Original Sin

by Allison Brennan

  Moira was losing the argument. “I feel it. And you need to stop it right now.”

  “No,” she snapped petulantly.

  Moira said to Jared. “Follow me.”

  “Please don’t go, Moira,” Jared pleaded. “They have Lily! They’re going to hurt her just like they did Abby.”

  Moira said, “Jared, Lily is with Anthony. Safe. No one can get to her.” I hope. “Ari is playing with fire, and she doesn’t want to listen to the truth.”

  “Lily’s okay?” Jared asked, rising from the floor and walking over to Moira.

  “Jared, no!” cried Ari. “Don’t go. None of you understand the power that I have!”

  Moira lost her temper. “You don’t think so? I understand it better than anyone, even better than Fiona. I know what the power does to people. To people I love and care about. I also know what it does to you. You feel invincible. You believe you can do anything. You’ve probably left your body, floated among the clouds, watched people. That was my favorite part of being a magician. Flying. And I still miss it.”

  “Then help me if you can!”

  “I’m trying.”

  “You’re trying to stop me, not help me!”

  “That’s the only way I can help you. I have to stop this now.” For the last several minutes Moira had been feeling the energy turn from neutral to black. Something was coming. She had to convince Ari to break the circle and destroy the chalice. If Moira walked into the circle, the energy would be drawn to her, because of her blood. “The energy is changing. Don’t you feel it, Ari?”

  But Ari was already drunk with the power, and said, “I’m getting stronger.”

  “You’re losing control!”

  Ari put her arms up and chanted the end of the ritual.

  “Under the stairs!” Moira commanded Jared. She didn’t have to tell him twice.

  A tornado of dark gray smoke rotated along the perimeter of the circle in which Ari stood. Ari held her hands up and commanded the spirit to go back where it came from.

  The whirlpool of evil rotated faster. Every candle went out except those within the circle. Moira’s hair blew all around her; she could barely stand upright against the pressure. She had her flashlight in hand, but it was all she could do to hold on to it.

  The entity didn’t obey Ari’s commands, just as Moira feared. She had no idea whether the demon was one of the Seven or a completely different devil. But with all the energy being directed into the center of Ari’s circle, the demon either didn’t know Moira and Jared were there or didn’t care.

  Moira’s arsenal of weapons wouldn’t work until the demon took a physical form. She knew the exorcism prayer by heart, but the demon wasn’t trapped. As soon as she began it, it would turn on her. She wouldn’t be able to help Ari, or Jared, or save Rafe, if she were dead.

  Ari held up a crystal.

  “Smash it!” Moira screamed at her. “Break the crystal and you’ll break the spell!”

  Whether Ari couldn’t hear her over the demonic winds or whether she ignored her, Moira couldn’t say, but Ari said, “I command thee, as it is above, it is below. I command thee to come—”

  “No!” Moira shouted helplessly. “Don’t!”

  It was too late. Ari had invited the demon into her circle. The girl screamed silently as the demon invaded her body. The resulting silence as all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room terrified Moira.

  The possessed Ari stared at Moira, her eyes a red-tinged opaque.

  “I know you,” it said.

  Fiona cast the circle, but nothing was working the way it was supposed to. Her anger mounted as her coven grew wary. They were doubting her, she felt it in her pores, and that doubt, that mistrust, infuriated her nearly as much as the weak circle at the Rittenhouse furniture showroom.

  She turned to Serena. “This isn’t working! We should have returned to the cliffs.”

  Serena was upset, as she should be since her error had cost them valuable time.

  “We leave. Regroup tomorrow night at the cliffs—”

  “Wait,” Serena said.

  Fiona despised being interrupted or contradicted, but she stopped just short of backhanding her daughter. Serena was in a half-trance, pulling information from the psychic energy in the region.

  “It’s Ari,” said Serena. “Her magic. I told you she was stronger than you wanted to believe!” Serena put her hands up, trying to discern what Ari was up to. “She’s drawing energy to her location. She created a …” She closed her eyes, her fingers on her temples as if in pain, but Fiona pushed.

  “What?” she demanded.

  Garrett stepped over to her. “Fiona, let her be.”

  She glared at Garrett. He was too soft on Serena. He stepped back from them, and Fiona turned back to her daughter. “Serena, what did Ari do?”

  “A triangle. She is drawing in all energy within a perfect two-dimensional prism.”

  “How can that little witch do it?”

  Serena didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “All the energy is being directed toward Good Shepherd Church.”

  “The fool!” Fiona paced. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Only the strongest of magicians should attempt even the most minor spells. All our work! She’s going to destroy it! Garrett, you and Nicole. Go.”

  “I could do it faster,” Serena said.

  “I need you here. We’ll work together to break the triangle.”

  Serena stared at her, mouth open. “You’ve never said that before.”

  “What?”

  “That you needed me. That we are stronger together.”

  Fiona frowned. “Of course I have.” Had she?

  Serena shook her head. “Maybe you thought it, but I can’t read your mind.”

  “That must be it.” Fiona touched her good daughter on the cheek. “I am hard on you, Serena, but that is necessary to make you strong. Let’s continue.”

  Serena smiled. “Yes, Mother.”

  Though Anthony wanted to leave Father Philip and Lily at the mission, where he felt it was safest, he worried that leaving them alone anywhere was just as dangerous as bringing them with him.

  The tabernacle he needed was in a secure storage room of St. Francis de Sales in downtown Santa Louisa. Two years ago, the parish priest died of a heart attack. Since then there had been five priests assigned, all leaving for a variety of reasons, which now seemed odd. The priest with the longest duration was Father Isaac, who had come out of retirement to tend to the dwindling flock. Anthony had never before considered that witchcraft had been involved in keeping the sole Catholic church inert and inactive, but now it seemed the only logical reason—other than general human apathy.

  It was after seven p.m. when Anthony arrived. The church was dark; the parish house next door had a single light in the living room. Father Isaac would retire for the night by eight. Anthony brought Father Philip and Lily with him to the door, not wanting to leave them alone in the car.

  Father Isaac took several long minutes to reach the door. When he opened it, Anthony felt the waves of pain coming from the old man, who looked even older now than he had when Anthony arrived in town two months ago. “Are you well?” he asked.

  “I’m old,” Isaac replied. “My suffering is less than many.”

  “Father, this is Philip Zaccardi of St. Michael’s in Sicily.”

  Isaac’s eyes widened as if he were meeting a saint. “Reverend,” he said with a deep nod. “It is truly an honor.”

  Isaac had been a supporter of St. Michael’s efforts, but like most priests not affiliated with the Order, he remained quiet about it.

  “Thank you,” Philip said humbly. “We are in need of a tabernacle.”

  “The original from the mission,” Anthony clarified.

  Isaac nodded. “Of course. It is in the vault.”

  “We also need a eucharistic ceremony. Can you do it, or may I have permission?” Philip asked.

  “Let’s share in the consecration.”

>   “We don’t have much time,” Philip said. “I baptized Lily earlier today. This will be her first Eucharist.”

  Isaac smiled solemnly. “I know the prayers in my heart; let us proceed expeditiously. Anthony, you know how to get into the vault. I will begin preparation.”

  Anthony pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at the message from Moira. He pulled up the image she’d sent. As soon as it loaded, his heart froze.

  “Father,” he said to Philip. “Moira found this.”

  Father Philip crossed himself as he looked at the picture. “The Mark of Cain.”

  Anthony stared. “So help us God.” He wasn’t surprised—Fiona’s coven had the power behind it to suggest they were in deep—but seeing the sigil was chilling. Covens who invoked Cain were vicious, ruthless, and unstoppable until death.

  Lily looked at the photo and stifled a scream. Her hands flew to her neck as she swayed in terror. “No. No!”

  Anthony caught the girl as she fainted.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  There were two ways—at least, two ways Moira knew about—to exorcise a demon while keeping the victim alive.

  Moira didn’t have time for a traditional exorcism. Not only was Rafe still in grave danger, Ari’s ritual would have already attracted the attention of Fiona and her merry band of witches.

  But stabbing Ari, though effective and fast acting, didn’t appeal to Moira, either.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  Moira started the exorcism rite, keeping her dagger firmly in hand.

  “Deus, in nómine tuo salvum me fac, et virtúte tua—”

  The demon laughed, Ari’s voice deep and unnatural. “Andra Moira.”

  She ignored his intimidations and continuted her invocation.

  The demon twitched, but continued to taunt her. “You know me. We’re old friends.”

  She would not listen to his lies.

  The candles all relit simultaneously, and it was all she could do not to jump. Jared came out from under the stairs. “Is Ari going to be okay?”

  “Get back!”

  The demon was strong, and while he couldn’t break the spirit trap and attack her, he could summon dormant demons in the room. Some were residual spirits from past rituals; others were trapped in ritual objects on the black magic altar. The ground shook and several evil spirits wrenched themselves from the captivity.

  “I can—” Jared began.

  “Stand behind me!” Moira commanded Jared, then continued shouting the exorcism prayer while facing off three demons of uncertain shape moving toward her.

  They were not unlike the earth demon that Elizabeth Ellis had summoned when she’d rescued Lily. Moira tried the same prayer she’d used before, and one of the demons evaporated. The other two still came at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large, solid demon wrenching itself from the old, moldy brick walls. The building shook around her and Moira flashed on the image of killing the demon the same way Dorothy took out the Wicked Witch of the West, dropping this building on him. Except that she’d be under the house, too. She would have laughed but she had both her hands full—one with holy water, the other with her blessed dagger.

  She flicked holy water onto the weak demons in front of her and both of them dissipated.

  That seemed too easy.

  Noise at the top of the stairs distracted her. A stranger was running toward them and Moira at first feared he was another witch. He stopped and stared at the destruction of the basement and the charging demon.

  “Watch out!” the man cried.

  Moira whirled around as a hoofed demon, looking much like a deformed mythological centaur, charged her.

  This was no earth demon. It was a corporeal demon, no question about it. Straight from the pits of Hell and smelling as vile as a decomposing corpse on a summer day.

  Moira backed up, reaching into one of her pockets and pulling out a vial of sacred chrism. She broke it across her blade, coating the iron with oil that was poison to demons. A sliver of glass from the vial cut her finger, but she pushed back the sharp pain, which was far less important than imminent death at the hands—hooves?—of an ancient demon.

  The demon spoke a language she didn’t know, and she didn’t ask for a translation. It rushed her and she deliberately fell to the ground, to urge the demon to run over her. It reeked of rotting flesh and black magic, and she could scarcely breathe. She stabbed her arm out and into the underbelly of the demon, slicing its guts open with her oily dagger.

  One hoof stomped her in the thigh and she screamed, but her voice couldn’t be heard over the agonized high-pitched cry of the tortured creature as it hit the wall. She jumped up, shaking out the pain, thankful her leg wasn’t broken, which would have been icing on the cake of this shitty day.

  The demon centaur was bubbling ooze as it liquefied in front of her, steam rising from the remains. The ooze stunk worse than the demon itself.

  Was it dead? Dead? As in no longer in existence in this world or the underworld? Impossible. Its form was dead; there was no way to annihilate a demon.

  “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?” Jared asked.

  The demon inside the trap was surprisingly silent.

  “What did you do to … it?” the stranger asked.

  She looked at her dagger almost as if she’d forgotten it was there. The demon’s blood—if it could be called blood—was black. It dripped from the oily knife until the knife was clean.

  “Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

  She turned to him, careful to keep a fair distance. He was in his forties, tall and attractive, with short, sandy hair and a solid, square jaw to match his solid, square shoulders. He wore a white button-down shirt and jeans.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I should be asking you the same thing,” he said. “I’m Matthew Walker. This is my church. Or—it used to be.” He looked pained. “We need to get out of here.”

  “You’re the pastor who left last summer?”

  “Sheriff McPherson called me earlier today and told me someone was defrauding my congregation. I got here as fast as I could.”

  The demon in Ari began to laugh.

  “Let me help,” he said.

  “You’re an exorcist?” she asked skeptically.

  “No, but I’ve assisted in exorcisms.”

  The demon continued to laugh, and Moira felt the energy building again.

  “Matthew Walker,” the demon hissed.

  Matthew jumped and began a prayer.

  Moira continued her exorcism and Matthew said a parallel prayer in Greek. While she recognized the sound of the language, she didn’t understand most of it. But the dual exorcisms seemed to be working, faster than she expected. The demon stopped laughing almost instantly, and Ari’s body began to convulse. Within minutes, the demon screamed and left Ari’s body in a tornado of smoke. Ari collapsed.

  The energy in the room had stabilized but not disappeared. “We have to destroy the altars Ari set up,” Moira said.

  “I know where they are,” Jared said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You mean you’re not coming with me?”

  “I trust you. Just—later, we need to talk about you and this.” She gestured toward Ari.

  “I’m sorry, Moira. I wanted to help.”

  “I know you did,” she said, understanding Jared more than he knew. “Once the first altar is down, it breaks the vortex, so get to the easiest location first.”

  “Got it.” He started up the stairs.

  Matthew walked over and felt Ari’s pulse. “She’s okay, but we should call a doctor.”

  “Can you stay? I need—”

  “Well, hello,” a voice bellowed from the top of the stairs. “I’m—surprised to see you both here.”

  Garrett Pennington walked down the stairs, pushing Jared in front of him.

  Matthew stepped in front of Moira in a protective gesture. It gave her the opportunity to quickly assess
the situation. Pennington didn’t have a weapon in hand. That gave her the edge. Though a woman, she played dirty when warranted. And three against one? Was Pennington a fool? He had witchcraft on his side, but the numbers benefited the good guys this time.

  “Who are you?” Matthew demanded.

  Pennington raised his eyebrows and touched his chest mockingly. “You don’t know me?”

  “Are you the bastard who did this”—Matthew waved his hand toward the altar—“to my church?”

  “Church? If you want to call it that.”

  Matthew stepped toward him, and Moira put her hand on his arm. “Watch it. He’s a witch. Or, I suppose, technically a wizard.”

  “I prefer magician,” Pennington said.

  “I prefer you get the hell out of my way,” Moira said.

  “You’d be insane if you thought I’d let you walk out of here. Fiona will be thrilled to see you again.” He continued down the stairs, pushing Jared hard to the ground.

  Moira said to Pennington, “Listen to me. We have a problem here. Ari created an energy vortex and it’s still here.”

  “She’s unconscious,” Pennington said. “It’ll dissipate soon.”

  “No, something else is drawing it in here and it’s probably something in your office or behind your altar, asshole, or she created a loop of some sort, because I feel it. If we don’t stop it, a hole is going to be punched into the underworld, and I don’t think Fiona wants to spend her time battling wayward demons celebrating newfound freedom when she’s trying so desperately to recapture the Seven.”

  For a moment, Pennington waffled. “How do you know that will happen?”

  “What good are you if you don’t know? Seriously, how do they train you guys? I’m not even using magic and I can feel the charge! Dammit, I’m not fucking with you! Call Fiona if you don’t believe me!”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “We can’t leave her here,” Moira said, pointing to Ari.

  “Why not? She created the problem in the first place. She should have to suffer the consequences.”

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  “Yes you are.”

  Pennington made a move toward Moira, and he wasn’t using magic. Just brawn.