Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) (3 page)

Orano expanded the rivers of lava he imagined flowing
throughout his body until he could actually feel the warmth they created. It
was the first sensation he’d gotten from his body since the dart hit him. Real
hope bloomed inside him as a tingling in his feet joined the warmth.

Then the chanting stopped and the man spoke directly to him.
“You will soon be free of Satan’s curse and released from your obligation to
serve him.” His accent sounded Caribbean with a tinge of British. He grabbed
the silver cross he’d been using during his chant with both hands. He pulled up
the top part, unsheathing a thin dagger from inside the cross, its blade
twinkling in the light.

Panic surged as Orano watched the man wrap his hands around
the dagger’s hilt and raise it over his head, ready to plunge it down toward
him. Orano instinctively slammed his eyes shut to avoid seeing the instrument
of his own death penetrate his chest. Then smiled at what the ability to do so meant.

A quick twitch of his right wrist, and Orano’s palm faced
his would-be-murderer. The same beam of light from the barn exploded out of his
hand and slammed into his attacker, knocking him backward from his kneeling
position. The base of the man’s head struck the corner of their wrought iron
coffee table with such force, he bounced off of it before collapsing to the
floor.

The smile left Orano’s face immediately. The man stared
through unblinking eyes at a world he would never again see.

Orano closed his own eyes and cried.

********

“You did nothing wrong, Orano. Do you understand me?
Nothing.” Cherry watched her son close down in front of her. When she’d awoken
from her own sedation to see him strapped to the chair, her worst fears became
a reality. Until she’d noticed his shoulders jerking and heard his quiet sobs.

She’d pulled herself off the couch and, on unsteady legs,
stepped to her son’s side. That’s when the entire story unveiled itself to her.
The man the
Ọ
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ọ
ti
Ọ
l
ọ
run
brotherhood sent to kill Orano lay dead on the floor, his
dagger at his side. He must have gotten through the entire ceremony before
succumbing to whatever killed him.

When she’d placed her hand on Orano’s cheek, his eyes had
flown open as though fearing the man might have come back to life. When he saw
her instead, his weeping intensified and he told her everything. She listened
to every anguished word as she removed the tape securing him to the chair.

“Sweetheart, I am so proud of you. I don’t know of anyone
who could have handled themselves better than you did. You saved us both.” Although
Cherry knew the
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ti
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l
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run
would never have hurt her—they were psychotic killers, but only to those family
members with powers—she also knew Orano needed to believe he’d caused the man’s
death for reasons other than just saving himself.

“I need you to listen to me now. We have a chance to make
sure no one ever comes after you again, but I need you to help me.” Cherry
waited for her son to work through whatever moral quandary he was experiencing.
It took a few moments, but Orano’s shoulders straightened and his eyes lost
their blank expression.

“Good boy. This man is from
Ọ
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ọ
ti
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ọ
run
, and they’ll be waiting for him to
report in. We need to make sure he does that,” Cherry said.

Orano’s brow knit in confusion. “But how? He’s dead.”

Cherry gave him a reassuring smile before moving to kneel
beside the man. She found what she was looking for in his front pocket. She
flipped open the cell phone and scrolled through all of his texts. Several
mentioned Orano, and she read each one of them.

“He’s been watching you for a while and texting his findings
to one number. All of the messages report no sign of the power in you. My guess
is that today would have been his last report. So let’s send it for him.”
Cherry tapped the numbered keys the appropriate amount of times to spell out
her message.

His sixteenth birthday has passed. No powers manifested.

Cherry checked her watch to make sure midnight had already
passed, then pressed send. “This is where I need your help, Son. Are you
ready?”

Orano took a deep breath and nodded.

They found the man’s car in their driveway and pulled it
into the empty spot in their garage. Cherry and Orano dragged the body through
the house and placed it in the passenger seat of the car. She kept a careful
eye on her son throughout the process. Although he looked ready to vomit, he
held himself together.

“The hard part’s over, Orano. Now, I just need you to follow
me in our car. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“But I don’t have my driver’s license,” he said.

Cherry stifled the giggle his unexpected remark elicited. “I
think we can overlook that under the circumstances, don’t you?”

Driving the short distance out of town, Cherry kept her eye
on her son through the rearview mirror and pondered how she would help Orano
deal with everything he’d experienced. Although he was lucid, she knew he’d
been operating on autopilot since the
Ọ
w
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ti
Ọ
l
ọ
run
’s man died. Her son’s honorable spirit
would be crushed if she didn’t do something.

When they reached the curve in the road
not-so-affectionately nicknamed “Dead Man’s Turn,” she stopped the car. She
just needed to put the man in the driver’s seat, then wedge his foot onto the
gas pedal.

“Grab me a thick branch. About a foot and a half long or
so,” Cherry instructed her son.

While Orano searched, she maneuvered the body behind the
wheel before opening all of the windows. She couldn’t count on the crash
breaking them and needed a plausible reason for a piece of tree to be found
inside the vehicle.

Orano handed her a gnarled branch that would be perfect. She
took it from his grasp and instructed him to wait in their car. He didn’t need
to be exposed to any more violence than the night had already brought.

With the car running in neutral, she closed the driver’s
side door and reached in through the window. She placed one end of the branch
on the gas pedal, then shoved the other end into the edge of the seat. The
car’s engine roared as raw power surged. With a quick prayer of thanks that his
car had an automatic transmission, Cherry pulled herself as far out of the
vehicle as she could while still being able to reach the shifter. When she
jammed the car into drive, the tires spun on the dirt and gravel at the side of
the road before finding purchase and shooting the vehicle ahead.

The car careened over the edge as so many others had done over
the years, then crashed down the thirty-foot drop-off. Many drivers died that
way. One more wouldn’t raise suspicion, especially since the stranger chose not
to wear his seatbelt.

Cherry let out a sigh of relief when the job was done,
although the feeling didn’t last long. When she returned to her car, she found
Orano sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees. Silent tears streamed
down his cheeks.

“I promise that one day you will get past this, Orano. It
might take some time, but it will happen.” Cherry kissed him on his forehead
and began the drive home, hoping she hadn’t just told a lie.

Tori Houlton watched as the one person who could destroy
everything she’d worked for burst out the door and onto the busy street. Tori
could have unleashed many things that would teach that girl a sorely needed
lesson, but not out there. Not like this.

She let the door close and stalked back through the herbal shop.
Although she leased the retail space for her highly successful business, only
about half of its square footage held any inventory. The rest sat hidden behind
a wall of shelves stocked with lotions, powders, and other concoctions. Virginia
Beach had become trendy, and with that distinction came wealthy patrons with
disposable income. Tori’s skills as an herbalist made her the go-to girl for
every yuppie trophy wife within a fifty-mile radius, but her purpose in life
was fulfilled by the activities that took place in the rear of the shop.

The bookshelf that served as the door to her back room hung
ajar on its hinges after her hurried chase through the store. Tori paused
before crossing the threshold, running her fingers through her short, blond
hair and taking a deep breath. Once she’d collected herself, she joined her
guests who looked eager to hear the outcome.

“I didn’t get to her in time. We’ll have to deal with her
another way,” Tori said to the three women standing around the table that sat
in the middle of the space, its centerpiece their altar honoring Morrighan. The
women made up her inner circle, as the rest of the coven had taken to calling
them.

As High Priestess of Sherwood coven, Tori led dozens of
powerful witches. Since beginning her reign seven years earlier, she’d more
than tripled their ranks, giving her the power base needed to accomplish their
goal. The unexpected visitor she’d caught snooping around that morning could
put an end to her plan. She couldn’t let that happen, not when they were so
close to completion.

“Um, was that Gracey?” Joy Remson looked ready to throw up.
Her bright and cheerful blue eyes no longer held their usual sparkle, and her
skin had turned sallow.

“Yes, but that doesn’t change anything. We’ll deal with her
just as we would any other coven member. Am I clear?” Tori stared down each
woman until they nodded in agreement. “We don’t have much time. As far as we
know, Gracey could be calling the authorities right now.”

“We could use the cerritus spell.” Liza Sims stood strong as
she waited for a response. As the most loyal and unabashed of the three, she’d
become Tori’s right hand and closest confidant.

Joy all but collapsed into her chair at the suggestion. “We
can’t do that. Gracey’s a direct descendant of the founder.” Although loyal to
a fault, her soft heart often got in the way.

The third and final member of the inner circle, Nicole
Burns, took a tentative step backward, as though putting physical space between
her and Joy would somehow show her allegiance to her coven leader.

Tori placed a sympathetic smile on her face and sauntered
over to the table. “I understand your reticence but, regardless of her
bloodline, she needs to be stopped.” She pulled her hand from her pocket and gently
rubbed the back of Joy’s neck, soothing her.

Until Joy’s eyes shot open and she bolted from her chair.
“Wha—?” she choked out. Her hands clasped round her throat in a futile effort
to open her airways. Eyes that once shone bright bulged from their sockets,
blood already ringing their edges as she sank to her knees.

“I am your high priestess, Joy. Do not question me.” Tori had
neither the time nor the inclination to talk through any reservations that
might be lingering among her inner circle. The time for dissension had passed.
Now, with things already underway, her people needed to fall in line.

Tori allowed Joy to suffer long enough for the skin on her
cheeks to turn purple. Once she felt her point made, she reached into her
pocket and pulled out a small mojo bag. Placing it on the table, Tori untied
the ribbon until its four corners flopped open. Fine powder plumed and hung in
the air, causing both Liza and Nicole to recoil.

Tori used her manicured nail to push aside the rosemary and
bone meal, then picked up the agate crystal slice and crushed it between her
fingers. With the crystal destroyed, the mojo bag became no more than a
collection of herbs and bone dust.

Joy gasped, dragging air into her aching lungs. Tears
streamed down her cheeks where a healthy rouge began to return. “I’m …” she
swallowed to clear her raspy voice. “I’m sorry.”

Nicole handed her a tissue and helped her into the chair.

“Liza, grab what we need for the cerritus spell. Quickly.”
Tori took her place at the head of the table. Neither Joy nor Nicole would hold
her eye contact for more than a moment.
Good
, she thought.

When Liza returned, they made quick work of the spell. The
ingredients included some of the most dangerous herbs of all—the baneful
ones—and they were careful to keep those a safe distance from the altar.
Foxglove, jimsonweed, and belladonna were pulverized with a charmed mortar and
pestle, while inscribed candles burned. As soon as they finished, they poured
the powder into a small jar.

“I’ll do it,” Joy said, obviously trying to win back Tori’s
favor.

“Thank you for offering, but I’ll take care of this myself.”
A moment later, a frumpy older lady stood where Tori had been. Glamour spells
were one of her specialties. “I’ll be back shortly.”

********

Gracey pressed the end button on her phone and let out a
deep sigh of relief. If there was one person in this world that would believe
her and have the power to do something, it was Robert Finley. As director of
the CIA, he’d been her one and only call. Now she could do nothing but wait.

She sat with her back leaning against the base of the statue
of Poseidon that stood sentinel at the beach. The sounds of waves crashing
against the shore, mixed with the smell of salt and seaweed, helped calm her
nerves. Although she hadn’t grown up near the ocean, as soon as she’d moved
there, Gracey knew she belonged. Something about the infinite grandeur of the
sea allowed her to keep her own troubles in perspective.

Until today.

What Tori had already done, and what she planned on doing
soon, couldn’t be diminished by perspective. The fact that Tori had kept her
true intentions hidden from the rest of the coven for so long said a lot about
her cunning. They’d all unknowingly helped create this mess, but they’d need
help fixing it. Even if Gracey told the other coven members the truth, she
couldn’t be sure they’d turn against their leader. And if they did, they’d
still need help stopping her.

Gracey peeked around the statue and down Laskin Road toward
the herb shop. She didn’t know what she expected to see—perhaps lightning bolts
shooting from the roof—but the utter banality of the scene seemed somehow
wrong. Nothing that powerful should be allowed to look so normal.

The hair on the back of Gracey’s neck stood on end as an
overwhelming feeling of dread took hold. She knew who stood behind her even
before turning her head. But instead of Tori, a stranger stared down at her.

“Can I help you?” Gracey asked, confused.

The woman opened a small jar and dumped its contents over Gracey’s
head. The smell made her eyes water as she scrambled to escape the mystery
powder, brushing at her hair and clothes while leaping to her feet.

“Donkey Kong is going to crush you with a barrel full of
marmalade!” Gracey yelled at a young couple passing by.

What the hell was that? I didn’t mean to say that.
When she followed up the crazy outburst by slapping herself in the face, Gracey
knew she was in trouble. She took a deep breath and focused on the words she
needed to say.

“Keebler elves filled the ice machines with poison!”
Horrified, Gracey’s eyes darted between the beachgoers who were now gathering
around her, many warily inspecting their chilled drinks.

“Demons live among us, hiding in meat sacks with curly
hair!” Gracey blurted out.

A child no more than four years old burst out in tears at
that comment, with her blond ringlets bouncing against her shoulders as she
sobbed.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it.

“Demon! Demon! Demon!” Gracey screamed and pointed at the
girl over and over again. The mother grabbed the child and ran to the street,
waving at two police officers sitting in their patrol car.

No, this can’t be happening.
She searched the crowd
for the real culprit but, of course, the strange woman had slipped away. As the
police approached her with their hands hovering over the butts of their
weapons, it occurred to Gracey just how easily she’d been beaten.

Now, nobody would believe her, and she’d never be able to
stop Tori from plunging the country into chaos.