By the time Moira reached the top of the hill on the edge of town, all that was left of Good Shepherd was scorched earth.
Candlelight flickered inside Rittenhouse Furniture. The inventory shielded the activity, but each piece was outlined by the light, casting odd, dancing shadows out the large showroom windows and into the fog. The street lights along the edge of the small parking lot shined in interlocking circles, revealing several empty vehicles. Warehouses and light industrial businesses on this road were all closed at night. No one else was around for miles, and with the thickening fog and damp air, Moira felt as though they were the only people in the world as she approached, fifteen minutes after Good Shepherd disappeared in a blaze of hellfire.
She drove without headlights to the back of the building and parked behind the Dumpsters. It didn’t conceal them completely, but at least they weren’t obvious at a glance. She hadn’t even stepped out of the car, but the dark magic rolled off the building as the fog rolled in from the ocean: slow, ethereal, unstoppable.
She breathed deeply, concentrating all her senses on the building and surrounding area. She felt small, cleansing spells and bigger, more dangerous protection spells. She didn’t sense anyone outside watching the back door. There was a river of fear flowing through the building. She didn’t know whether it was residual emotions from the violence of the night before or fear being generated right now.
“That’s Skye’s truck,” Anthony said.
She opened her eyes and looked where he gestured. On the far side of the back lot, the sheriff’s truck was parked in the shadows.
“Is she here?” Moira said. “Is she crazy?”
Anthony said, “Walker and Deputy Young must have taken it after they tried to kill me at Good Shepherd. Thank God. It’s here.”
“Why?” asked Moira, taken aback that Walker was one of them. Why had he helped her earlier?
“The tabernacle. It’s inside the truck. We need it to trap the demon.”
“Trap? You don’t know how to send it back?”
“Not yet, but we can contain it,” Anthony said.
“You’re certain?” Rafe asked.
“Yes.”
Moira concentrated. “There are many spells in play; I’m having a hard time discerning them,” she said. “Let me try again, see what they’re doing right now.”
The harder she concentrated, the greater her headache until she visibly winced. Rafe grabbed her shoulders. “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I have to figure this out!”
“Sometimes you have to have faith.”
“I’m going for the tabernacle,” Anthony said. “Stay here.”
“You need backup,” Moira said.
“I’ll go,” Rafe said.
“No,” Anthony and Moira said together. Then Anthony added, “I don’t need backup. The truck is only a hundred yards away.”
“It’s not up for debate,” Rafe said. “I’m going.”
Reluctantly, Anthony agreed. Moira didn’t like this at all, but she didn’t have an alternate plan.
“Be careful. And, um, take this.” She handed him her dagger.
He took it, then squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
She watched the two men sprint across the back of the parking lot until they hit the trees. She breathed easier when they had some camouflage.
And she waited. And waited.
The car door opened.
“It’s about—”
She stopped.
Matthew Walker stood there looking bemused.
“Somehow, I knew you’d end up here.”
She spat in his face.
His face hardened until she thought he was capable of pummeling her to death, then he relaxed. “Tom,” he said to the cop standing behind him, “make sure she doesn’t have any friends hanging out around here.”
To Moira, he said, “Come inside. Your mother’s waiting for you.”
THIRTY-NINE
They had Lily.
Matthew Walker pushed Moira into the center of the showroom floor. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for the large, elaborate ritual circle to recapture the Seven. In the center, Lily was tied to a raised altar.
Anger pulsed through Moira and she fought against her restraints, intentionally slamming the back of her head into Walker’s jaw. He grunted, but tightened his hold and pulled her close. “You’re making it worse. Look. We have another surprise for you.”
Fiona, dramatic as ever in a silvery velvet gown that flowed around her body like a waterfall, sashayed into the room, holding Father Philip’s hand. “Look who I found?” she said and laughed.
Father had a cut on his head and was unusually pale. He saw Moira, and sadness darkened his eyes.
“Father—” She blinked back tears of fear. She couldn’t give them fear. There was already too much fear in the room, and demons thrived on the emotion.
“Yes!” Fiona exclaimed. “You remember him.”
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Do what you have to,” he said cryptically.
“That’s enough chitchat,” Fiona said. “He’s just a little upset because poor Anthony died in a tragic fire.” She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. “So sad.”
Though Moira ached at the pain in Father’s expression, she didn’t let on that Anthony survived the explosion. If they suspected, they’d go out and hunt him down, and he’d never get to the tabernacle in time.
Rafe had been outnumbered worse on the cliffs two nights ago, yet he had stopped them. It was possible.
Garrett Pennington stood to one side with two other men. He looked like he wanted to kill her, his handsome face bruised and bloodied from fighting her. It looked like she’d broken his nose as well. She hoped it healed crooked.
Several women stood around in filmy white gowns, including Nicole Donovan, the teacher, and Elizabeth Ellis, Lily’s mother. Others she didn’t know, men and women of all ages, from a teenager to a middle-age wizard. Eleven … twelve … no, fourteen she counted. Covens didn’t always operate with thirteen members, though many preferred to keep the group to less.
Moira felt all eyes on her, but someone was staring at her, trying to work a clandestine spell over her. Something Moira didn’t recognize but felt deep down to her soul. She strengthened her will and turned her head.
Serena stared across at her, her face emotionless. When Moira caught her eye, she smiled.
“Everyone’s here,” Fiona said, holding her and Father Philip’s joined hands up. “Let’s begin.” She smiled at Moira, then at Matthew Walker. “Darling,” she said, “I’ve missed you.”
Walker moved Moira into the center of the circle. Incense burned in seven chalices, set on the altar with Lily. The herbs weren’t protective incense that was burning outside the circle. These herbs attracted demons. These people are officially insane, Moira thought. They may attract one or more of the Seven Deadly Sins, but they were also going to draw in every wayward demon roaming the area. How could they control it? How could they possibly think this was going to work?
“You’re all nuts.”
Walker squeezed her arm. “I saw what you did. I will learn how you did it. That’s the only reason I didn’t kill you earlier.”
“Did what?” She had no idea what Walker was talking about.
He didn’t answer, but pushed her down.
Next to the altar were two steel balls attached to a chain and foot manacle. For a moment Moira thought they were made of iron, and that would offer some protection against spirits.
“They’re lead, dear, not iron,” Fiona said as she walked Father Philip into the circle. “I’m not stupid. Had you remembered that, you wouldn’t have tried to find me.”
“I didn’t try,” Moira said. “I succeeded. Funny, you were looking for me for seven years and never could figure out where I was, even with your dark magic and psychic eye. Maybe you’ve lost it, Cailleach.”
Fiona roughly pushe
d Father Philip down, and he stumbled and fell to his knees, his glasses falling off his face. Moira reached for him, her heart quickening for the old man. Walker pulled her back before she could touch him.
Fiona stepped on the old man’s spectacles, grinding the lenses into the cement floor with her spike heel. “He won’t need these where he’s going.”
Walker attached Father Philip to one lead ball, and Moira to the other. Then he pulled Fiona into his arms and kissed her deeply. “I’ve missed you far more than you’ve missed me, sweetheart,” he told her.
Serena stepped into the circle with them. Matthew turned to her and gave her a squeeze. “Hey, I’ve missed you too, kiddo. Staying away all these months was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”
“Glad you’re back, Dad.” Serena smiled, then turned to Moira, gloating.
Dad? Moira’s disbelief must have registered on her face, because Serena said, “Why do you find that so hard to believe? Just because you didn’t know I knew my father? I’m good at secrets too.”
Walker laughed. “Sorry, Moira. Serena’s my daughter, but you aren’t. Can’t say I’m choked up about it.” His laughter ended abruptly, and he said to her in a low voice, “You’ve caused my women trouble and heartache for years, and now it’s time for you—and your friends—to pay for it.”
Moira assessed the situation. Matthew Walker had almost—but not quite—taken control from Fiona. Fiona hadn’t seemed to notice, and Moira would be shocked if she condoned it. Her mother was subservient to no one, man, woman, or demon. Yet she’d sighed in ecstasy when Walker took her in his arms and kissed her, playing the role of a love-struck woman. She loved no one but herself. No one.
Yet … there was something different about Walker. And suddenly Moira feared him more than anyone else in the room.
“Fiona, dear, are you ready?” He waved his hands dramatically, then bowed, essentially giving her the floor. The three of them backed out of the circle.
Fiona beamed and began the incantation.
“I have called the Seven to Earth, I have called the Seven from Hell, through a Gateway I consecrated in the blood of the righteous. It is right and just that the Seven are to be contained in the arca that has been consecrated for them to live and walk on earth as they did in ages past.”
“As it is above, as it is below,” the women outside the circle shouted.
Serena lifted a chalice and spoke in an ancient language. The magical energy in the room instantly doubled. Moira felt it as a hot, electric wash over her skin.
“Father?” Moira asked. “What’s she saying?”
Walker said, “Quiet!” He lifted his hand, drew in energy, and threw it at her. It hit her like a bullet in her shoulder and she screamed. The magic painfully surged through her and she willed it to dissipate, mumbling in Hebrew.
Serena continued. The chanting responses of the coven increased in volume. Moira inspected her chain and the lock. It was old; if she had her lock picks she could get out of it in two seconds. A bobby pin would work, but she didn’t have a bobby pin or anything like a bobby pin. She had nothing—Walker had taken her jacket, every one of her weapons, even her medallion and crucifix.
The furniture shook, and she wondered why they weren’t concerned about the heavy pieces flying across the vast showroom and killing them.
She watched the faces of the coven members, saw that they were concentrating, focusing on keeping the ritual under control. Even Matthew Walker was no longer paying attention to her, but using powerful magic to keep the demonic elements at bay.
She slid her body closer to Father Philip. She heard him talking, but not to her. He spoke in Latin, and it took her a verse before she realized it was Psalm 54, a prayer of confidence while facing great peril and imminent death.
“Turn back the evil upon my foes; in your faithfulness destroy them.”
Lily was unmoving, in shock, staring at the ceiling. “Lily, help is coming,” she quietly told the girl. She prayed it was true. That Anthony and Rafe were able to get to the tabernacle and find a way inside and … shit. It was a lot of hopes and dreams and ifs. But other than them, who else was there? Skye was a cop, not an exorcist or demon hunter. Bullets would do nothing to a demon, but would certainly kill the victim.
“Father, what is Serena saying?”
He whispered, “Pure evil from the Conoscenza.”
“What language?”
“The language of demons.” He looked at her. “Only you can destroy the Conoscenza.” Tears sprang to his eyes.
It dawned on her slowly why only she could destroy it. “Because I’m a witch,” she said in shock, her eyes burning. “Is that how you see me?”
“No, child, I only see you through eyes of love.”
An armoire fell over, and Moira jumped. She had to get out of these restraints. She could do nothing trapped like an animal.
She saw the broken glass from Father’s lenses. And the twisted wire frames.
She glanced around. The witches were all chanting and concentrating while Serena continued her summoning ritual. She scooted over inch by inch until she could reach the frames, then discreetly palmed them.
Father Philip saw what she was doing and helped shield her hands from the surrounding coven. As they huddled together, the air in the room heated and swirled around the demon trap.
Moira snapped off the side from the frame, still watching the coven. She carefully worked the shaft into the manacle lock. Dammit, it wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be.
Father continued his praying, and Lily moaned. “Moira,” she sobbed. “I feel something. Something is coming for me. Help me, please. Please. God, please!”
Her cuff opened. The movement was subtle, and rather than immediately jumping up, she started working on Father Philip’s restraints. “How do I destroy the Conoscenza?” she whispered. “Is it here?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen it.”
“How?”
“Blood and fire.”
She shivered. “That sounds like something they would do.”
“You’re not sacrificing anyone, dear. But …”
Moira understand. “My blood. But why? Why mine and not Fiona’s?”
“Because magic can’t destroy it. I don’t have all the answers. But—it’s dangerous.” Father Philip’s shackle snapped open. He said, “The cardinal has answers.”
“Who? The cardinal? Which cardinal?”
Before he could respond, a black cloud rushed into the room through the vent above the circle and filled the double circle, swirling around and around the altar.
Moira had seen the strange and supernatural in her life, but never had she seen anything like this. Never had she felt raw evil as it brushed past her, hot, vile, reeking of decay. But it wasn’t the malevolent personality that terrified her. It was the intelligence within the creature that made her realize there was no way they could defeat it—not one of the Seven and certainly not all of them.
There was no way to survive. She wanted to curl up into a ball and pray to God to make death quick.
It was not just her soul on the line. Inaction was not an option.
Moira jumped up, shaking off the shackles she’d unlocked only moments ago. She kicked over every candle and threw each of the seven chalices outside of the circle. But it didn’t matter. It was too late.
The Demon Envy had arrived.
FORTY
I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark.
—THOMAS HOBBES, 1679
Envy took form.
Moira stared, standing in front of Lily and Father Philip, protecting them with nothing because she had nothing to protect them with.
Envy was alternately hideous and beautiful. A man with long, golden hair turned into a hoofed creature standing on hind legs, horned and deformed. The changes were fluid, but the creature was corporeal. It had mass and body like the demon that had wrenched itself from the walls of Good Shepherd. But there was something differ
ent about this one. The eyes had intelligence. The demons she’d encountered before were driven by one thing: destruction. They acted purely on instinct.
Envy acted on forethought and intelligence.
It smiled at her.
Father recited a psalm; Moira knew it but couldn’t remember which one. Envy didn’t react to the invocation of God.
“Your words have no effect,” it hissed.
Envy’s voice was low, rumbling, loud. It echoed throughout the warehouse. That was when Moira first noticed the chanting had stopped. The coven watched those trapped in the circle with Envy. Moira didn’t dare take her eyes off the demon, but she felt fear all around her and it wasn’t coming from just those in the circle.
The damn coven should be scared. They would be next.
“I am the One,” Envy said.
“God is the One,” Moira spat out.
Envy growled.
Good going, piss off a demon while you’re trapped with it.
“I am the one who gave you knowledge. I am the one who felled mankind. I am the one you should bow to.” Envy smiled as it changed form, its legs turning into a snake, a rattle at the end, its body a hairy chest, its head turning back to the golden-haired Fabio, now with fangs that dripped poison. It slithered on the floor, seven feet tall, growing and shrinking as it circled around the trap.
“You think you can keep me here?” it asked.
“Don’t blame me,” Moira said, circling the altar to keep herself between Lily and the demon. “It was them—the witches and wizards who want to trap you.”
“And you?”
It slithered toward her so fast she couldn’t help but scream, her shriek short as her breath was stolen from her. Envy’s breath reeked of dead flesh, sulphur, and maggots. Its narrow, forked tongue shot out, impossibly long, and touched her cheek, burning her skin.
Moira flinched from the demon’s touch. With courage she didn’t know she had, she said, “You have delusions of grandeur to think you were the serpent who spoke to Eve. You’re but one of seven; the serpent didn’t have to share his power.”
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