The two types of demons—fallen angels and lost souls—had one thing in common: they wanted out of Hell. Lost souls were dangerous, but they needed a body to possess. They were weaker than fallen angels, more susceptible to traditional exorcism rites, vulnerable to certain weapons such as iron.
Fallen angels, they were spirits. They were a whole other breed of demon—deadly, dangerous, and wholly evil. They didn’t need a human host, though they could take one easily if they wanted. God put them in Hell for a reason, and dammit, they should stay in Hell!
The Conoscenza gave these dangerous incorporeal creatures an opportunity to escape. Humans, playing with matches and lighting the eternal fire. Manipulating demons with magic took extreme power and fine control, which few witches possessed. It would be far too easy for the demons to break free of restraint and gain the freedom they desperately wanted.
Fiona had been so certain the evil book still existed. She had lusted for it, obsessed over it.
If it existed, great, untold evils would be unleashed on unsuspecting humans. There would literally be Hell on earth until the End Times.
Heat rose from the ground, dark fog swirled around and around and Moira nearly screamed. But Skye and Anthony were still talking off to the side, and they didn’t see anything, didn’t feel the heat that saturated Moira. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck, her skin burned, and in the dark she saw the eye of evil itself, staring at her, marking her. Beneath her feet the river of fire returned, its flames reaching out for her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream …
… then it disappeared. She fell to her knees, caught her breath, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she stood over Hell itself.
“Moira?”
She jumped up and whirled around, fists on the rise until she realized that it was McPherson, who had approached so quietly that Moira questioned her own instincts, her training, her will to live.
“Sorry.” Skye assessed Moira and frowned. “Are you all right? Are you sick?”
She must look like crap for the sheriff to sound so concerned. “Fine.” Her voice was rough. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. So what are you doing now? Did you call Jared Santos, verify that everything I told you is the truth?”
Skye didn’t answer her question directly. “The crime scene team is on its way; I need to ask you to leave. I shouldn’t have let you stay here in the first place. I’ve just been used to letting Anthony help …” Her voice trailed off as she glanced over at Anthony, who was inspecting something on the ground.
“I understand,” Moira said even though she didn’t. Anthony aiding the police?
But Moira could learn nothing more here. She needed to make sure Lily was safe, find out if Jared had found her. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Jared:
When you find Lily take her to my motel room. Tell no one. Do not let her out of your sight. Call me!
She sent it, then deleted all her messages with three quick strokes, just in case the cop wanted to look.
Skye looked at her suspiciously. “You and Anthony have a history.”
The cop’s face was blank, but Moira could read her eyes. The sheriff believed everything Anthony told her, and she now had complete disdain for Moira. It angered and embarrassed her. She reacted with sarcasm.
“Yeah, we go way back,” she replied, adding with a wink, “but he meant nothing to me.”
Skye was not amused. For a moment, Moira saw a hint of jealousy, which the cop quickly covered up. Anthony and a cop. That was one for the record books.
“Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning. Why are you in Santa Louisa?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You might be surprised.”
Anthony stood only feet away. He was listening, pretending to examine one of the symbols painted onto the ground. Jerk. He could have made this so much easier if he’d just vouched for her.
If Skye McPherson was involved with Anthony, she wasn’t ignorant of what was really going on in, above, below, and through the world.
Moira couldn’t exactly tell the complete truth. Anthony knew enough to be dangerous to her, but he didn’t know everything. “I investigate supernatural phenomena. I believe that the fire here a couple of months ago opened a gateway from Hell. A back door of sorts. And a particularly dangerous coven has been preparing for tonight, sacrificing one of their own to bring forth something evil.” She glanced at Abby’s corpse.
Wow, four sentences and not a lie in them! She was good.
“What specifically were they trying to summon?”
“Demons, of course.”
“When you say ‘coven,’ do you mean witches?”
She shrugged. “Or magicians. You say tomato, I say tomahto.”
“Excuse me?”
“Witches and magicians are essentially the same thing, sort of like …” She thought about it. “All magicians are witches, but not all witches are magicians.”
“Which means what exactly?”
Moira was getting irritated. She really didn’t have time to educate the sheriff—why hadn’t Anthony done it? “Whatever the hell you want it to mean.”
“Don’t screw with me, Ms. O’Donnell. I have one dead teenager, one missing teenager, and when I get back to the station I’ll have the D.A., reporters, parents, and cops to answer to. I don’t have time to play twenty questions.”
“And I don’t have time to explain the nuances of the black arts! Go ask your pet demonologist and leave me the hell alone!”
Moira knew she was overstepping, but she really hated being here. She was worried about Jared and Lily, not to mention that the ground she stood on was a portal to Hell.
Anthony stepped forward to defend Skye. “Watch yourself, Witch.”
“Asshole.”
“Enough!” Skye said. “Why would they want to bring up a demon?”
At least she wasn’t calling her crazy, Moira thought. That was a first. She noticed that Skye and Anthony exchanged significant glances.
Moira ignored Anthony and continued. “It’s always about power and knowledge. This group is already potent. They’ve been summoning evil spirits for generations. The leader—”
“You know who did this?”
Moira bit her lower lip. “I suspect.”
“Who?”
“You can’t confront her. She’ll have you running in circles until you drop dead.”
Skye tilted her head. “Look, Ms. O’Donnell, I’m trying to understand your position, but don’t play me for the fool. Abby Weatherby is dead. I need to talk to everyone who might be responsible. It’s my job.”
Moira said, “Abby was in the coven. You don’t think they haven’t protected themselves? I would have gotten the hell out of Dodge as soon as I smelled the sulphur if I hadn’t found her body. They want this body; they aren’t usually this messy.”
“You lost me. What do you mean that they want her body? You mean to destroy evidence? To bury her, cover up the crime?”
Of course she thought like a cop. “There’re two main reasons black-art covens don’t leave bodies lying around. One is because of people like you. You see a dead person, you start investigating. So yeah—evidence, I guess you could call it. Which is why magicians are so good at … disappearing the dead. Really, do you think all the missing people in the world are still alive?”
The sheriff wanted to ask her more questions about it but changed gears and said, “You said you know who’s the leader of this coven.”
“I haven’t any proof.”
Skye said, “But I can interview them. Ask questions.”
“No.”
“You’re obstructing an investigation.”
“I didn’t see anything. I don’t have firsthand knowledge of who was here. When I arrived, the only thing I saw was this body and the disturbance you saw on the ground.”
“When did you arrive?”
“Maybe ten minutes after the ritual was over. We—Jared Santos an
d I—saw a—” How could she explain what she’d seen in the distance? And make it sound sane? “We were still a couple of miles away and there was a fluttering, like thousands of bats all rose into the air at once. But it wasn’t bats. It was something dark and thick and alive, but nothing I’ve seen before.”
That wasn’t the entire truth. She’d seen it before. She’d dreamed it, had nightmares about the dark overtaking the light, throwing humanity into a self-made prison, where people maimed and tortured and raped and killed without thought or remorse, where magic was the norm and evil ruled. Where pleasure was pain and pain pleasure, where there was no justice, no light, no hope …
She said, “When we got here, there was chaos all around—see?” She gestured to the candles and the linen under Abby’s body. “They didn’t even gather up all their supplies. They didn’t erase the circle. And there was sulphur in the air, incense and poison.” Moira was unconsciously rubbing her scar. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.
“Are you saying Abby was poisoned?”
“No. Maybe. She might have been, but that’s not how she died.”
“How did she die?”
Moira took a deep breath and looked at Anthony. “Anthony knows.”
Skye sounded irritated. “Can the woo-woo. Just tell me the truth or I’ll arrest you.”
Moira bristled. “Abby was a sacrifice, necessary to bring forth the demon.”
“Not just one demon,” Anthony interrupted.
Moira and Skye turned to him.
“How do you know?” Skye asked.
He said, “The symbols. There are seven.”
“I only saw three,” Moira said.
“They were deliberately obscured.”
“Seven?” she asked, incredulous. “At one time?”
He addressed Moira with a subtle nod. “The ritual could easily have been Abby’s cause of death.”
“Anthony, please—” the sheriff said wearily.
“Skye,” he said softly, and for the first time Moira saw a tenderness she’d never before seen in the demonologist. “We have an extremely serious situation here. The Seven may have been released.”
Moira blanched. Anthony was about to confirm her greatest fear.
Anthony gestured with his flashlight to the triangles and symbols outside the circle. “I don’t know how they did it, how they found the spell. The book was supposed to have been destroyed hundreds of years ago, but this is the same as I’ve seen in two different sets of ruins, one in Ireland that is five hundred years old, and one in Italy that is nearly a thousand years old. There were more attempts, but we don’t know where or when. Every one has failed.”
A chill ran down Moira’s arms. “They probably failed too,” she said. “Look around, it’s chaos.”
“I don’t know,” Anthony said.
“The Seven?” Skye asked.
“The Seven Deadly Sins. If they’ve been freed, we have a supernatural war on our hands. And we are not prepared.”
It was the Conoscenza. Only the Book of Knowledge had the proper spell to release the Seven Deadly Sins from Hell. Fiona had found it.
Anthony stared at Moira. “Arrest her.”
“What?” Moira and Skye said together.
“Moira O’Donnell is a witch. She has the power to do this.”
“Bullshit! You damn well know I had nothing to do with any of this!”
“She’s here illegally,” he continued, facing Skye and ignoring Moira. “Olivet is a reclusive, all-male theological college similar to St. Michael’s, where I’m from. She couldn’t have legitimately gotten a student visa. I sent a friend of mine a message.” He glanced at Moira, triumphant, and Moira knew exactly what he was going to say. “They’ve been expecting her for months. She never showed.”
Skye said, “That’s an Immigration issue, Anthony. I don’t have grounds to arrest her unless she committed a crime.”
What Anthony said was true, she was supposed to return to Olivet after learning the deaths she’d investigated in upstate New York three months ago weren’t related to supernatural forces. But both Father Philip and Rico knew she was following her mother’s trail. They kept her involvement under wraps for a whole host of reasons, not least among them was the division she’d caused among the Order after Peter’s death.
But she wasn’t going to prison over their secret. “Call Rico Cortese,” she told Anthony. “If he didn’t tell anyone about my trip to Santa Louisa, I’m sure he had good reason. Need to know and all that—oh, I get it, you’re just pissed off that you weren’t in the loop.”
Anthony stepped forward and grabbed Moira’s wrists before she’d seen him move. Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bait him. “Rico picked the wrong witch to train,” he said under his breath, then added to Skye, “Left inside pocket. She has a knife.”
Skye’s face darkened. She reached where Anthony told her and extracted the knife. It was a dagger with a double-edged blade, in iron. The handle was gold, inlaid with the relics of saints. It had been Peter’s. She always carried it with her. She had little else from Peter.
“Any other weapons?” the sheriff asked angrily.
“Nothing that can hurt a human being,” Moria snapped. She glared at Anthony. He was trying to keep his face impassive, but he recognized the knife as well. The fury simmered inside him; she felt it rippling through his body. Moira almost didn’t blame him. She was angry with herself, too.
But she had never hated him more than she did right now. She couldn’t go to jail. If Fiona had failed, she’d try again. If she had Lily, she most certainly would restage the ritual as soon as physically possible—possibly as soon as tomorrow night. If she’d been successful, Moira had to undo the damage. How, she had no idea. But first, she needed to confirm exactly what happened here. If the Seven Deadly Sins were on earth, she had to figure out how to send them back to Hell and stop Fiona.
Skye searched Moira and pulled out salt, several vials of holy water, and a long, thin iron chain.
“A garrote?” Skye asked.
“A devil’s cuff.”
“Excuse me?”
Anthony explained. “A means of restraining a possessed human. It prevents the demon from escaping, and makes it easier to interrogate the beast without harm to the human.” He then added, “It doesn’t always work.”
Moira glared at him; Anthony stared her down. She bit back a sarcastic remark.
Skye looked torn. She asked Moira, “Why are you here?”
“I told you. I found the gateway and I had to stop her.”
“Who?”
Moira squirmed.
Anthony answered for her. “Fiona O’Donnell. Her mother.”
Two cars pulled up behind the sheriff’s truck. “That’s the crime scene team and coroner,” Skye said. She pocketed Moira’s passport. “I think it would be best if you came down to the station so we can talk, until I find Jared and Lily to corroborate your story.”
For a brief moment, Moira considered magic. She could find Fiona and hurt Anthony. Her urge to cause him pain for everything he’d said tonight and in the past scared her so deeply that her skin crawled and she felt physically ill.
Magic was evil, even if her purposes were noble. That Anthony had been able to even get her to consider it, just for that moment, pained her. She was worse than a drunk, worse than a drug addict. Magic was the greatest power, the greatest high on earth, and resulted in the steepest fall.
Anthony saw her internal battle and smiled cruelly.
“I knew you’d never change. I warned Peter, but he trusted you. Now he’s dead.”
She decked him.
SEVEN
Fiona strode through the secluded mansion on the outskirts of Santa Louisa, her footfalls echoing through the cavernous halls, a virtual electric storm in her wake. Serena had rarely seen her mother so furious. Though she’d been equally upset—and shocked—when Rafe Cooper walked into the middle of their ritual, she couldn’t help but feel a litt
le gleeful that her mother’s lack of foresight had bit her in the ass.
“Why didn’t you know?” Fiona turned on Dr. Richard Bertrand when they reached the towering library in the back of the house. The property was owned by Good Shepherd Church, and Serena was usually amused knowing that the contributions to Pastor Garrett Pennington’s ostensibly Christian church were used to allow her and her mother to live in luxury.
“Richard!” Fiona shouted when he didn’t immediately answer her. She sent a pulse of energy toward the double doors, forcing them to slam shut, to emphasize her anger. Richard winced as if physically assaulted.
The doctor groveled. Typical, Serena thought. Few people had the backbone to stand up to Fiona. But Rafe had been his resposibility. Richard had ensured everyone that Rafe Cooper would never awaken. Richard would be lucky if he was alive at dawn.
“He shouldn’t have woken up,” Richard whined.
“Shouldn’t have? Richard, since when have you reduced yourself to ridiculous understatements?” Fiona turned to Serena. “And you were supposed to kill him months ago!”
Serena straightened her spine and kept her chin up. She wasn’t going to let her mother reinvent the past. “When Rafe Cooper went into the coma, you said he was more use to us alive than dead,” she retorted.
“He should have been dead that night!”
Fiona flung open the doors of her library with a flick of her wrist—a neat trick, but a parlor trick nonetheless. Serena had lived with her mother long enough to discern the difference between games and power. No doubt about it—Fiona controlled more otherworldly forces than any magician Serena had ever known, but she also enjoyed the bells and whistles that went along with power. There had been no need for half the games she’d played at the ruins. Had she forsaken the frills for expediency, they would have been done trapping the demons in the arca long before Rafe Cooper broke their circle.
Fiona whirled around and glared at her as if Serena had verbalized her criticisms. Her mother couldn’t read minds, but she had a sixth sense that had kept Serena in line. “When I find Raphael Cooper I will make him suffer,” Fiona said, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would torture and kill him with great pleasure.
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