“It doesn’t seem fair,” Father agreed. “But we’re human beings, and our faith keeps us strong. Stronger than we think we are. We don’t always see the signs of God in action. We think He hates us, that He allows evil to prosper. Good people die. Bad people live. But truly, is God to blame? Are we not culpable because we are blind to His help and the help of others? Anthony, myself, Moira-we all belong to St. Michael’s Order.”
Anthony’s ears pricked. Moira part of the Order? Never had a woman, let alone a witch, been initiated. He would have known. Yet he’d never known Father to tell a lie. He was torn, not knowing which would be the greater error.
“In the Order,” Father Philip explained, “we are taught to see signs. To interpret them. If the Seven Deadly Sins remain free, humanity is in great jeopardy. But worse still, if Fiona’s coven gains control of them, she can target her enemies. The greatest threat to her power on earth is St. Michael’s Order. If we fail, there is no one stopping the reign of evil on earth until Jesus Christ comes again.”
“How can we-I-any of us-stop it?”
“By following the signs. And the first thing is to purify you so they can’t use you to store the Seven Deadly Sins. Anthony and I will do everything in our power to protect your life; and the first thing is to ensure your body cannot be used by the Seven. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Do you want to be baptized into the Catholic Church?”
She nodded. “Y-yes.”
Father Philip began the baptism rite. It was bare-bones, but included ancient traditions. He spoke the sacrament quickly, his hands steady on Lily’s head. He took a small chalice, removed the lid, and with a gold spoon took a teaspoon of salt and fed it to Lily.
The salt was for wisdom and to help prevent the corruption of sin. It was rarely used anymore in modern baptism, but St. Michael’s Order insisted. And in this context, with the pinnacles of sin freed in the Seven, even more appropriate.
“Lily, do you renounce Satan?”
“I do.”
“And all his works?”
“I do.”
“And all his pomps?”
“I do.”
A chill rushed through the room, but if Father felt it, he didn’t let on as he anointed Lily with sacred oil.
But Anthony felt it, and heard the voices that had been silent for weeks.
help us help us help us help us
The same voices he’d heard when he first arrived at the mission ten weeks ago, minutes after the murders. He hadn’t heard them since those first days, had hoped the souls of the dead priests had found peace, all the while fearing that they were still trapped somewhere between heaven and Hell, imprisoned by someone or something.
help us help us help us help us
Anthony stood perfectly still while Father finished asking Lily questions about her belief in the Holy Trinity.
She answered the last question affirmatively.
Father had poured holy water over her head with each of the last three questions, and when he was done, Anthony felt a slight tremor. Father felt it as well, and said to Anthony, “It’s good.”
Anthony didn’t want to argue with Father Philip, but he’d never experienced any physical reaction to a baptism, which was an internal cleansing of sin.
Father finished the baptism by handing Lily a candle and lighting it.
“Lily, go in peace and the Lord be with you. Amen.”
Lily was silently crying.
“Child, don’t cry,” Father said, holding her face in his hands.
“I can’t help it. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“You are humble. Humility is a virtue. Lie down and rest. We have a long night ahead of us.”
She lay on the cot, and Father covered her with a blanket. He turned to Anthony and said, “She will sleep. Let us go to the office and you can tell me everything that has happened. And maybe, together, we can find the answers we need to reverse the evil Fiona O’Donnell has done.”
“First, Father, tell me where Rico is. Why can’t he be here? Why can’t he send someone?”
Father said solemnly, “The Seven Deadly Sins have disbursed. Only one remains in Santa Louisa. Rico and his people have trouble in every-how did he say it? — every hot spot in the world. We are on our own, yet they all depend on us to find answers and stop Fiona’s coven. If we can’t do those things, these battles will be our end. No one in the Order will be left standing.”
THIRTY-TWO
When Moira saw the flashing red and blue lights in her rearview mirror, she almost floored the accelerator. She hesitated just a moment too long with her decision, because the police cruiser flashed its brights and flipped the siren on and off twice in a piercing chirp! chirp!
Moira looked at the roof of the truck. “You really don’t like me, do you?”
She kept her hands on the steering wheel and stared in the side mirror as the deputy got out. Hank Santos.
“This is getting better and better.” She should have floored it. She’d had a chance.
More likely she would have gone off the road and killed herself. But instead of bliss in death, she’d probably be dragged down to the pit and be summoned by her mother so Fiona could torture her lost soul for the next decade. Fun.
She rolled down the window. She hoped she could talk her way out of this, because not only did she have a knife on her, she also had a gun on her. She couldn’t kill a cop, nor could she go back to jail.
Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Deputy Santos, right?” she smiled.
“Step out of the truck, please.”
“Sir, Jared loaned me his truck. I wasn’t speeding.” She honestly didn’t know whether she’d been speeding but thought it sounded good.
“I asked you to step out, Ms. O’Donnell.”
“Why did you pull me over?”
“If you don’t step out of the vehicle, I will forcibly remove you. Please step out.”
Moira slid out of the truck, feeling the same odd sensation she’d had when Santos came to her motel yesterday morning. She concentrated with all her senses, but he wasn’t possessed or under a spell. Still … something about him was off. She said, “You’re mad about yesterday morning. I tried to-”
“Keep your mouth shut, Ms. O’Donnell. You’ve manipulated my son, but this truck isn’t his to do with what he pleases. It’s mine. My name is on the registration, and I did not give you permission to drive it.”
“Fine. It’s yours. I’ll walk.”
“Your license, please.”
She bit her lip and pulled out her wallet. She showed him her driving permit from Sicily.
He glanced at it. “I need your international driving permit.”
“I don’t have one.” She’d been in and out of the United States for the last seven years, and getting an IDP was the last thing on her mind.
“This license is expired as well,” he said.
She wasn’t surprised. She’d had it for years. Other than her passport, renewing government documents wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
“I said I’d walk.”
“You’ve already broken several laws, Ms. O’Donnell. I’m going to ask you to come down to the station while we sort this out.”
“Deputy Santos, please, I really can’t.” She doubted begging would get her out of this mess, but she’d try anything at this point.
His face darkened. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but ever since you came to town you have been a thorn in my side.”
“What? I haven’t done anything to you.”
“You are coming between me and my son. He never lied to me before now. He ditched school today. I don’t know where he is, but I’ll bet you do.”
“I don’t.” What on earth was Jared up to? Moira was worried. She should have made it a point to talk to him earlier today, make sure he was keeping a low profile.
“I need to search you.”
/> “No. Do not touch me.” She was beginning to panic. She didn’t want to hurt Hank Santos, but she couldn’t go to jail. “Call Sheriff McPherson.”
“Turn around and put your hands on the car.”
A car pulled up behind Santos’s cruiser. Another cop. Great. Now she was going to be manhandled, searched, and they’d find her weapons, haul her to prison, and …
Skye McPherson got out and strode over. Moira sighed in relief.
“Hank,” Skye said. “I’ll take care of this.”
“With all due respect, Sheriff, I don’t believe you are impartial in this matter.”
“Why did you pull Ms. O’Donnell over?”
“She’s driving a stolen vehicle.”
“Hank, you know Jared loaned her the truck. He told me yesterday afternoon that he had.”
“He didn’t have my permission.”
“Bring it up with your son. If Ms. O’Donnell wasn’t breaking any laws while driving, you’ll need to let her go.”
“She’s driving without a valid license.”
Skye asked Moira, “Is that true?”
“I don’t have an IDP.”
“I can’t let you get back in the truck.”
“I’m arresting her,” Hank said.
“For driving without a license?”
“I have the right.” He rubbed his head as if he were in pain.
“Hank, can I have a word?”
They walked back to Hank’s cruiser. Moira breathed easier and tried to pinpoint what it was that disturbed her about Hank-other than his being an asshole.
Whatever Skye said to him, it had to have been good. Five minutes later, Jared’s father drove away.
Skye came over and said, “You have to leave the truck. Get your stuff.”
Moira grabbed her bag from the backseat. “Thank you.”
“I saw him follow you out of the school parking lot. I’d called him when I learned Jared ditched school. But I have a more immediate concern.”
“What?”
“I saw something on his neck.”
“I saw it yesterday. A birthmark. But-”
“I’ve known Hank for years. He never had it before. And I have four dead bodies with so-called birthmarks that they didn’t used to have. I’m worried about him now, I don’t even know if I should have let him go, but what am I supposed to do? Arrest him? Ask him to remove his shirt so I can compare his mark to the dead?” Skye shook her head, motioning for Moira to get in the passenger’s side of her cruiser.
“If it’s the same mark that Anthony showed me this morning,” Moira said, “I’ll tell you what I told Anthony. It’s the mark of a demonic baptism, but the fact that these marks are showing up spontaneously makes no sense. They usually come during the ritual baptism itself. Could Hank have been on the cliffs the other night? Is he part of the coven?”
“No,” Skye said.
“Can you be sure?”
“I suppose I can’t be, but I know that the other victims with this same mark were not at the cliffs-except for Abby. And her mark is substantially different, though it’s the same basic shape. All the victims were affiliated with the high school in some way. A secretary. A student. A librarian. And a murderer who lived next door to a teacher. It has to be related to the high school. I just spoke to one of the teachers and even she rubbed me the wrong way-I don’t know why. But Nicole Donovan-”
“What about her?”
“Rafe told me this morning to trust my instincts. He was deadly serious. My first impression-my gut instinct-about Nicole Donovan was that she was too nice, too helpful-without being at all helpful. She didn’t say one thing that I could follow up on. And there was a woman in her classroom when I got there who rubbed me wrong, but she left. Donovan said she was a friend.”
“Listen to Rafe,” Moira said, though she wondered exactly what Rafe meant by his comment, and what he knew that he hadn’t shared.
“The student, Chris Kidd, came to me yesterday after I spoke to the student body. He implied that his girlfriend, Ari Blair, was on the cliffs when Abby died, and was scared about coming forward. Now he’s dead, and Ari ditched school. All signs point to her being part of this coven. A witness saw her drive off with Jared.”
Moira slammed her fist on the dashboard. Why hadn’t she sat on him? She thought she’d made perfectly clear the risks he faced, and since she had his truck she thought he’d stick it out at home.
“I have an APB out on Ari Blair and her car,” Skye said. “Basically, I issued an order to detain her as a material witness and contact me immediately.”
“Ari Blair,” Moira mumbled. Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out the address book taken from a witch’s locker.
“What’s that?”
“I was looking for lockers that belonged to witches, okay? This came from one.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was hoping for maybe a calendar or something that could give me an idea of where Fiona is staying.”
She opened it and saw on the front page:
Property Of:
Arianne Blair
“This is hers,” Moira told Skye.
“Was there anything helpful in there? I can’t believe I just asked that. It’s an illegal search and seizure.”
“I took it, you didn’t.”
“Fruit of the forbidden tree. I now know you stole it, so I can’t use anything in it to arrest anyone.”
“Screw that; I just want to stop Fiona from killing Rafe. She opened the address book to “Garrett Pennington” and tapped the address. “This is where I’m going to start.”
“What’s that?”
“Good Shepherd Church. Garrett Pennington. He lives in an apartment above the church-she has two addresses here, one for the church and one for Pennington.”
“I found a connection between Pennington and Elizabeth Ellis. It’s not safe for you to go there alone, and I don’t have a warrant.”
“Who cares about a warrant?”
“I do. Because if he killed Abby Weatherby, I can put him in jail.”
“Rafe could die. I need information, and Pennington is the best bet to get it.”
“This is fucked,” Skye said, then changed the subject. “Can a witch make someone sick?”
“Sure, it’s a standard spell. Not too difficult.”
“What about a brain tumor?”
“Harder, but for a skilled magician, not impossible.”
“I don’t generally like coincidences, but Matthew Walker’s mother has a brain tumor, and that was the reason he left Santa Louisa. Then just a few weeks later, Elizabeth Ellis, who is on the church council, hires Garrett Pennington as the pastor. But Walker didn’t know anything about it.”
“Seems obvious to me when you put it like that,” Moira said. “If the coven had something personal of hers-preferably blood, hair, or fingernails, but a personal object can sometimes work-they could curse her. Give her a brain tumor or a heart attack. It doesn’t always work, it’s not a science, and the farther the distance the harder it is.”
“That sounds like voodoo.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re saying voodoo is real.”
“Voodoo is witchcraft, nothing more, nothing less. What’s so surprising?”
“I have a lot to learn.” Skye paused. “Can you help me with something before we go to Good Shepherd?”
“I’ll try.”
“Ari Blair lives near here; I called her mother earlier and have permission to search her room.”
“Good idea-she’s young, probably less disciplined than Pennington. We might get what we need there. If not, you’ll take me to Good Shepherd?”
“No. I’ll drop you off down the street at the Starbucks. You can go wherever you like from there.” Skye glanced at her. “I’m still a cop, Moira. I’ve already broken so many laws that I’ve sworn to uphold that when I can pretend I’m not breaking one, let me pretend.”
It took ten minutes to reac
h Ari’s house. As soon as Moira stepped on the property, she knew a witch lived here.
“Moira? Hey-Moira!”
Moira barely heard Skye’s voice when she turned into Ari Blair’s bedroom without being told which one was hers.
Magic, powerful magic, permeated every inch of space. The walls, the carpet, the clothing strewn across the desk chair … it was as if the room breathed magic.
The energy was strong, but young; powerful, but untrained. Moira sensed an inner goodness in the room, an aura of wanting to please. The aura of kindness. She wanted to weep for the poor girl who lived here, the betrayal she was about to face.
Ari Blair could have been her.
“Do you need to sit?” Skye asked from what seemed to be a great distance but was only feet away.
Moira shook her head and crossed the neat but cluttered room. She touched a book on the desk. A Wiccan spell book. Another was a Wiccan book of blessings, another about the elements in Wicca. All benign in the sense that they promoted the stated belief of witchcraft: do no harm. Most practitioners were well-intentioned but misguided people who were searching for truth, balance, and understanding.
They didn’t understand the dark underbelly of magic. That noble intentions were simply that: intentions. That do no harm was impossible when you messed around with supernatural forces. Ari had been used, her inner goodness and innocence and desire to learn more about herself and the world around her being twisted in order to pull energy from her.
“How did Ari’s boyfriend die?” Moira asked quietly.
“Possible brain aneurysm. He complained of a severe headache in the afternoon, then a few hours later collapsed and bled from the ears. He died en route to the hospital.”
“I feel fear. Here, in this room. Fear and magic. She’s definitely scared about something.”
Skye was looking at her strangely.
“What’s wrong?” Moira asked.
“You sound like Anthony.”
“Anthony is an empath. I’m not.”
Moira turned her back to Skye to avoid more questions. Together they searched the room. Moira flipped through the spellbooks one by one.
Skye said, “Jared was here.”
“How do you know?” Moira asked.
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