Carnal Sin

by Allison Brennan

  An odd, unsettling sensation washed over her as the pain faded. She wanted to run far away, but if she didn’t figure out what was going on here in this alley, who else would? She slowed her breathing and concentrated, using her “Spidey Sense,” as Rico in a rare moment of humor dubbed her sharp instincts. Intuition, a sixth sense, whatever others might name it—she had it in spades, and she’d worked hard to learn to decipher her subconscious thoughts and feelings. But it didn’t come easily. And honestly, she didn’t like it. Opening her senses forced her to lower her guard, making her vulnerable and defenseless. But there was no other way to know for certain whether there had been demonic or magical energy in the area.

  She reached into her jacket, her weapons now within easy reach.

  Her peripheral vision darkened. The air cooled around her. A light breeze swept down the alley, rustling newspapers and food wrappers that had missed their designated receptacle. The sky overhead grew darker and lights came on at either end of the alley and over doorways, except for the one door marked VELOCITY EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE.

  Lights … why were the lights on in the middle of the day?

  It was no longer day, it was night. Moira froze, rooted in her spot, staring at the dark space between the dumpsters, and realized a young man stood there. Craig Monroe.

  “Damn, but you’re hot,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m doing this here. I want to fuck your brains out.”

  With shimmering brown hair that seemed to sparkle in the dim light, a voluptuous woman stepped forward and kissed him. Moira couldn’t see her face. She knew this was a vision—it had to be a vision; they couldn’t see her. But she was awake! It seemed so real. And it was more vivid than a vision, brighter. She smelled the alley, felt the chill, and saw everything sharply—too sharply, as if altered through a prism. She glanced around her, but everything was dark. All Moira saw were lights above doorways and deep, endless shadows.

  She had no sense of emotion or life from the images in front of her, as if they were ghosts.

  If Craig Monroe was a ghost reliving his last moments, trapped between Heaven and Hell, this alley was now haunted. Moira was no expert on getting rid of ghosts. Demons, yes; ghosts were a whole other business. Ghosts could be dangerous, but they weren’t a direct threat and they rarely roamed. Moira could contact any number of people to deal with Monroe and release his soul to wherever it was supposed to go.

  Monroe didn’t seem to see her, and he didn’t look like a ghost. Or act like a ghost. While he stood right in front of her, she knew better than to try and touch him. She didn’t want to give him an easy way to get inside her.

  “I’m so hungry for you,” he said with a primal growl. He was looking right at Moira, but not at her. She remained frozen, ready to run or fight.

  The woman said, “What do you want?”

  “Suck my dick. That’s what you promised.”

  The woman laughed, a low, seductive sound. She kissed him and he grabbed at her, eager, greedy. Fisted her hair violently in his hands. Pushed her down to her knees so hard it had to have hurt, but the woman didn’t protest. She unzipped his pants and pulled them with his boxers down to his ankles. His penis jutted out, hard and red and quivering.

  “Do it!” Craig commanded.

  The woman took his dick into her mouth and he groaned. Oddly, Monroe looked pained as he thrust himself into the willing woman’s mouth, his hands pressing her head against him, unconcerned about whether she could breathe or whether he hurt her. His knuckles were white from the pressure, and he grunted. Moira wanted to beat him senseless for the complete disregard he showed for the woman, as if she were there solely for his pleasure.

  Moira knew this wasn’t real. But it was. It wasn’t happening now, but it had happened. She’d heard of imprinting, where an act of violence imprinted itself on a place and certain people—empaths—could sense the crime. But she’d never heard of anyone actually seeing the act itself unless there was a ghost involved.

  One of her hands moved to her pocket that had salt. Her other hand was wrapped around her dagger.

  The color drained from Craig’s face and he cried out, “What—what—” then his body jerked, his eyes bugging out in complete terror. His mouth moved but no words came out, only a high-pitched, barely audible screech that gave Moira goose bumps. No human sounded like that.

  The woman rose from the filthy alley as Craig stared blindly at Moira, his body sliding down the wall as he fell, dying.

  He’s not seeing you. He’s not seeing you.

  “No—” His voice was weak. Moira didn’t know if she actually heard him, or if it was her mind filling in the plea.

  The woman put her hands on his head and said, “Vestri animus est mei, adeo mihi.”

  Your soul is mine, come to me.

  Craig’s spirit—his soul—rose from his body. Not a ghost, but his actual soul. Moira had never seen a soul as it was ripped from a body, but she’d heard it was possible. Had nightmares about the possibility. Craig’s cursed soul was a dark-gray glowing mist. It wrapped around his body, trying to get back in. The woman opened her mouth, sucking in the mist—his soul. Her entire body momentarily darkened, then it shimmered seductively. She dazzled, becoming even more beautiful than she already was, unnaturally stunning.

  The demon turned and saw Moira. Her eyes widened in total surprise. Moira reached for her dagger, not understanding what was happening. Had she slipped back in time? Impossible. She almost laughed. After what she’d seen and done in her life, backtracking a couple of days seemed plausible!

  Then she recognized the woman—the same brunette she’d had the vision about that morning. The woman who was possessed.

  Craig Monroe had been killed two days ago. The chilling realization that Moira was sharing some sort of experience or memory with this vile demon terrified her, but she stood her ground. Swallowing her fear, she said with surprising authority, “Deus, in nómine tuo salvum me fac, et virtúte tua age causam meam! Deus, audi—”

  The demon cut her off. “Moira, darling. You do not understand.”

  Moira held out the sacred blade, ready to defend herself or kill if she had to. She didn’t want to take an innocent life, prayed she could save the victim the demon was using.

  “Deus, audi—” she started again, her voice cracking.

  The demon laughed. “You foolish child.” She grimaced. “But now I need to find another vessel. That displeases me.”

  With a flick of the demon’s wrist, Moira was flung across the alley and slammed against a brick wall. She fell to the filthy ground with a thud. Trying to rise, her vision blurred and her head ached. She closed her eyes. A wave of heat crossed over her and she tried in vain to stand, then she collapsed.

  I just need a minute …

  ELEVEN

  Rafe ran toward Moira as she flew across the alley and hit the brick wall. Intense rage and deep-seated fear filled his mind even as his instincts had him scanning the area for threats. Moira tried to rise, then collapsed. She wasn’t moving by the time he’d reached her side.

  Rafe glanced at the wall where Moira had been staring. There was nothing there. He’d known something was wrong, but she’d made it perfectly clear she needed space to concentrate, and his presence distracted her. If he had gotten there sooner, she wouldn’t have been hurt.

  Her charge is extremely dangerous and any distractions will prove fatal.

  Rico’s warning came unbidden, and Rafe scowled, pushing the thought from his mind. But Rico had planted the seed, and now Rafe feared his former trainer was right.

  He knelt next to Moira and checked her pulse. Strong. Rapid, but steady. Thank God. She was unconscious, though, and that worried him. “Moira? It’s Rafe.” Her face had a nasty scrape from where she’d fallen, and there was a bump on the back of her head. He pulled his hand from her hair and came away with a smear of blood, but there didn’t appear to be a deep cut.

  Dammit, he shouldn’t have let her go down the alley alone!
<
br />   Her knife had fallen out of her grip. He heard something behind him and quickly pocketed the dagger inside his jacket.

  “Slowly move away from the body,” commanded a deep voice behind Rafe. “This is the police; keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He hesitated. Moira’s gun was partly visible.

  “Now!” the cop shouted.

  His back to the police officer, Rafe gently placed Moira’s head on the ground, and while doing so shifted her jacket so that her gun wasn’t visible. He couldn’t take the chance that the cop would see him remove it from her holster. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the cop, who had his gun drawn and aimed at Rafe.

  Rafe said, “She needs help.”

  “Step away from the body.”

  “I’m not leaving her lying in this filthy alley!”

  “Step away from the body,” the cop repeated as he walked briskly down the alley, his eyes never leaving Rafe. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Rafe did what the cop demanded. The cop knelt to check Moira’s pulse, his gun still on Rafe.

  “What happened?” the cop said.

  The alley door across from Rafe opened—it was the employee entrance to the nightclub. A muscular black guy walked out. “Trouble, Detective?”

  “Call an ambulance, Reggie. How long has she been out?”

  Rafe said, “Two or three minutes.” He started toward Moira and the cop said, “Stand back. Do you have identification?”

  Rafe began to retrieve his wallet and the cop shook his head. “Back right pocket,” Rafe said.

  “Turn around, put your hands on the wall.”

  Rafe complied. The cop pulled out his wallet. “You can turn around, but keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Name’s Raphael Cooper. I live in Santa Louisa.”

  The cop’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “Santa Louisa?”

  Moira moaned and tried to get up. Rafe stepped toward her, and the cop put a hand on his chest. “Hold it, Cooper.”

  The detective looked again at Moira. “Moira O’Donnell,” he said as he recognized her. “From the morgue.” He shook his head. “Well, fuck me. I told Sheriff McPherson to stay the hell out of my case.”

  It would have to be Detective Grant Nelson, the lead cop in the deaths they were investigating.

  “Skye didn’t know we were here,” Rafe said.

  “I don’t buy that for one minute.”

  Moira got up on all fours. “Please,” she said, “no ambulance.” She spit out saliva tinged with blood.

  “Moira,” Rafe said, “don’t move.”

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

  Nelson helped Moira sit up and lean against the wall. It was obvious to Rafe he’d spotted her gun as his stance changed from helpful to suspicious.

  “Tell me what happened,” he demanded of Moira, watching both her and Rafe closely.

  She took a deep breath, glanced at Rafe, then proceeded to lie smoothly. “I was walking down the alley and someone pushed me against the wall. I must have banged my head harder than I thought, because I went out.”

  “Who pushed you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They? How many?”

  “Three boys. Older boys, in their teens.”

  “They just ran through the alley and pushed you down.”

  “They were huddled together. I think I surprised them.”

  “Know what they look like?”

  She shook her head.

  “White? Black? Purple?”

  She glared at him. “White. Skinny and dressed like kids—jeans and T-shirts. It happened fast. My head hurts.”

  “An ambulance is on its way.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You should be checked out.”

  “I said I am fine.”

  “Why were you here in the first place?”

  “Is it a private alley?”

  Rafe saw that Nelson was getting irritated with Moira’s answers, so he said, “Detective, we just wanted to see the club where the kid died.”

  “You’re not a cop. Your friend the sheriff doesn’t have jurisdiction. You’re interfering with a police investigation and I swear, I’m this close to taking you both to jail.”

  Moira paled, and Rafe wasn’t going to let anyone imprison Moira again. He said, “We’ll go, Detective. Sorry to have caused a problem; we didn’t mean to interfere.”

  “Nelson,” Reggie said, “the girl doesn’t look too good.”

  The detective lost some of his hard edge. “Let’s get her inside.” He glanced at Rafe. “You want to help me?”

  Rafe wrapped one arm around Moira, Nelson did the same on the other side, and they helped her to her feet.

  “I can walk,” she insisted, though she leaned heavily on Rafe. Her eyes were half closed and Rafe noticed she was trying to shake off the dizziness.

  Reggie opened the employee door. “This is the break room. You can sit in here a minute.”

  Rafe said, “Let’s get you some water.”

  “Cancel the ambulance. Please.”

  “No,” Nelson said.

  “Please,” she said again, in her don’t-argue-with-me tone.

  “It’s against my better judgment,” Nelson said, then nodded to Reggie, who was back on his cell phone, shaking his head.

  As soon as Moira stepped through the doorway into the break room, she felt magic. It wasn’t strong, but there was enough here to have her skin tingling. She wasn’t consciously searching for it; the wave hit her unexpectedly, and she shivered.

  “What is it?” Rafe whispered.

  “Detective,” Moira said, “could I get some water?”

  Reggie said, “I’ll get it. I’ll tell Wendy you’re back here.”

  Damn, she didn’t want to talk around the cop.

  Reggie popped his head back in. “Nelson, there are two cops up front.”

  Detective Nelson said, “Stay here. I’m serious.” He tapped Rafe’s wallet. “I’m keeping this, because we’re not done talking.”

  As soon as he left, Moira stood. When Rafe protested, she said, “I’m fine. Shaken. I had a vision. I think.”

  “What the hell happened out there? A ghost?”

  “A demon.”

  He reached for his dagger, but Moira motioned for him to keep it hidden. “Not now, in the past.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t, either. I thought at first it was a death imprint—everything darkened, the lights came on, and I saw Craig Monroe walk in front of me, followed by a woman. It was the same woman I had the vision about last night. The brunette.”

  “You’re certain? The woman you thought was possessed?”

  Moira nodded. She felt so cold just remembering the image of Craig Monroe dying so violently, his soul drawn out before he was gone. She sat down again to collect her thoughts.

  “At first I thought she was a victim and he’d been infected. By the way he was treating her—she seemed to be willing, but he was rough and mean. She gave him oral sex, but right when … you know … something else happened. He was dying. He saw something in her face and he was scared shitless—I couldn’t see her face, but I saw his.” She shivered. “He begged her to stop, then she sucked his soul out of his body, swallowing it with her mouth. She’s a demon—very powerful—but she was definitely in a human body.” She frowned. “I didn’t know she was a demon—I couldn’t feel anything, no magic, no otherworldly power; it was like watching a movie. But when she spoke she said his soul was hers.”

  She hesitated, and Rafe prompted. “How did you get thrown against the wall if it was a death imprint?”

  “It was the demon. She saw me.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  She scowled. Rafe sounded as though he didn’t believe her. “I don’t know how it happened! She turned and saw me. It was unreal. Like—like maybe I went back in time. I know that’s not possible—dammit, I don’t know what’s possible a
nymore! But the demon saw me, looked right at me, called me by name!”

  Rafe looked as though she’d slapped him. “The demon talked to you?”

  Moira couldn’t stop shaking. Rafe sat next to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed. “Moira, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe now.”

  “Safe.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then whispered, “I don’t think we’ll ever be safe.”

  “Have you heard of anything like this before?”

  She shook her head. “I started an exorcism—I knew subconsciously that it wasn’t going to work, because Monroe was already long dead and the demon wasn’t there, but I thought maybe the demon was just coming back to the scene of the crime, or I was in Hell or something. I don’t know! But she looked at me, laughed, said I didn’t understand. Called me a fool and tossed me against the wall. Didn’t touch me. Couldn’t.” She opened her eyes. “She knew me.”

  “Anthony understands how demons operate. I’ll call him.”

  “He’s still on a plane to Italy.”

  “We’ll figure it out. It could be a mind trick, a spell—something that had you seeing Monroe’s death.”

  “She said something else, that she had to find another vessel. I think she was angry that I’d seen her victim. But I don’t know the woman. I don’t know where to start looking.”

  Moira stood, and Rafe said, “You need to take it easy. You have a nasty bump.”

  “I’ve had worse. I need to shake it off. I don’t like it here.” She began to walk around the room, stopping in front of the employee lockers. She closed her eyes, her hand inches from the front of each locker as she walked by. “There’s magic here.” She hesitated in front of the next locker. “And here.” She kept going. At the end she stopped. “There’s a witch for virtually every locker! But this one belongs to the leader.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The strength, the power. It’s in her clothes, in everything she has.” She looked at the name on the locker. She blanched.

  “Moira?”

  “Donovan. It says Wendy Donovan. That can’t be a coincidence.” One of the witches in Fiona’s coven who escaped during the chaos when they trapped the demon Envy was Nicole Donovan. She had seduced a cop and had an in with the police. Information obtained by her had helped the coven elude police. Nicole had also recruited students from Santa Louisa High into the coven and had nearly killed Moira.