She heard a thunk from below. Downstairs? Was there a basement? Rats? She shivered. She despised rodents of all kinds. There was nothing redeeming about them.
The movement had sounded too big for a rat. Then, a faint sob, so faint she wouldn’t have heard it if she wasn’t listening with every cell in her body.
The door to the basement would probably be off the kitchen or under the staircase.
In the kitchen, she opened the only door. Without turning on a light, the smell of bread and cans told her that this was the pantry.
She closed the pantry door without making a sound, then moved through the room to the hall. Above, the shower still ran.
In the short hallway leading to the front of the house, there were two doors. To the right, and to the left, under the staircase. The floors creaked. Though Moira trod with exceptional care, if the water went off, Lily’s mother would surely hear the squeaky hardwood floors.
The door under the stairs was locked.
Moira took out her pick. This lock was newer, but she popped it quickly.
As soon as she opened the door, a potent aroma of powder—wormwood, blue cohosh, and something Moira couldn’t immediately identify—rushed into her senses. They were herbs used to create a dust to protect against maleficent spirits and opposing witches. To keep a person safe from possession, as well as compliant. Lily wouldn’t fight, scream, or try to escape. She’d be calm …
A tearful voice came from below. “Mama? Can I come out now?”
And terrified.
Moira crossed herself and whispered her own special prayer. “St. Michael, you’d better be watching my back this time, and don’t let any of our enemies stop me.” As an afterthought, she added, “Please.”
She walked down the wood steps. A wall was on one side; the other was open, without a railing. The stairs creaked worse than the floor above. The basement was damp and moldy.
“Lily,” she whispered in the pitch black. “It’s Moira.”
“Go! It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“It’s too late. My mother—”
“Tell me later. Move. Now.”
Lily shuffled over to her.
“Faster.”
Upstairs, the shower shut off.
Moira pushed the teenager ahead of her up the stairs, a faint light coming from the hall as the sun continued to rise and break through the early morning fog.
Lily stumbled, but Moira kept her moving forward. Lily didn’t know the meaning of the word quiet, but fortunately she was small and her movements reflected that. They rounded the corner and Moira knew that Elizabeth Ellis was standing on the second floor at the top of the stairs, listening. Lily’s mother was smelling the mixture of herbs that Moira had unintentionally released when she’d opened the basement door.
Moira pushed Lily into the kitchen.
Someone ran down the stairs.
Moira said to Lily, “Move it, now, out the door.”
“Hecate, Beliel, and Achiel …” Elizabeth Ellis began when she saw them.
Not about to let her finish the incantation, Moira whirled around and kicked Ellis in the stomach, almost surprising herself that her aim was dead accurate and Ellis was standing exactly where Moira had sensed. Her mental muscle had kicked in. Thanks, Rico!
Without hesitating, she kicked again. The white towel wrapped around Lily’s mother fell off. Moira almost laughed as she slammed the palm of her right hand in the woman’s face, pushing the naked woman to the floor.
Lily screamed.
“Run!” Moira commanded.
“You’ll never make it, bitch!” Elizabeth Ellis cried at Moira as she got to her feet. “I call all the spirits, seize—”
“Shut. Up!” Moira backhanded her twice. Her left shoulder throbbed and she began to bleed again. The warmth seeped through her bandage. Dammit, it hurt.
She knocked over the kitchen table on the way out, to impede the woman’s pursuit, then pushed Lily through both doors and outside.
Lily limped toward the street, but Moira shoved her in the other direction, into the backyard. “This way. Over the back fence.”
Lily obeyed, though she was hampered by the long, thin nightgown she wore. She shivered, but Moira couldn’t concern herself with the girl’s comfort.
“Faster!”
Moira cupped her hands for Lily to step in and she boosted the girl over the fence. Her arm ached and the bruises from her mother’s attack yesterday made her want to scream, but instead she bit her tongue.
The side door burst open.
Lily was over the fence and Moira grabbed hold of the top and pulled herself up, favoring her right arm. Elizabeth Ellis began an incantation that Moira knew well. Simple and effective.
Dogs all over the neighborhood began to bark. They barked because there was a demon.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Earthquake.”
The ground shook as an earth demon rose from the soil in front of her. It was generally harmless because the incantation itself was weak, summoning latent demons out of living, nonhuman organisms. But it would delay Moira—she couldn’t let the demon wander and hurt someone.
Lily stumbled and fell. Moira pulled her up and said, “Jared’s truck, around the corner! Now!”
Elizabeth Ellis wasn’t strong enough to summon a more powerful demon at will—the ritual would take either more time or more witches—but the command of environmental demons was an easier trick to learn. Moira longed to create a short bolt of lightning to zap her. The desire, deep and unbidden, unnerved her and she touched the medallion around her neck, the one that had been Peter’s.
She held out her hand and began a short rite of exorcism as the wavering demon came toward her. It was more of a sprite, not a lost soul, and though she intended to send it back into the ground, her powerful words twisted it instead, surprisingly turning the demon inside out before it disappeared.
“What the hell just happened?” Moira said.
Elizabeth Ellis had seen it too and stopped dead in her tracks. Moira, suddenly terrified by what she’d done—because she didn’t know exactly what she’d done—ran. She caught up with Lily before she reached the truck, and pushed the girl along.
To her credit, Lily no longer cried out, though she wore no shoes. In socks only, she ran over the rough concrete and gravel.
Move move move! Moira willed.
“Jared!” Lily suddenly exclaimed, panting.
“Just his truck. Get in.”
She obeyed, obviously disappointed. Moira started the vehicle and sped off. Only then did she glance in the rearview mirror. Elizabeth Ellis was more than a block down, no longer chasing them but still naked.
Moira grinned. “Victory is sweet, but sweeter when your opponent is butt-ass naked in defeat.”
TWENTY-SIX
Ari Blair woke up in her bedroom at 6:30 that morning shaking, her sheets wet with perspiration.
You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead. The chant repeated until the high school senior felt her head would explode, the dry monotone as disturbing as fingernails on a chalkboard.
She got up, stumbling from bed to bathroom as if she were hungover. She threw up and rested her clammy forehead on her arm.
Her life was over. She was eighteen, and this was the end of the line.
Slowly, she rose from the cold tile floor and stared at her sickly reflection in the mirror. Her skin was grossly pale, matching nearly white hair. She used to think she was so beautiful—tall, blond, and blue-eyed, the girl-next-door type. She had friends and a terrific boyfriend; she was popular. A cheerleader, a straight-A student, the student body president, perfect!
“I was accepted into Berkeley!” she told her mirror image.
Then Abby had brought her into the coven. It was everything she wanted. A secret society. It matched her New Age sensibilities, her need to elevate to a higher consciousness. She wasn’t going to follow her parents in their male-centric relig
ion. She was smarter than that. She would make her own path, live her own life, wholesome and good. She believed in the Wiccan motto: Do no harm.
But Abby died! There were evil spirits, demons, and they wanted pain. She had felt it very clearly as she stood next to one of them; Ari could have reached over and touched the thing. It was there and not there, smoke and solid mass. It was not right.
How could the Goddess be part of something that felt so … bad?
They’d threatened her. Watched her. Every minute since they’d fled the cliffs.
“If you talk, you’re dead.”
“Tell no one.”
But she couldn’t keep silent! She wasn’t bad, she didn’t want to hurt anyone; she had just wanted to go beyond conventional religion, to understand who she was, why she was here, how nature and humans shared a delicate balance. She needed to know her place, her calling.
They’ll kill you.
Now her boyfriend Chris was dead too. His parents were distraught. She went to the hospital as soon as she heard. The doctors thought it was a brain aneurysm.
Ari knew better. It wouldn’t have happened except for her. What she’d done. She didn’t know how but the coven must have killed him. They’d killed Chris because she’d told him what happened. It could be no coincidence that he’d died when Ari planned to expose Fiona’s coven.
If they thought killing her boyfriend was going to stop her, they were dead wrong. If anything, their brutal audacity emboldened her.
She dressed without showering, gathered up her supplies, and slipped out of the house before her parents noticed she was up and about. Her mother was still in bed, her father in the shower.
Ari knew she’d never have a moment of peace until she found and trapped the demons she’d helped release, and sent them back to where they belonged.
She could fix it. She had the power. It flowed through her … she’d controlled the elements, she’d made fire! She’d left her body, had flown over the earth and seen amazing things. She could find and trap the demons. She had to.
She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t stop this insanity.
And if she failed? She didn’t deserve to live.
“Where’d she go?” Anthony asked Rafe.
Rafe hesitated. “Last night we made a plan to rescue Lily Ellis.”
“What were you thinking? We were waiting for backup!” Anthony clenched his fist but restrained himself from hitting the table. “I knew Moira was lying to me.”
“I agreed with her that it was the right thing to do. We can’t wait. She’s bringing Lily back here.”
“We don’t know what they did to you for ten weeks, and you wanted to waltz unprotected right into their territory?”
Anthony’s guilt over what Rafe had endured while in the hospital had unnerved him. He had thought he’d protected his friend, but he’d failed in a fundamental way. Rafe’s attackers were human, without the vulnerabilities of demons. He’d left Rafe in the hospital, but he’d been far from safe.
And Anthony didn’t know what had been done to him, or whether Rafe could even be trusted. Rafe wouldn’t consciously aid the magicians, but what if it was unconscious? Hypnosis was extremely dangerous and highly effective if administered properly.
Rafe slowly rose from the table. “Your hatred of Moira has clouded your judgment. Because I agree with her, now you don’t trust me?”
“This has nothing to do with my feelings about Moira. For now, we’re working together. With the Seven uncontrolled in the world, there is far more at stake. They are gathering strength as we sit here!”
“Exactly! They’re gaining strength and we can’t sit here and do nothing. Moira went for Lily. If the coven can’t use her to trap the Seven, that will buy us time.”
“That’s not it. You know it.” Anthony flashed back to the conversation with Skye late last night. “A guy came in after his dinner break, locked the doors, and killed three of his co-workers, a customer …
“You think I’m going to the darkside?” Rafe was trying to lighten the conversation, but Anthony barely noticed.
“No, it’s something else. Something Skye said last night about a mass murder. Something felt wrong about it, but I don’t know why.”
Skye entered just then, braiding her long, wet hair as she went. She was already in uniform. “Rod called. He wants both of us at the morgue ASAP.”
“Both of us?” Anthony questioned.
“Wants to show us an identical marking on two corpses that just came in. Thought you might know something about it because it resembles one on Abby Weatherby’s body.”
“I’ll get my shoes.”
Anthony left the room and Skye said to Rafe, “I put yours and Moira’s clothes in the washing machine, and Anthony put some of his things in the guest room for you. If the stains don’t come out, just toss the clothes. I don’t think Anthony will care.”
“Skye, thank you for everything. I know this is hard on you. You have doubts about me. I would, too, if I were in your position. But I have a favor to ask.”
She assessed Rafe. He was similar to Anthony in many ways—how he stood, how he spoke—but he was also very different. Anthony had a strong, dominant personality, a powerful confidence that she was very attracted to. Rafe was quieter, but in some ways seemed even more powerful. He didn’t wear his confidence on his sleeve, but it was there, just as strong, but humble. He had the same uncanny way of looking at her that Anthony did: as if he could read her mind.
She knew Anthony couldn’t, but perhaps Rafe Cooper had talents Anthony didn’t. She was still new to this whole St. Michael’s Order and what they did—and didn’t do. Maybe mind reading was part and parcel of being a warrior for God.
“You have well-formed instincts,” Rafe said to her. “You are extremely intuitive because you understand human behavior. Trust those instincts, no matter what.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, but Rafe’s words were disconcerting.
Anthony returned from the bedroom. “I’m ready.” He said to Rafe, “Don’t leave the house. You’re safe as long as you stay put.”
Serena fell asleep in the library after unsuccessfully searching for Rafe Cooper. Using her psychic eye was hugely draining. She woke up feeling out of sorts and still exhausted.
“You slept here all night?” Fiona said as she walked in, fresh-faced and glowing. “It’s eight in the morning; we have plenty of work to do.”
Garrett brought in a tray of fruit and juice. He kissed Fiona lightly, then put the tray down.
“Thank you, darling.” Fiona traced a single dark-red-painted fingernail down his cheek and neck and smiled seductively. Serena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Garrett knew Fiona didn’t care about him.
Serena helped herself to the fresh-squeezed orange juice. After two tall glasses she almost felt like herself.
“Can we look for Raphael Cooper now, or do you need more sleep?” Fiona’s saccharine tone was annoyingly sarcastic.
“I’m ready.” Serena said.
There was a knock at the door of the library. Fiona scowled, waved her hand, and the door opened. “I said no disturbances!”
“Elizabeth Ellis is here.”
Elizabeth walked in without waiting for an invitation. She looked atrocious, dressed in jeans and a misbuttoned shirt. She wore no bra, and her boobs sagged noticably. Without makeup, she looked older than her years.
“You left the arca?” Fiona snapped.
“Your daughter took her!”
Fiona said nothing for a long time. So long that Garrett and Serena exchanged glances, concerned over her building fury. The energy in the room heated, and a spark here and there told Serena that Fiona was beyond anger.
Elizabeth Ellis didn’t seem to notice. “Well? Aren’t you going to do something? This is unacceptable!”
Serena’s eyes widened and she stepped back, away from Elizabeth, expecting the woman to be struck down for talking to Fiona in such a tone. Se
rena was used to reading her mother’s moods. When there was bad news, you never pushed.
Surprisingly, Fiona restrained herself. She turned to Serena. “Bring Prziel back. We’ll find Raphael Cooper. I will have him in my possession before sunset.”
A chill ran down Serena’s spine and she once again began preparations for summoning the blood demon.
“What good is Rafe if we don’t even have Lily tonight?”
“Anthony will do anything to save him. He’ll give me Moira and the arca. We’ll have them all. Zaccardi, Cooper, and Andra Moira. None will survive dawn. If the Seven don’t want them, I’ll gladly kill them all myself.”
She crossed the room and stood face-to-face with Elizabeth Ellis, seeming to tower over her though she was only an inch taller.
“The next time you enter my sanctuary uninvited making accusations or demands, you will die.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Anthony had been in the Santa Louisa morgue’s autopsy room once before, during the autopsy of three of the victims at the mission. It had been a wholly uncomfortable experience then, as it was now.
Dr. Rod Fielding looked up as soon as Anthony and Skye walked in. “Gloves and gowns, both of you.” He gestured toward the storage cabinet.
“Both of us?” Skye asked.
“Yes. You and Anthony.”
Skye shot him a surprised look and walked over to the cabinet. She handed Anthony a pair of latex gloves, then a gown. Looking around as she put them on, she walked over to the coroner. “You said two bodies,” Skye commented. “There are three bodies here.”
“The female over there is new, but she fits.”
“What exactly is going on?” Skye asked, impatient.
“Remember the mark we saw on Abby Weatherby? We thought it was a birthmark?” He motioned for them to approach a board in the corner where he had photographs from Abby’s autopsy. “See here?”
“Right, I remember.”
Anthony stood next to Skye as Fielding crossed the room and removed the sheet from another corpse. “That’s Nichols, the shooter from Rittenhouse,” Skye said.
Original Sin: The Seven Deadly Sins Page 23