used against Fiona.
“That doesn’t explain why we lost him after the cabin,” Fiona said. “My Third Eye saw him, we knew he was there, but then he was gone.”
Serena cleared her throat. “Maybe it was her physical presence that gave him some sort of protective bubble. Your ‘eye’ has never been able to find her unless she used magic; maybe if she’s near Cooper or anyone else she passes that shield on to them.”
“Andra Moira needs to die. She’s been an annoyance, and now she’s becoming a problem.” Fiona turned to Ian. “Take care of the idiot Walter, and make sure everyone understands that Moira is wanted only dead. No excuses, no hesitation.”
“Yes, Fiona.”
She waved at him to make him go away, and he left. It was her and Serena. The good daughter.
“It’s too late to set up the ritual tonight, and we need a new location.” She needed Cooper, but it could wait until the Seven were bound in the arca.
“I have one.” Serena handed her a printout from the local Santa Louisa Courier dated only an hour ago.
Local Man Goes Postal; DOA in SWAT action
Four people dead at Rittenhouse Furniture
A tense three-hour hostage situation ended at 10:36 tonight when a SLSD SWAT officer shot Ned Nichols through a skylight at Rittenhouse Furniture Discounters while he held a customer at gunpoint….
“Why are you showing me this?” Fiona asked her.
“Four dead. This guy Nichols lost it … violence, rage, lots of blood; it’ll draw the demons in.”
“We may have ghosts to contend with,” Fiona countered.
“May have ghosts. And if we do, I can handle them.”
Fiona considered the location. It would be private, and the spilled blood would be a lure. Though she was loath to admit it, Serena had exceptional control over her powers and could handle any spirits that interfered. Under normal circumstances, Fiona didn’t worry about ghosts because lost souls were easily sent to the underworld with a simple incantation. But with all her energy focused on the Seven, she could possibly leave herself vulnerable to a pathetic ghost, especially one who didn’t know it was dead-too often the case in sudden, violent deaths.
She smiled and spontaneously hugged her daughter. “Good idea, Serena. Now I think I’ll release some of this frustration with Garrett and get my beauty rest. You should do the same-you have bags under your eyes.”
Serena closed and locked the library doors behind Fiona and smirked. If she only knew that Garrett fooled around with others behind her back, Fiona would be livid. She expected her “men” to be loyal to her, even though she slept around when the mood struck her. But Serena wasn’t about to tell on him. She liked the lying minister. Not to screw around with, but as a kindred spirit. They were both good at deception.
She lay down on the chaise lounge and closed her eyes, incanting the spell that allowed her own psychic eye to see. She had never told Fiona that she’d developed the power, so Fiona had no reason to block her.
Serena’s mind tumbled and fell, stars swirling, until she felt disconnected from her body, connecting more firmly with the elements. The air, the fires, the winds, the waters-she was everywhere and she was nowhere.
This must be how omnipotence felt.
She watched Fiona and Garrett begin their sexual dance in Fiona’s chamber. Fiona was always in charge, always in control, even during sex. Serena grew tired of watching and left them alone, floating through Santa Louisa, watching, watching, watching.
Seeking … she looked for Moira, hoping that this time it would work, but it didn’t. It never did, but Serena had grown more powerful with the effort.
She searched for Rafe … his eyes. His touch. His mouth. She craved him like no other, wanted him back, her seduction complete only in the carnal sense. Yes, he’d made love to her, but he didn’t love her, not like she did him.
Moira’s blood protects him.
Anger bubbled and boiled as Serena realized Rafe was physically close to Moira.
The thought, the mere idea, that Rafe and Moira were working together angered her so much that her psychic eye returned to her too quickly. Serena’s head ached with a migraine so sudden and fierce that she couldn’t get up if she wanted to.
But she had an idea that would lead them to Rafe, if he was still with Moira. And if that were the case, they could take both of them. It would require time and extensive energy on her part, but she realized that she could see all of Santa Louisa except where Moira and Rafe were. She’d find them through the process of elimination as soon as she regained her strength.
TWENTY-THREE
Skye watched the coffee drip steadily into the pot while Anthony treated Moira’s injuries.
She should have taken Rafe Cooper to the hospital, or into custody. Yet she’d let Anthony talk her out of it. She hadn’t protested much-it was two in the morning and she’d been up for twenty-four hours straight. Why was she making coffee? Honestly, no amount of caffeine would keep her awake at this point.
She’d called dispatch and learned about the false fire alarm at the hotel and calls of shots fired, but no witnesses came forward with information that helped. Two deputies were on scene but hadn’t found a shooter. And when Rafe told them the story of jumping off the balcony and running for the truck, he’d left something out. She didn’t know what, but he wasn’t telling the complete truth. He skimmed over the story, and every time she had a question Anthony put his hand on hers, asking a question of his own that had nothing to do with the crime at hand.
So Skye had started the coffee, duty and love coming head-to-head. She should have resigned after the massacre.
She and Anthony had lied about what happened at the fire on the cliffs. No one would believe that Juan Martinez had been possessed and tried to kill her. Not only had she written a false report about how Deputy Reiner died, she’d enlisted Rod Fielding’s help in covering up details that would have opened even more questions for which no one would believe the answers. She should have quit, but she didn’t because she loved Santa Louisa. This was the only home she’d ever known. Her father had been born and raised here, had died in the forest he loved so well. She’d be lost anywhere else. But even more important, she had to protect her people. Not just Anthony, but the innocent citizens who didn’t know that demons were alive and thriving in their town, a threat to their lives and their loved ones. That there were people who played around with demons, who wanted to control and use them for specific purposes Skye would never understand.
Anthony came up beside her and rinsed bloody towels in the sink. Pink water swirled down the drain.
“I’m sorry, Skye. I know this puts you in a difficult situation.”
“Don’t,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed. “I understand. But I need some answers soon.”
“We both do.”
Skye glanced at where Moira and Rafe sat on the couch. A white bandage was wrapped around her upper shoulder-there’d been no bullet, but a large-caliber round had taken a nice chunk out of her arm and she’d lost a bit of blood. The cut on her head was sealed with a butterfly bandage, adding to the bruises she’d sustained earlier in jail.
But it was the thin cut on her neck that had disturbed Skye more than the other injuries. The two-inch wound had already started to heal by the time they walked into Skye’s house, but the mark was proof that someone human had attacked her.
She brought the pot of coffee over to the table on a tray with mugs, milk, and sugar. “It’s not tea, but it’s hot and caffeinated,” she said when they stared at it.
Rafe said, “I acquired a taste for coffee after moving to the States.” He poured himself a mug and added a hefty dose of milk.
Moira said, “May I have some water?”
Anthony went to get her a water bottle from the refrigerator and Skye sat on the chair across from them. She didn’t know how to start.
“This day has been hell,” Skye began.
Moira grinned, a raw laugh coming out of her throat as she took the water from Anthony. “You could say that.” She drank heavily.
Anthony sat on the armrest of Skye’s chair, put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She wanted to touch him but didn’t move. She said to Rafe, “Tell me why you won’t go to the hospital.”
“They did something to me there. I don’t know what, but I wasn’t in a coma. I have memories … but I can’t focus on them. I had vivid dreams-I’m still having them.” He looked at Anthony. “Do you know Father Isa Tucci?”
“His name, not personally. He was killed at the mission.”
“I know why he was at the mission.” A pained expression crossed his face. “It was because of a snake,” he said.
“A snake?” Anthony glanced at Moira. What did they know, what did they share, that Skye didn’t understand? She felt such the outsider.
“What’s important about a snake?” she asked.
Rafe said, “In hindsight, I think the snake was a lure. But at the time … a boy came to Father Tucci with a snake, said he’d hunted it. It was large; Father made a stew. Everyone participated.
“The killers came when everyone was asleep. Father woke up, saved a handful of the youngest children. He survived, but almost killed himself.”
It was Moira who asked, “How do you know this?”
He looked at Moira, spoke as if talking just to her. “Remember when I told you I know things I don’t remember learning? This is one of them.”
Skye said, “If they drugged you in the hospital, we should be able to prove it.” She turned to Anthony. “I’ll call Rod in the morning and ask him to take Rafe’s blood and hair samples and run the tests on the q.t.”
Anthony concurred. “We’ll find out what happened. I promise.”
Skye cleared her throat. “Rafe, we need to talk about what happened at the mission. You’re the only survivor.”
Moira rushed to his defense. “You sound like you’re accusing Rafe.”
Rafe interjected, “I will answer any of your questions if I can, but first we need to find the person who has all the answers.”
“Who?”
“Lisa Davies. She’s a witch; she was the daughter of the cook at the mission. If you talked to her, she deceived you or cast a spell so you didn’t look too closely. But she was there at the mission when the priests were killed. She, Jeremiah Hatch, and Corinne Davies summoned a demon through a violent sacrifice. I was trapped in my room and heard everything, heard the cries …” He hesitated, and Moira took his hand and squeezed. “I don’t know how I got out, but I think when the demon was brought forth Lisa loosened her mental grip on my prison in order to control him, and I broke free. When I came into the chapel, I saw them … and I saw the demon in his true form. Hideous … wretched … then suddenly beautiful, trying to lure me. But I broke their concentration, and their circle, and the women ran to the sacristy for protection. I intended to kill Jeremiah to stop the demon, but he was already dead.”
Everyone looked at Rafe. He spoke as if he was in a trance, the memory so painful that for a moment no one could speak, feeling his anguish.
Anthony said, “Lisa is dead. She died in the fire on the cliffs two days after the murders.”
Rafe shook his head as he rubbed his forehead. “She’s not dead. I saw her on the cliffs. She changed her hair, from dark to light, but it was her. She’s a witch with strong magic. And I was blinded to it. Because of me, because of my weakness, I didn’t see the truth. Lisa’s spells and her mother’s poison forced my brothers to relive their worst nightmares. Those nightmares really happened. When they died, they wanted to die to escape the unbearable pain of reliving their past.”
“Thank you,” Anthony said when he and Skye lay in bed awhile later. The grandfather clock dinged the half-hour-3:30 in the morning. “Rafe isn’t safe anywhere else, and I know this was difficult for-”
She cut him off. “Don’t thank me.”
“What’s wrong? Talk to me Skye. You’re upset-”
She sat up in the dark, the moonlight filtered through her filmy curtains making her look pale and blue, to match her mood. “I just realized that you knew where Cooper was and didn’t tell me.”
“He didn’t kill those men. You know that! And you also know that no one will believe it.”
“Yes, I get that. But I still need to put his comments on record.”
“He can’t tell anyone what really happened.”
“But he can tell us he saw the Davieses in the mission when everyone died. That he saw the weapons!” She paused. “Do you believe that he saw Lisa Davies the other night? What if she’s behind Abby’s death? What I don’t understand is why.”
“To release the Seven Deadly Sins.”
“Right. Bring forth the demons,” she said sarcastically, and Anthony tensed. “What I mean is, why the elaborate murders at the mission? Why the ritual with Abby Weatherby and Lily Ellis? Why now? What’s their purpose?”
“I don’t know.”
“And Rafe never told us how he ended up at the cliffs. You wouldn’t let him. Every time I led the conversation in that direction, you steered it away.”
“It’s late. We were all tired.”
“Tomorrow, you need to let me ask the hard questions. I need to take down a statement.”
“Of course.”
He rubbed her shoulders, gently pushed her back to the bed. “It’s been rough today for you.”
“For all of us,” she said. She relaxed a little, but her mind was still moving. She asked, “Who did it? Who kept Rafe in a coma? Richard Bertrand was his doctor-I just can’t think of him being some sort of Satan worshipper. I’ve known him most of my life.”
Anthony bit back an angry comment. She was tired. “They’re not worshipping Satan.” He thought hard for a minute. “Maybe the massacre at the mission was the beginning, and this is the end.”
“It’s not the end until I find out what happened to Abby.”
“Your dedication and compassion are two of the many reasons I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep, Skye.”
“I’m so tired, but I don’t know that I can sleep. People are dying all over town. I had a suicide this afternoon, then a whacked out salesman comes back to work after his dinner break and shoots his co-workers. Why do people do it? Don’t we have enough human evil in the world, why do these damn witches have to create more?”
“Shh,” Anthony murmured and kissed her long fingers and pulled her to him. He loved her so much. He was worried about her job, her health, and the forces in Santa Louisa. He hated what she’d seen, what she had to do, how she had to keep her feelings closed off so she could do her job. Skye wasn’t what he’d call a vulnerable woman, but her deep-seated need to understand the unknowable was her Achilles’ heel. She was vulnerable to the evil that roamed the town because she still, even after what she’d seen in November, couldn’t wrap her logical mind around the supernatural. But she tried, and he loved her for it.
“Sleep, Skye. I’m here. I love you, and I’ll protect you. Just sleep.”
He held her until she finally relaxed and slept.
Santa Louisa was a small, quiet coasta
l town. Could so many deaths, in such a short time, be unconnected? It could be demons, but it wasn’t like any possessions he’d heard about. If anyone was possessed there would be residual clues-smells, possible marks on the floor or walls. He suspected Moira would be able to walk the crime scenes and know for certain.
If there was something supernaturally evil responsible for the cases Skye pulled over the last twenty-four hours, Anthony would find out. And if he had to ask Moira O’Donnell for help, he’d do it.
He would do anything to protect Skye.
TWENTY-FOUR
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
— EDGAR ALLAN POE
It was the dream that couldn’t die.
Gino held a knife. He’d taken a life. Guilt pulsed through his body like a snake slithering through his veins. The nightmare that was real.
The boy had been possessed, moving through the village with singular purpose: to kill. Men, women, children. One after another. No one stopped him. They hesitated in their fear, and he slit their throats. They fought back, and he tortured them in ways Gino had never fathomed, wished he’d never known or seen. When the boy reached the third hut, the screams and cries of the dying awakened those still sleeping.
Gino’s friend Ravi, the village elder who had brought him to this forsaken Central American country, tried to stop the boy, yet the boy was no longer of this world but of the next. He held Ravi with one hand-impossible, but Gino had seen it with his own eyes! Held him up and snapped his neck with a squeeze.
Impossible, except that the boy was possessed. His eyes were dead. Evil flowed through his body, not blood.
Ravi collapsed in a heap on the parched earth, his neck at an impossible angle.
Gino ran back to his small hut and took up his crucifix and Bible. He could taste evil, feel it crawling on his skin, hot and seductive and fearsome. He could hardly breathe as the screams and cries of the dead and dying vibrated in his head. His hands shook, but if he did nothing to stop the slaughter, the demon would kill all ninety-seven people in this small, poor village.
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