Carnal Sin sds-2

by Allison Brennan

  Moira said, “Like Fiona used a human vessel to bring forth the Seven Deadly Sins.”

  “Right,” Jackson said. “But a succubus ritual isn’t usually quite as deadly-or dangerous. With the right ritual, the chalice becomes a mobile doorway to Hell. The demon comes in, is channeled into a woman-or if an incubus, a man-and goes about the business of stealing the marked soul.

  “The thing is, when the soul is claimed, the demon is supposed to leave the human vessel and snap back into the bowl. The coven then completes the ritual, and the demon goes back to Hell.”

  “Something went wrong with Wendy’s ritual this time,” Rafe said.

  “Damn straight,” Moira said. “We have to be prepared. If the demon left Nadine’s body because it was being drawn back into the original gateway-the chalice-that means it could still be at Wendy’s house.”

  “Are you certain this is the demon Lust?” Jackson asked.

  “There’s no other explanation,” Moira said. “The marks on the bodies too closely resemble the marks left by the demon Envy.”

  “But I’ve heard that demon marks are common when practicing black magic,” Jackson said.

  Moira didn’t respond, and Rafe knew she was upset. She’d been marked by a demon once, and it had nearly killed her. The mark was gone, but it still affected her. She never talked about it with him, and he realized that at some point he was going to have to get her to tell him exactly what happened all those years ago.

  “These marks,” Rafe said when Moira didn’t respond, “are unique. They look more like birthmarks, with a thin dark red line inside forming a satanic mark, similar to what you see in occult rituals, but at the same time different than anything we’ve seen before.”

  Moira said, “Other demon marks are small, simple brands. The Seven Deadly Sins mark their victims with far more elaborate designs.”

  “If the demon is trapped in the chalice, we can put it in a vault, correct?” Jackson said.

  “It would be unstable,” Moira said. “We need something sacred to trap it completely.”

  Jackson said, “I brought an iron box with me; it will hold the chalice.”

  “If it’s all we have,” Moira said.

  “There’s another idea-something more permanent than storing it in a vault.”

  Moira and Rafe both looked at Jackson. “We’re all ears,” Moira said.

  “In theory, if the demon is trapped in the chalice, it should go back to Hell. At that point, while it’s trapped, we melt the chalice and that portal will be closed forever.”

  Moira frowned. “That destroys the chalice, but are you certain it will also destroy the demon?”

  “I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

  Moira was skeptical on that point, and Rafe asked her, “What are you thinking?”

  “This is the demon Lust we’re talking about. It’s not going to let itself get melted.”

  “It may not have a choice.”

  “We need to talk to Anthony before we do anything like that,” Moira said. “And if the demon is out and about somewhere? Not trapped in the chalice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So we can’t melt the vessel until the demon is trapped.”

  “Maybe we can-maybe that would kill it.”

  “More likely, if you destroy the portal, its bonds are broken and it’s free.”

  “We can use traditional exorcisms,” Rafe said.

  “Without the chalice, there’s nothing keeping the demon here. It can go anywhere, do anything, kill anyone,” Moira said.

  Jackson said, “I found an exorcism that will draw back the demon and close the portal.”

  Moira held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

  Jackson reluctantly handed it over. She read it, shaking her head. “No, no, no!”

  “But it’s the only way-”

  “Moira?” Rafe said.

  “It’s a spell, not an exorcism. Exorcisms work one way-sending demons to Hell. Spells summon the demon to you.” Moira was agitated.

  “But it could save someone’s life!” Jackson said.

  Moira threw up her hands. “You of all people should know better! I don’t care how good or noble our motivation is in stopping this demon, I will not resort to spells and witchcraft to trap it. It can only end in blood.”

  “So we wait until the coven calls the demon back?”

  “I’d say yes, but that means letting someone else die. Maybe more than one person. I can’t do that. The only thing we can do is control the chalice. Get it away from Wendy and her coven. Then, find who the demon is possessing and perform a real exorcism. An exorcism will force the demon back into the chalice, and then we can lock it up or melt it.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Anthony should be in Italy soon. We need his input. I don’t know anyone else who’ll know where to get the answers about whether we melt the damn thing with the demon inside or not, or what we can use to imprison Lust. Anthony can be a jerk, but he knows more about specific demons than I do. All those books he reads.”

  She was trying to make light of the situation, but Rafe felt her concerns. He strode to the dresser and stood with her. Moira needed to know he was with her one hundred percent.

  “Wendy will protect that damn thing with everything she’s got,” Moira said, changing the subject.

  “How will we know if the demon is inside the chalice?” Rafe asked.

  “The glass changes color,” Jackson said. “But that’s also easy for a witch to fake.”

  Moira said, “I’ll know.”

  “If they value it so much, won’t they lock it up?”

  “No reason to,” Moira said. “They probably have a hidden altar-either a locked room or a room behind a false wall. I can find it. Protective magic will be stronger the closer we get to the chalice.” She frowned, and Rafe reached over and took her hand. He didn’t say anything, but she squeezed back.

  She cleared her throat. “So what’s your plan?”

  “We wait until everyone inside is asleep. Then we go in and steal the chalice. Put it in Jackson’s iron box, and then … what?”

  “I have a vault,” Jackson said. “I can keep it there. It will be safe, at least for a while.”

  “See?” Rafe smiled. “A plan.”

  “Waiting. My favorite thing,” Moira said sarcastically as the three of them left the hotel room.

  As soon as Anthony landed in Italy and worked his way through customs, he called Skye even though it was nearly two in the morning in California. He’d promised he’d call when he landed, and if he woke her he’d say good night and remind her that he loved her.

  He simply wanted to hear her voice.

  Skye picked up on the first ring. “Anthony?”

  “Good morning. Why are you awake so late, love?”

  “I can’t sleep.” She sounded exhausted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What isn’t wrong?”

  Anthony stopped walking through the airport and found a place against the wall where he could stand without being bumped by other passengers. “Tell me. Is it the situation in L.A.?”

  “Partly, but Rafe and Moira are working on it. They’re consulting with Jackson Moreno. Know him?”

  “Yes, very well.” He breathed marginally easier. “He’s trustworthy.”

  “Good, because I had to come home. Truxel dropped the charges against Elizabeth Ellis. She’s out of jail.”

  “And Lily?”

  “She’s here with me. Then there’s the press-” She stopped.

  Anthony heard the tension and stress in Skye’s voice.

  “I’m not going to complain.”

  “You can tell me anything, Skye.”

  “I know. You do your thing, come back soon, okay?”

  Anthony spotted John Vasco from St. Michael’s crossing the baggage claim area. Anthony raised a finger and John nodded.

  “Of course,” Anthony said quietly. “As soon as possible. Are you okay, Skye?”
<
br />   “I’d be better if you were here.”

  “I miss you, mia amore.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Be careful. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. I hope this trip of yours is worth it, that we have the answers we need to stop these … things.”

  She still had a hard time talking about demons.

  “So do I.”

  He reluctantly cut off the call. John approached. Anthony hugged his brother-in-arms. At forty-three, John was the oldest living demon hunter out of St. Michael’s. He’d backed off most assignments and acted more like a bodyguard than a hunter, but he still worked in the field when needed. He said little, and his loyalty was legendary. He’d risked his life to save both his comrades and innocent strangers, and never once complained or questioned his duty.

  “Good to see you,” Anthony said.

  John stepped back, his expression grim. “Dr. Lieber is dead.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Rafe drove by Wendy Donovan’s house in the Hollywood Hills and there was no activity. They drove far around the hillside, then turned around and came back. Still no activity.

  “Maybe they’re at the club,” Jackson said.

  “Wendy left early,” Rafe said.

  “Oh yeah, right about the time their good friend Nadine had a fatal accident with a demon.” Moira rolled her eyes.

  Rafe parked down the hill, out of sight from the house. The three of them walked along the edge of the road and stopped in a cluster of trees across from Wendy’s driveway to inspect the property. The house looked deceptively small from the front as the entrance was on the top floor and the structure went down three stories, terraced to complement the cliffside. It was after midnight. The house was quiet, but not completely dark. Dim lights on each floor-the subtlety of a nightlight-highlighted each curtained window. No movement or sounds came from the house.

  Rafe didn’t like the risk they were taking, but waiting until Wendy Donovan went to work tomorrow ran the risk of there being another innocent victim. And considering what had happened when the demon left Nadine Anson’s body, whoever hosted the demon would be at similar risk.

  Moira had been unusually quiet and physically tense as they waited, and Rafe gave her some breathing room, keeping his eyes and ears open, concerned for her safety. She was exhausted, and if they had any other choice, he would have taken her back to the hotel to sleep.

  “They protected the house from evil spirits,” Moira whispered. “The spells grew as we got closer, but right here it’s stronger. They must have left an opening for the demon. We find that opening and that’ll be the room where they have the altar and spirit trap.”

  “And the chalice.”

  “Right.” She shivered. “They’ve been doing this for years; they have it down. The spells are strong. But they have settled in the house.”

  “Settled?” Rafe asked.

  She frowned. “I–I don’t know. It feels heavier at the bottom than the top. I wish I could explain it better.”

  Jackson said, “This is the top story-there are two more beneath it. Does that mean their altar is on the bottom floor?”

  Moira didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Wait here.”

  She started across the street before Rafe could stop her.

  “Moira!” he whispered loudly.

  She put her finger up in the air behind her and disappeared in the roadside shrubs that framed the front of the house.

  “Dammit,” Rafe said. He wanted to go after her, but he knew-he hoped-she wasn’t going to do something stupid.

  Moira wasn’t reckless, even though she repeatedly risked her life. He had to count on that now.

  Time passed slowly as he waited, and Jackson said, “Should we follow her?”

  Rafe glanced at his watch. He was getting antsy as well, but it had been only two minutes. “Give her another minute.”

  Moira came back in less than that. “The altar is on the bottom floor. That entire space is like a psychic fortress. But there is definitely a hole in the far corner. That has to be where their demon trap is.”

  “We should go down the cliff and in through the bottom,” Jackson said.

  Moira shook her head. “They’ll know. There’s no easy way to get to the bottom-floor balcony without more equipment than we have, or making a shitload of noise. And breaching that fortress could very well alert them. We go in from the top, work our way down.”

  “But doesn’t that put us more at risk?” Jackson said. “Greater chance of encountering someone?”

  “I didn’t sense any movement inside. There are no bright lights anywhere in the house. If they have an alarm, we’re screwed.”

  “Not necessarily,” Rafe said.

  She raised her eyebrow. “Oh? Holding out on me?”

  “I have a bit of skill in that area. I’m about as good with security systems as you are at picking locks.”

  “That good, really?”

  Rafe liked that Moira was bantering with him again and not deadly serious. She would perform better-and safer-if she relaxed.

  Moira picked the lock on Wendy’s front door quickly, and Rafe inspected the entry for evidence of an alarm. No sensors, no pads, no wires to indicate an alarm system.

  “Clear,” he whispered.

  He closed the door soundlessly and surveyed the space. Their eyes were already adjusted to the absence of light and they listened intently. An antique clock-several of them, by the sound-tick-tocked in a room to the left. The entry itself opened into a large square gathering room. To the left was a grand dining room that sat at least a dozen, with pillars instead of walls separating it from the entry and the hall.

  To the rear was a vast kitchen and great room, and a wall full of windows looking out into the dark valley dotted with lights from other people’s grand houses. To the right was a hall with several dark, closed rooms.

  Without speaking, Moira pointed down the hall. There was a staircase that led downstairs, and Rafe nodded.

  As they descended, Moira tensed again, but she kept moving, leading the way. Jackson took up the rear.

  They didn’t stop on the second level, but continued silently down. At the base of the stairs was an office of sorts, only ten feet wide but twice that in length, the far-side sliding doors leading to the balcony. It looked as though it had been divided off from the rest of the floor. Two desks, bookshelves, and a few chairs filled the space. Double doors led to another room.

  They stopped at the base of the landing and listened.

  Silence.

  Moira pointed to Jackson with her dagger and motioned for him to stay and watch the stairs, then gestured toward the closed doors. Rafe understood. They stood on either side of the doors and Rafe cautiously opened the knob on his side. Moira opened the other door. Incense wafted through the open door-myrrh and sandalwood and something else Rafe couldn’t identify right off. He peered through the crack. It was pitch black in there.

  A memory rushed into his head and he froze.

  Screams of agony pierced the silence as Samuel Ackerman’s two closest friends were tortured by a demon. The sound shredded Samuel’s heart.

  “Stop, stop! Please leave them alone.”

  The witch turned to him, satisfied he would give her what she wanted. “Samuel. You know better. What will you do for me?”

  “Don’t do this, Susan. Please, stop.”

  “You stole from me.”

  “You know what you’re doing is wrong. How could you turn your back on God? On what is good in the world?”

  “Who’s to say what is good? What has God ever done for me?” She waved her arm toward the living room where a succubus and incubus tortured William and Tessa Burns. They’d been stripped naked, unable to move, unable to stop the horrid acts of sexual violence being done to them. Samuel was spared only because for him, it was worse torture to watch. He had brought this down on his friends because he’d tried to do the right thing. William and
Tessa knew more about the supernatural than he did. He hadn’t believed in such evil until he’d witnessed Susan’s horrid acts. He realized now that she’d been born without a conscience; that was the only explanation for her actions.

  He’d stolen the chalice, and now …

  “I have everything I want because I have the knowledge,” Susan said. “I have power. I need the chalice you stole from me.”

  He hesitated. Susan chanted in ancient Latin, then said, “Kali, the soul of William Burns has been pledged, and is freely given by your mistress; take what you will!”

  William screamed as the succubus kissed him, sucking his soul out of his body until he died. It took a long minute, and through it all Samuel prayed for deliverance, begged God to stop this.

  God did not answer. Instead, Susan laughed. The demon, satiated, was dismissed with an incantation from Susan’s teenage daughter who watched the entire proceedings, the rapes and the soul-snatching, with rapt attention. Wendy had been such a sweet child, and now …

  “My chalice, Samuel! Now! Or Tessa will die next.”

  “Raphael Cooper!” Moira hit him, her voice a harsh and worried whisper.

  Rafe shook his head, his eyes still seeing the violence of his vision. Samuel Ackerman had been murdered at Santa Louisa de los Padres Mission three months ago. Why was this important-why did he remember this now?

  “Rafe, please!”

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, still trying to rid his head of the horrific images. He still heard the screams of William Burns as he was sacrificed.

  “Listen,” she whispered.

  He remained silent. They stood outside the doors. There was no movement; there were no sounds from above except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway.

  Moira frowned and her hand tightened around her dagger.

  He mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, uncertain, but Rafe trusted Moira’s instincts. He motioned to leave, but she shook her head again and pushed open the door.

  Rafe shined his flashlight into the space. He found a light switch that had a dimmer, and put the overhead light on at the lowest possible setting.