Carnal Sin

by Allison Brennan

  For a split second, Nicole hesitated, considered what Moira said.

  “Why don’t you simply cast a spell and find her yourself?”

  “Dammit, this isn’t a game!”

  “No one else believes you gave up magic, Moira. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. You’re easy prey for someone like my sister. You cannot imagine what she has done, or what she will do.”

  Moira was not going to rise to the bait. “Give me Grant and I’ll clean up your mess. If Lust takes his soul, it’s freed from Wendy’s spell. It will hurt more people, while you sit here and watch people you claim to care about die.”

  “There’s your mistake, Moira. You presume that there are people here that I care about.”

  Nicole’s plan suddenly became clear to Moira. She’d thought Nicole was a follower, one of the easily led. She was a lot more dangerous than Moira had assumed. “You want Wendy dead.”

  “I want what’s mine. Give me the chalice and I won’t turn Raphael over to Fiona.”

  “You can’t touch him,” Moira said, but fear rose in her chest. “You don’t even know where he is.”

  “Fiona can get to Raphael whenever she wants. It’s you that will solidify my position with her.”

  “We melted the chalice. It’s gone.”

  Nicole shook her head. “You’re a good liar, Moira, but I know you didn’t because we’re still in control of the succubus.”

  “You mean the demon Lust.”

  She shrugged. Too casually. She was too cocky, too confident. She had no weapon. What was going on? “The chalice, or you’re going to die,” Nicole demanded.

  “No.”

  Every pore on her skin burned as if on fire as magic energy increased rapidly and she barely got her dagger up in time to block the surge. She could see the magic in the area, a shimmering of light and dark, magically charged air a fraction denser than the air surrounding it. No one else would be able to see it. Not Rafe. Not even most practicing witches. Why her, she didn’t know, but this gift—or curse—enabled her to protect herself and others.

  She pulled out her backup knife and like two swords, had the dagger and knife extended, reflecting magic only she could see; but even more than sight, she heard each jolt of energy clash against the sacred metal blades as it went off in every direction but at her. She didn’t want to hurt Nicole, but the woman made her angry.

  Nicole was using battle magic, not curses or lengthy rituals. Battle magic could be summoned quickly, but it had no lasting power. In order to have the time to work a more elaborate, dangerous spell, Nicole aimed to zap Moira and render her unable to defend herself.

  Moira couldn’t let her get a shot in. She had to distract her until Rafe arrived. Grant might not even be here. Nicole may simply be a distraction to keep Moira from finding him. But if Grant Nelson wasn’t here, where was he? Did they already have him? Were they holding him captive until sunset, when they’d turn him over to Lust?

  Sweat beaded on Nicole’s face as she worked her magic. Her voice began to rise, fervent in its urgency.

  “You give me Grant, I won’t hurt you,” Moira said.

  Nicole laughed. “Hurt me? Please. Nothing you can do will stop the ritual.”

  She smiled, and Moira had a very bad feeling.

  Because all her senses were focused on stopping the battle magic, she didn’t feel the person approach from behind until it was too late.

  She whirled around, but the blow hit her squarely on the side of her head and she fell to the ground. Pam Erickson.

  “Grab her before her boyfriend gets here,” Pam barked.

  “Gladly.”

  “Nelson hasn’t showed yet.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Wendy and her stupid games. We’ll find him.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Enough.”

  Moira struggled to get up, though she couldn’t see anything but spots of light and dark. She tried to shout for help but failed. She tried to reach her knives that had fallen when Pam Erickson hit her, but couldn’t see them. She felt her gun being removed from her holster.

  The two witches pulled her up and half carried, half dragged her down the alley and around the corner to where a blue sedan idled. She was dropped unceremoniously in the trunk. The steel frame slammed down, wrapping her in darkness.

  Her heart raced as Moira’s mind clouded in panic. She almost wished she had been knocked unconscious so she wouldn’t know she was trapped. She reached up, touching the cold metal of the trunk much closer than she expected. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see her hand. She saw nothing, nothing but black and shadows. Shadows … a hint of light filtered in through the hairline seams where the lid closed. No real light, just a shadow, but she focused on it as if her life depended on it.

  Moira wasn’t scared of the dark, even though she knew of monsters that lurked there. In the dark, she could fight, she could run, she had room to battle. But here, trapped, as effective as the bars her mother kept her behind, no room to maneuver, there was no escape.

  Hadn’t Rico locked her in a dungeon so she could conquer this fear? Was her suffering for nothing?

  It’s just a car. Just a trunk. Just two magicians who have a fraction of Fiona’s power. Think, Moira.

  She focused first on even breathing while staring at the shadow, the promise of light when she got out. Her heart rate shifted from full throttle to fast. They hadn’t tied her up, but she couldn’t find a release in the trunk to pop it open. She couldn’t hear Nicole and Pam in the front of the car; either the sound didn’t travel over the noise of the road, or they weren’t talking.

  The car picked up speed and the exhaust fumes filled her lungs, making her gag and light-headed. Still, she felt around the trunk. Nothing except rough carpet on a board.

  A board? Didn’t cars have a spare tire in the trunk? She didn’t know enough about cars—she’d never owned one, and none of the cars she’d stolen had a flat—but it made sense that the tire would be in the trunk. And with tires came things like tools and bolts. Anything that she could use as a weapon.

  She shifted in the tight confines, the pain above her ear coupled with the movement and fumes making her nauseous. She waited a moment for it to pass, then rolled over to her stomach and felt along the carpet for a seam or handle or something that she could pull up.

  There it was, a small chain. She tried to lift it up but the board didn’t budge—she was on top of it. No matter how she moved, she couldn’t find a way to pull up the floor to reach the spare tire and the possible tools inside.

  The panic rose again, an overwhelming sense of helplessness that had her shaking uncontrollably. How could she let her claustrophobia defeat her? She was no shrinking violet. She was Moira O’Donnell, and dammit, that meant something! What would Rico say if he could see her now?

  “Your fear will get you killed.”

  But it wasn’t fear that would get her killed, it was inaction. Letting her emotions win over her training. Healthy fear was a good thing; healthy fear would keep her focused on what was important.

  Stopping Wendy and Nicole. Meeting Rafe at Grace Harvest Church, saving Grant Nelson, trapping the demon Lust.

  What would Rafe do? He’d tell her to have a plan. Be ready to improvise. Not to act blindly, but to act smart.

  The car slowed. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but not more than fifteen, twenty minutes. She stretched as best she could, moving her ankles and wrists in circles, working out the kinks, shifting her arms over her head and touching her shoulder blades. She flexed and relaxed, not letting her muscles fall to sleep.

  The car stopped, someone got out, but she didn’t hear a door close. A moment later it did and the car moved forward. Slowly. Excruciatingly.

  Then it stopped one last time and the ignition turned off.

  Moira waited. Her first reaction would be to come out kicking and fighting as soon as Nicole opened the trunk. But she didn’t kno
w how many there were, where she was, and she would be off balance coming out of the trunk. Her head was still fuzzy, now more from the fumes than the attack.

  She would bide her time, seizing the best opportunity to fight back.

  Waiting. Definitely not her strength.

  Velocity wouldn’t open to the public for another hour, and the main doors were locked. Rafe ran around to the alley but didn’t see Moira. As he approached the employee door he saw her knives on the ground, one partly obscured by the dumpster. He picked them up and pocketed them.

  “Where is she, Julie?” he demanded of the spirit inside him. “Tell me or I’ll send your astral self back to your body so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

  Don’t, please—I don’t know where they took her!

  “You knew she was in danger.” Rafe kicked the dumpster, then tried the door.

  No. Only that Wendy was luring Grant here. I didn’t want Moira to get caught in the middle! Please, you have to find him before Wendy!

  “I need to find Moira first!” He took a deep breath. They hadn’t killed her—they likely wanted to turn her over to Fiona. He had time. He had to think, be smart. If he had Grant, he could offer an exchange. “She could be inside.”

  The code to the door is 65601.

  Rafe typed it in and cautiously entered the employee break room. Two women were putting on makeup and stared at him.

  Tell them you’re subbing for Ike. They’re not witches.

  Rafe smiled. “I’m filling in for the bartender. Is Wendy around? I was supposed to check in with her.”

  The taller girl said, “We just got here. She’s not here yet.”

  But she was here! Julie cried.

  Rafe smiled and crossed the room as if he knew what he was doing. “Where’s your security tape?” he asked Julie.

  Reggie’s office. He’s the bouncer, but he doesn’t come in until five.

  Julie directed him to the bouncer’s small office. Several security screens showed the club inside and out from various angles. He focused on the screen that scrolled through four different angles of the alley. He looked at the equipment, noted it was digital, and replayed the last fifteen minutes.

  He watched Moira stride slowly but purposefully down the alley, then she halted, on full alert. She appeared to be listening—with all of her senses. Nicole came out of the door a moment later. Moira had her knives out so fast Rafe almost missed it. They began to argue.

  A voice behind him said, “You have some explaining to do, Mr. Cooper.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Detective Johnston, who had his hand on the butt of his gun.

  “Watch this—Moira’s in trouble.”

  “I think—” Johnston stopped, watching the silent replay. Moira moved her knives in front of her with surprising speed as Nicole held her hands up. Not in a defensive posture, but almost as if she were conducting an orchestra. Every step Nicole took toward Moira, Moira took a step back.

  “What the fuck?” Johnston stared in disbelief at the screen. “O’Donnell is the one with the weapons, but the other woman is the aggressor?”

  Rafe said, “Nicole Donovan is a witch. She’s using magic to attack Moira.”

  He threw his hands up. “You think I’m an idiot? If—” He stopped midsentence as Pam Erickson walked onto the screen and hit Moira from behind while Moira was focused on defending herself from invisible energy waves. The women removed Moira’s gun and half carried, half dragged her from the alley.

  “What’s going on?” Johnston asked, his voice low.

  “You said Grant was coming here. Where is he?”

  Johnston pulled out his phone and dialed. “Nelson, it’s me—” Johnston frowned, turning his back to Rafe. “Detective Jeffrey Johnston, Pacific Division, Badge number 455599.” A moment later, he said, “Nelson, what the hell is going on? … Tell me you didn’t hit a cop.… I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I—” he glanced at Rafe. “It appears Moira O’Donnell has been taken against her will by Nicole Donovan and Pamela Erickson. She seems to have been running her own investigation. Cooper is with me.… I don’t … Right … but … I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands right now. I’ll be there ASAP.”

  He hung up, then whirled around to face Rafe. “What’s going on, Cooper? Grant is being detained for assaulting a police officer. He had a traffic accident and refused a field sobriety test. I need to get over there.”

  “He’s sick,” Rafe said. “Not drunk. I need to get him to Grace Harvest Church.”

  Johnston barked out a gruff laugh. “I doubt Nelson has ever stepped foot in a church.”

  “I’ll tell you once, and you have to believe me. You saw that tape. Magic is real. Witches are real. There is a demon on the loose and it wants Grant’s soul. The marks on your dead bodies? Demon marks—Grant has one on his back right now.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “I’ve been called worse. But I’m not a liar. Julie Schroeder, Grant’s girlfriend, is a witch. Remember the image you saw of her on the YouTube video?”

  “It was a reflection; it couldn’t have been her.”

  “It was her astral projection.”

  “Whatever. I have to get to Grant.” He turned around.

  Rafe stepped forward and grabbed his arm. Johnston slapped his hand away and pulled his gun out. “Back off, Cooper.”

  “Grant will die if you don’t believe me.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Rafe complied. “Julie, right now, is separate from her body, just like she was on the video. She’s right with me; ask me something only she would know about Grant. Like where they met or why they broke up—something!”

  Johnston was skeptical, but Rafe had to convince him. He had to find Moira, dammit! He didn’t want to waste time arguing with a cop.

  “Please!” Rafe pleaded.

  “When is Grant’s birthday—and where did Grant and Julie go for his last birthday?”

  Rafe listened to Julie, then said, “His birthday is July twenty-seventh. But they’d broken up a week before. She’d bought them tickets to Hawaii, and she went by herself. Grant showed up halfway into the week and said it was the best four days of his life. A month later, they broke up again.”

  Johnston was swayed by the details.

  “You can ask me anything, Detective—but let’s get going. We have no more time to waste. We have until sunset before the demon will attack your partner.”

  “Sunset? Thought that was vampires who can’t go out in daylight.”

  Rafe despised being ridiculed. “It’s an ancient ritual, and I don’t care if you believe me, but sunset is only ninety minutes from now and if we don’t get Grant to safety, he’s a dead man.”

  Johnston stared.

  Rafe added, “Julie just told me where Grant is right now. He’s on Washington Boulevard approaching the Santa Monica Freeway.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because Julie was with him when he crashed. She forced him off the road to stop him from walking into a trap.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “I need my supplies. And Detective—”

  “Call me Jeff. I think we can be on a first-name basis about now.”

  “Do you have a Taser?”

  “Why?”

  “You might have to subdue your partner. He’s not himself.”

  Jeff’s jaw tightened. “I was aware of something different about him this morning, but I didn’t do anything.”

  “This isn’t your fault. But you can help stop it.”

  * * *

  Nina Hardwick was pleased with herself. It helped being a staff attorney for the Board of Supervisors—one call and most county employees were willing to work on a Saturday getting her information. By five Saturday evening, she had a complete dossier on Wendy Donovan, Nicole Donovan, and even their mother, Susan. If they weren’t responsible for killing George, she might have felt a sliver of sympathy for the children o
f Susan—that woman was a nutcase. To be raised in such a horrid manner … but Nina didn’t allow herself sympathy for the mother or her children. Someone’s upbringing, no matter how horrific, didn’t justify murder.

  It reminded her, however, that she needed to push the Board of Supervisors to conduct a complete audit of the troubled foster care system. It wouldn’t solve the problems, but if Nina could help a few children who’d slipped through the cracks, she’d feel that she’d done something.

  She drove toward the hotel where Moira had told her they were staying, and tried Moira on her cell phone. No answer. She flipped over the card where she’d scrawled an emergency number.

  Jackson Moreno 818-555-8860

  Grace Harvest, Burbank

  No one picked up that phone, either, but Nina knew that church. It was near the Warner Bros. Studio. She was closer to the church than to the Palomar.

  She made a quick decision as the ramp to the Ventura Freeway came up. She merged onto it, then took the second exit into Toluca Lake and Burbank.

  Rafe Cooper had asked her to send along anything she could find that would help them take down Wendy Donovan. Knowing they were dealing with a woman who’d been institutionalized on and off most of her childhood—and then killed her mother when she was sixteen—was important. Nina was set on getting Rafe that information.

  THIRTY

  Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,

  like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.

  —JOHN WEBSTER

  Grant sat in the backseat of a patrol car on Washington Boulevard, waiting to be bailed out of this mess. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high, the baby-faced uniformed cop had no fucking right to ask him to come down to the station for a blood test simply because he’d refused a field sobriety test. His word should mean something—he was a near-twenty-year veteran of the LAPD! Who was this uniform, anyway? A rookie? A year under his belt? The baseball hit his car—he hadn’t been driving drunk.