Skye held up two phones. “This is Jared’s cell phone.” She flipped it open to show a photo of Jared and Lily on the wallpaper. “I’ll bet this is Ari’s. They dumped the phones so no one could GPS them.”
“Dammit! What on earth was that kid thinking?”
“He’s worried about Lily, and he’s an eighteen-year-old boy. He thinks he’s invincible.”
“Idiot,” Moira mumbled. “We need to find them.”
“I will.” Skye looked through Ari’s closet while Moira continued going through her books and papers. Moira took the time to study what wasn’t as obvious. She noted that Ari was interested in vortexes-intersections of positive and negative energy. Important in balance theory, a yin-and-yang thing.
An idea popped into Moira’s head as she reviewed Ari’s books. She talked it out to get it straight. “Let’s say Ari had no idea what the ritual the other night was about. After, she’s terrified and thinks she needs to fix it. Her boyfriend dies. She’s panicking, and she comes up with an idea to stop it.”
“How?”
“I think she’s trying to undo the damage she helped create on the cliffs. Look-” She pointed to books on geography, spiritual vortexes, geometry, and ley lines. “This tells me she believes in intersecting points of power.”
“Points of power? What’s that?”
“Intersecting points of power. I’d love to explain it all to you, but we don’t have time. Ari is playing with fire. In a nutshell, she’s trying to set up a power center. It takes time-she needs to go to specific places the same distance apart, and each the same distance from the chosen power center. When each spot is aligned, it creates a one-way flow of energy, helping in complex rituals, especially for sole practitioners. Most covens have enough people to draw energy from, but individuals use the elements.”
“What can that do?”
“The more energy Ari can draw into her, the more powerful her magic. But she can’t possibly think she can reverse the ritual. She’ll get herself killed. And Jared. Dammit, as soon as she sets up the power center, she’s practically broadcasting her whereabouts to Fiona. Fiona’s power weakens when Ari draws energy to one spot.”
“Okay, assuming this is true, why can’t we do the same thing? Buy ourselves some time? Maybe lure Fiona into a trap?”
“Because the energy flow comes from magic, and only begins when the ritual starts. When that happens, you’re looking at battle magic, Fiona against Ari. Fiona will win, hands down, but not before more demons are released. Ari is drawing energy toward her-any demons, spirits, ghosts within the boundaries of the ley lines will be drawn to her center. She’s a novice. Even a practiced witch like Fiona wouldn’t attempt such a ritual without days of planning and preparation to protect her and her coven. Ari probably thinks she can either call on her own demon for vengeance or draw in the demons she released. But either way, she’s summoning the damn creatures. And now Jared is with her. It’s extremely dangerous. I have to find Ari. Stop her from making the same mistakes I did. I’m ready to go to Good-” She cleared her throat. “Starbucks. Actually, their tea isn’t half-bad. Not like a fresh-brewed pot, but for tea in a bag, tolerable.”
“You sound just like Anthony,” Skye said, not for the first time.
“Well, Italy and Ireland … we have a lot in common.”
“I’d never have imagined.” Skye turned around.
Moira gathered up Ari’s material on power points. She’d study Ari’s notes and try to figure out where she planned to set up this vortex.
“You can’t take-”
Damn, Moira thought she’d been discreet. She slid the material into her bag. “Take what?” She smiled and walked past Skye, relieved when the cop said nothing more.
THIRTY-THREE
Father Philip had listened attentively to Anthony’s recap of what he and Moira had learned, asking only a few questions for clarification, and now he sat quietly at the table, his expression contemplative.
Anthony grew impatient but remained silent.
At last the old priest spoke. “You said you have a photograph of the marks on the dead bodies?”
Anthony nodded, retrieved the photo, and slid it across the table to Father. “Moira said it’s a demon mark, except these people-other than Abby Weatherby-weren’t on the cliffs during the ritual.”
The old priest studied the instant picture and frowned. “Moira is right. I don’t see how this could happen-but then again, I’ve seen things during my eighty-three years that I couldn’t have imagined. The coven would have set up powerful protections for their members. Perhaps those in the circle were unaffected, but anyone who had contact with the demons after the ritual are affected.”
“But why would a demon possess them, then kill them? It doesn’t make sense, not with what we know about demons.”
“You’re right. We are truly facing the unknown here.” He paused, then added quietly, “Perhaps it’s the proximity. As the demons move through town they affect people they come in contact with.”
“I’ve read Franz Lieber’s notes,” Anthony said, pulling out the handwritten journal. “He believed the Conoscenza was destroyed.”
“We all did.” Father sighed and looked Anthony in the eye. “I learned yesterday that there have been secrets in the Order. Raphael was sent here to find the Conoscenza.”
Anthony shook his head. “None of this should have happened. It didn’t have to!” He spun around, angry. He didn’t want to be angry at Father Philip, his mentor had learned of the truth only yesterday, but Father should have known. “Who hid the truth?”
“The Cardinal.”
That stunned Anthony. Cardinal DeLucca was their ally. “He would never have put Rafe in jeopardy.”
“I am certain he is horribly distraught at what happened, but we can only do our best with the information we have at the time. Faith, instincts, intelligence.”
“Where did the cardinal get his information?”
“Herve Salazar.”
Anthony knew Herve well. The young priest meant well, but he had been so damaged by past experiences battling the occult that he saw things that weren’t there. Anthony had been called to no fewer than sixteen places around the globe where Herve was certain demons lived within buildings. He feared the apocalypse was imminent, that demons were everywhere. Nothing had been proven, and Anthony’s specialty was architecture. If there was a demon embedded in a building or artifact, Anthony could identify and exorcise it.
“The cardinal didn’t believe him,” he said.
“The cardinal needed to verify what Herve told him, and Raphael was in California at the time. He has a natural gift of communication, speaks multiple languages, and we had need for a caretaker here.”
“What happened to the last caretaker before Rafe was called up?”
“He resigned. He wasn’t of the Order, and the cardinal felt he had problems handling the special needs of the priests in his care.”
“Could he have been lured away by the housekeeper and her daughter, the witches? They could have cast a spell over him, poisoned him, done almost anything so they could continue unencumbered. They were poisoning the priests; they didn’t want interference.”
“You may be right. I don’t know.”
Anthony sat down. He couldn’t help but feel that the Order had failed not only Rafe, but all the priests who were murdered that night. If they’d been more alert, more suspicious, they might have stopped the slaughter. He asked quietly, “Where do we go from here? It’s you and me.”
“And Moira and Rafe, and even your Skye McPherson. And Lily. She is stronger than you believe.”
“Rafe is-” He couldn’t say it. He looked down. “I failed him,” he whispered. “Again.”
Father Philip reached over and touched his forearm until Anthony looked at him. “No self-pity, son, no regrets. We don’t know the future; we do the best we can. Intentions matter. Your intent was not to allow Raphael to be taken. He is still alive, and we will do everything to get him
back. We may die. But what is it that the Americans say? We won’t go down without a fight.”
Anthony smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, though I am worried about your safety. There are many witches who want you dead.”
“My safety is unimportant right now. We have a fundamental problem with the Seven. They grow stronger by feeding on the sins inside human beings. The sins that came from Adam and Eve. The stronger they become, the harder they are to trap.”
“I understand this, from what Franz Lieber has written, but what can we do?”
“I don’t know how to send them back, but I believe I know how to trap them.” Father Philip pulled a small journal from his breast pocket. It was stained, and very old.
Anthony recognized the tattered book as The Journal of the Unknown Martyr. The stains were blood, the book hundreds of years old, written in Aramaic, the language of Jesus Himself, but virtually unused in the thirteenth century when the Unknown Martyr penned it. The fact that the book had survived nearly one thousand years was testament to its importance. That Father Philip had taken it from St. Michael’s vault was against everything they believed.
Father Philip carefully, reverently, opened it to a page near the end. He translated as he read:
“Your humble servant begs you, O Lord, to end our suffering. I have seen the Seven Sins, with my own eyes, in their True Being, and I fear great for mankind. They come for me, I beg You for deliverance. When the last was interned, they broke the traps we set. Now we pray and hide, hide from their collective Wrath, and pray to You, O Lord, for Mercy. Virtue conquers Sin. Give me a sign, O Lord, we who battle the demons in Your Name, Your most Humble Servant, I.”
He put the book down. “That is the last entry.”
The pain in the words was not lost on Anthony. “Yet the Seven were sent back, so there must be a way.”
“Not without loss.” He stared at the book stained with blood.
“What does it mean, Father? I see that together they are stronger, yet Lieber said that when released they disband.”
Father nodded. “Yes. Because they are drawn to their nature. Lust to lust, sloth to sloth. They can be trapped, but the journal ends and we don’t know how the Unknown Martyr and his fellow soldiers did it. We only know that they succeeded, and then they died.”
Anthony was solemn. “We have no choice.”
“You can find another way. It will take time to find all Seven. But first we trap the Sin that is in Santa Louisa. It is imperative we know which of them we are dealing with.”
“Why?”
“Virtue traps Sin.”
Anthony frowned, then realized what Father was saying. “We can trap them with a vessel that negates them.”
“Yes. I believe that is what this means. I’ve read the entire journal. The language is archaic, but based on the facts I believe the Martyrs trapped them one by one in different pure vessels. It is with the last that they encountered death.”
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” Anthony mumbled. “For lust, chastity would keep it inert. For pride, humility.”
“Yes. What sin is out there now? What are we fighting?”
Anthony paced again, this time in contemplation.
“The bodies I saw in the morgue. The ones with the demon’s mark. A woman who couldn’t have children pushed a pregnant woman down a flight of stairs. A man who had been passed over for a promotion killed the woman who was promoted in his place. But what of the basketball player who died of an aneurysm? He had the same mark, yet he hurt no one.”
“Perhaps he was battling the Sin internally.” Anthony stopped pacing. “So we either kill or die?”
“When touched by one of the Seven Deadly Sins, our own conscience becomes twisted. We act on our impulses, we take what we want, do what we want; we have no barrier, no standard of right and wrong. If someone covets his neighbor’s ox, he takes the ox.”
“Covets-envy.” Anthony knew it as soon as he said it. “Envy is in town. How do we trap it?”
“Envy is the first sin, the original sin. The serpent lured Eve to taste the forbidden fruit, to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He was envious of God’s newest creation, human beings. Humans who had free will. Humans who were favored. He couldn’t have what they had, so he took Paradise away from them.” Anthony frowned. “What object can contain Envy?”
“A tabernacle,” Father responded solemnly. “But how do we trap Envy inside it? We can’t summon it without drawing on the evil we are trying to stop.” Then the solution came to Anthony. “So we have to find where Envy is most likely to be lured, and set the trap there.”
Fiona watched the demon walk around Raphael Cooper on its six clawed hooves, its psychic leash but a fine line. Cooper mumbled a prayer, invoking God, and the demon hissed and yelped.
She gave the demon room and it attacked Cooper.
Fiona called back her pet and Cooper cried out in pain for the first time that day. Finally! The man was human after all.
“I am weary of your silence, Raphael,” Fiona said. “Who taught you the ritual? Who else knows the Conoscenza? Raphael, speak to me!”
“Your black magic. Does not work.” He bit back a scream as the demon clawed him. “On. Me.”
Serena walked into the room. She stared at Raphael. She tried to keep her face impassive, but Fiona knew the truth.
“Would you like to play with your lover?” Fiona asked her. “Go ahead. He can’t get away this time.”
Serena turned her back on Raphael and said, “It’s nearly time.”
“You’re not going to offer a sacrifice for his life? I’m surprised, daughter; I thought your love was eternal,” she mocked.
Serena said, “He chose the wrong side.”
She walked over to him. Fiona watched her daughter with interest shielded under a veil of boredom. She had worried a bit that Serena’s lust for Raphael Cooper would blind her to what needed to be done.
Rafe drew in an unsteady breath and watched as the young woman approached him. Calling herself Lisa, she’d played him, used him, seduced him, in order to torture and kill the priests for her evil sacrifice.
Now, Lisa-or Serena, or whatever her name was-took a long look at him. Her eyes, green and catlike, filled with pain and rage, but her voice was well-modulated when she told Rafe, “Every death after the moment on the cliffs when you broke our circle is on your conscience. If you had left us alone, all those people would still be alive.”
She touched his head and chanted something familiar. He recognized the sounds, the language, but not what it meant. It was the language he’d spoken the other night, but even at the time he hadn’t known what it was he was saying.
Suddenly he was on his knees. Images of violence, bloody and vile, played in his head.
She’d drawn out the memories of that night when the mission priests died. The memories he desperately wanted to forget, and now they played over and over and he could do nothing to stop it.
“Stop!” he begged, holding his head as he curled into the fetal position.
Fiona turned to her daughter, proud. “Impressive, Serena.”
“It’s time,” she said and walked out.
Fiona told her pet to guard the prisoner, then she followed her daughter. She was impressed, and not a little bit surprised.
Fiona would need to keep a watchful eye on Serena.
THIRTY-FOUR
Late Friday afternoon and no one was in or around the vicinity of Good Shepherd Church. Lucky for her, Moira thought, as she picked the lock to the back door of the church. At the last moment she considered that there might be an alarm-half-worried, she looked around for a panel, motion sensors, or anything to indicate there was an auditory or silent alarm system. Nothing.
The church was one large room. There was definitely magic in here. Not a lot, and she suspected that none had occurred since Sunday, but it felt strong enough that Moira knew spells had been cast here. Something retained mag
ical energy. She looked quickly around, taking in the simple room instantly.
It appared that this building used to be a business of some sort. Multiple outlets along the floorboard, for plugs and phones, indicated there were probably twenty desks or cubicles. Real estate was Moira’s guess. Now the room was filled with padded folding chairs; the carpet was new and lush, and the altar was a simple polished wood table with a gold cross hung on the wall above it. Moira didn’t want to stay here too long-though the sky was darkening as the sun rapidly set, the front of the “church” was all glass. But she took a moment and looked under the table with her flashlight.
Just as she thought: a sigil. The sigil-a demonlike creature in a hexagram-was unique and likely the patron “demon” of Pennington’s order. Whether it was Fiona’s or a special mark just for Pennington, she didn’t know. She looked around and saw protections over every doorway-herbs disguised as decorative flowers, or framed posters with sayings like “With God, nothing is impossible.” She’d bet there were occult symbols on the flip side of the paintings. Maybe that was the magic she felt, the simple protective spells cast to keep demons and spirits at bay.
There were four smaller rooms off the main room, all on the northern side of the building. The front room-with all the window exposure-was a classroom and day-care center. The next looked to be a meeting room. The rear two were offices. Moira searched both of them, not certain what she was looking for but hoping she’d recognize a clue if she saw it.
Since Pennington was one of the twelve at the ritual, he had to be in Fiona’s inner circle. He’d know where she was living. It wasn’t a hotel, not here in Santa Louisa, where the choices were sparse with no five-star hotels in sight. And Fiona had been here awhile-months. She may have arrived after the murders at the mission, but Moira would bet her money that Fiona had been here for much, much longer. Fiona wouldn’t have trusted even her most trusted circle with every detail of her plans. She would want to be nearby. To watch, supervise, and criticize.
Pennington had arrived in August. The priests died in November. Was he part of it? Directly, or on the periphery? She hadn’t pressed Rafe on the details of the murders, but maybe she should have. She had her theories based on what she did know, what Anthony and Rafe said, and what had been written about the murders in the papers. But she didn’t have details, and if she was missing something …
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