Mortal Sin (21 page)

Rico considered following Moira outside, but decided to let her release some steam. He went upstairs and opened the first door on the left. He’d stayed in this room many times. His home was Olivet, but he was rarely there anymore. They were losing too many battles and he was needed for more than training warriors. The world was on fire and he had only a garden hose to put out the flames.

He stood in the center of the small, tidy room. John’s small leather bag was on the floor at the base of the bed, packed and ready to go. When they travelled, they travelled light because they didn’t know when they would have to leave. Rico put the bag on the bed and unpacked it. A complete change of clothes, an extra shirt, shaving kit. A small, worn Bible, holy water, a small handgun, a devil’s cuff, and other supplies needed to fight supernatural forces.

He repacked the bag and walked over to the dresser and searched the drawers. Empty. He searched the desk and found a book on ghost sightings. In the middle of the book was a folded map.

The chapter was on the Point Ellice Bridge collapse. The map was an old map of downtown Victoria—from 1890. Rico would need Kyle to help correlate the past map with current buildings and streets. This map also had notations on it, but Rico didn’t know what they meant. They were very faint and not in John’s writing.

Rico skimmed the chapter about the tragedy, but didn’t see anything strange until he reached the last page.

A single sheet note was wedged into the book. Again, the handwriting wasn’t John’s.

Hotel basement, midnight.

It was signed
PC.

Rico recognized those initials as well as the bold block letters in the note. He wanted to be wrong, but he knew that he wasn’t.

Phineas Cooper. The leader of Gabriel’s Sword, a group of rogue hunters and paranormal experts who’d split off from St. Michael’s generations ago. They were dangerous, ruthless, and their mission didn’t coincide with St. Michael’s mission. Most of the time they ignored each other, but too often Gabriel’s Sword jeopardized their entire standing in the world. Those who supported St. Michael’s thought the Order should do something to reign in the renegade group. What they didn’t know was that the last time they tried, good people on both sides died.

As far as Rico was concerned, Gabriel’s Sword was a lessor evil, and as long as they stayed out of his way, he’d stay out of theirs.

Until now.

The leader of Gabriel’s Sword was in town and had contacted John. Why would John have done such a thing? At a minimum he should have called Rico. Not only was Gabriel’s Sword was dangerous, Phineas Cooper was the most dangerous man inside.

They had a serious problem, and Rico didn’t know if they should confront it—or leave right now.

Skye went over to the Santos house that evening. When Jared opened the door, she smelled food and realized it was still dinnertime.

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Hank waved her in. “Jared, bring Skye to the table. We have plenty of food.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Sit,” Hank said, pulling another plate from the cabinet. “I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I have to meet Father Isaac at St. Francis after the evening Mass. I just had a favor to ask.”

Hank dished her up chicken in a delicious-smelling mushroom sauce. “You have time. Eat.”

“A few minutes.” She sat mostly because she was tired and weary. And hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which seemed like days ago. “Thanks.”

“Lily called me,” Jared said. “She said Olivet is beautiful, but she wants to come home.”

“Moira will bring her back when it’s safe.”

“Will it ever be safe?” Jared asked.

“I hope so. I have a favor, but you have to be discreet about it.” While they ate, she told Hank and Jared about what Moira said about Martin Truxel. “I called the school and found out that his sister Tiffany has been on leave all semester. Since the day after the attack at Rittenhouse Furniture.” The day they’d captured Envy. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You think she’s one of them,” Hank said.

“Moira thinks it’s suspicious. There may be a connection between Tiffany Truxel and what Moira’s working on in Canada.”

“So what do you need me to do? Ask about her? Find out where she went?” Hank asked.

“No. I need someone to discreetly look into Martin Truxel.”

“The district attorney,” Hank said bluntly.

“Moira’s not here. I need to know what he’s doing and who he’s talking to. Moira thinks he might be a magician, but I have no way of knowing. Anthony might, but I haven’t been able to reach him since this morning.”

“Because of Juan.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Truth was Anthony had avoided her calls. She’d wanted him to go with her to talk to Father Isaac tonight, but he wouldn’t even answer his damn phone. What did that say about their relationship? She’d called Rafe, finally, and Rafe said he’d meet her at the church. But he, too, sounded distracted.

They ate in silence for a couple minutes.

“I can do it,” Jared said.

“Do what?” Skye asked.

“Find out if the D.A. is a witch.”

“No,” she and Hank said simultaneously.

Jared looked from first Skye then to his dad. “I’ve learned a lot from hanging out with Moira. I know what to look for. I won’t do anything stupid.”

That Skye was even considering it made her realize that she was desperate. And what would she do if she learned that Truxel
was
a witch? She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t arrest him or question him or even accuse him.

She was truly grasping at straws, but after what she’d seen at Juan’s apartment, and the fact that he was still missing, she was on edge.

“No,” she said. “Your dad’s a cop, Jared. You’re not.”

Hank said, “I have an idea. I have a reason to go over to Truxel’s house. I’ll bring Jared with me.”

“Truxel isn’t going to buy a lame reason for you stopping over.”

“It’s not lame. I’m testifying next week in a trial he’s prosecuting. I have legitimate questions.”

She considered. “I don’t want you risking anything. This is a long shot, and even if we prove he’s involved with Fiona’s coven, that doesn’t mean squat criminally.”

“I have a vested interest in what’s going on, and if Truxel is involved, we need to know.”

Hank had been infected by Envy and had managed to fight off the worst effects until Envy was imprisoned. Then the demon mark faded away and he didn’t have any more headaches. But they both knew that he would have killed someone or died—or both—if Envy had been on the loose much longer.

“You need to be careful, Hank. If Martin Truxel is part of the coven, he knows Jared has been working with Moira, that you’re both protecting Lily.”

“And if he was one of the people who tried to kill her?” Jared countered. “He needs to pay.”

“That is
not
on your agenda, Jared. Got it?”

“Skye is right,” Hank said. “Follow my lead, Jared, okay?”

“Sure, Dad.”

Skye finished the chicken. She had been much hungrier than she thought. “You know, this might be the right time to stir the pot a bit. If Martin is involved with Elizabeth Ellis and the rest of them, then maybe you can find the right opportunity to drop that Lily went off with Moira. Don’t tell him where she is, just that they left yesterday and even though there’s this friction between Elizabeth and her daughter, you thought Elizabeth should know. As one parent to another, whatever works.”

Hank smiled. “I understand exactly what you want.”

“But please be careful,” she reiterated. “If he’s one of them, he might have a few tricks he can use. I’ve seen some things I can’t explain. I don’t want you or Jared in danger.”

“No more than we already are,” Hank said. “I’m well aware that we’re both already involved. And if Martin Truxel is in any way responsible for the attack on my son yesterday or the death of Abby Weatherby? He needs to be taken down.”

#

Rafe tried to convince Anthony to meet with Skye and Father Isaac at St. Francis, but Anthony was waiting for Bishop Pietro to return his call about the box. Rafe thought that was an excuse—it was almost like Anthony didn’t want to leave Rafe alone with Juan, or that he was still angry with Skye. Or a bit of both.

Rafe went because Skye might not know the questions to ask. He also couldn’t trust that she’d share any information, not when she and Anthony were barely speaking to each other.

He caught up with her as she was about to open the door to the parish. “Skye.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” She glanced over his shoulder, just a split second, but her face fell. “The last parishioner left fifteen minutes ago.”

“I tried to convince Anthony to come, but he has a lot of research to do on the box and dagger.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. He lied to me.”

“I’m not making excuses.”

The church was cool and cavernous, dark wood imbued with a century of burned incense. Rows of candles burned in red votives in a small room off the vestibule. The doors leading into the main church were open. Father Isaac was praying in the front row, his head low.

Rafe dipped his fingers into a font of holy water and crossed himself. Skye didn’t, but Rafe didn’t fault her. He said a prayer for her nonetheless, because she was standing in a crossroads. When she found out that Juan was at the mission, it would irrevocably damage her relationship with Anthony. Unless Rafe and Anthony could convince her it was for the greater good. And even then? She might not forgive them for keeping Juan from her for so long.

They walked down the aisle toward Father Issac. He looked to be deep in prayer, but as Rafe came closer, he knew something was wrong. The tilt of his head on the pew in front of him as his forehead lay on the wood. His hand hanging at his side.

Rafe ran up to the front of the church and knelt in front of Father Isaac; the old priest was dead. His blue eyes were wide with eternal fear. Blood dripped from a gaping wound in his back, though he saw no weapon. His body still warm to the touch. Skye had her gun out and touched the priest’s neck, as if checking for a pulse.

“He hasn’t been dead for long,” she said.

His blood still flowed, dripping into the red carpet, staining it darker.

She said into her lapel radio. “This is Sheriff McPherson, badge number 34009. All units to St. Francis de Sales Church, report one-eight-seven. Officer on premises, suspect at large.”

She released her mic. There was only static.

She repeated her call. Again, no answer.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Stay here. I need to search the church.”

Icy cold crawled up Rafe’s spine. Before he could move or warn Skye, every door in the church slammed shut simultaneously. Every candle and light went out. It was pitch black.

“We have to get out of here,” Skye said.

“The church is protected,” Rafe said. “It’s safer in here. He’s trying to scare us, get us to run.”

“It wasn’t safe for Father Isaac.”

“Because a man killed him, not a demon.”

“How do you know?”

“The wound. He was stabbed. A demon would have done something sacreligious to his body.”

They listened. Complete silence. No ticking clocks, no traffic sounds, no footsteps.

Then a faint crackling. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Rafe looked up at the stained glass windows, high above the two outer walls of the church. A glowing light began to grow on both sides.

Skye’s gaze followed his. “He set the place on fire,” she said. “We have to run.”

They couldn’t see, but retraced their steps to the main doors. Pulled on them, pushed on them, but they were locked. Bolted from the outside. Or bolted by magic.

“Shit, we’re trapped!” Skye exclaimed.

“A tunnel leads from the sacristy to the rectory.”

“A tunnel?”

“Very few people know about it. Trust me.”

Rafe didn’t admit to Skye that even
he
didn’t know how he knew about the tunnel. He just
knew
like he knew other things over the last few months. How to read Coptic. That Moira’s blood could weaken demons. How to stop Fiona’s ritual on the cliffs.

And he knew there was a tunnel though he had never seen it, never walked it, and no one had told him it existed.

Though their conversation was brief, the fire grew exponentially outside, fueled by something. Could have been fueled by magic or gasoline, the effects were the same. It would devour them soon if they didn’t move. Wisps of flames flickered in the high windows. The temperature rose as if they were in an oven. Though the church was made mostly of stone, there was enough wood detailing to help the fire spread to the roof, which was made of wood and very old.

Rafe took Skye’s hand and used the light from the fire outside to work his way back to the front of the church, up the steps to the altar, and into the sacristy. He ached for the losses the church would face—the spiritual artifacts, the art, the historic building itself. But he couldn’t save anything except himself and Skye.

The sacristy wasn’t locked. Rafe opened the door and slipped inside. Now the darkness was impossible to penetrate. He felt around for the hidden panel and knocked over a shelf of vestments.

“Here,” Skye said and turned on a flashlight, handing it to him.

“Thanks.” He shined the light along the back wall. The paneling was old and there was no door.

“Where is it?” Skye asked.

Rafe walked to the twelfth wide board in the wall. He pressed once. Twice. Over and over. “Dammit!”

This was it. He knew it was it, but maybe it hadn’t been used in so long it was stuck.

He pushed against both seams, working on his patience, but he was getting hotter, and the fire was overhead. The cracking of boards, the breaking of glass.

Suddenly, a narrow door swung toward him.

“You were right,” Skye said. It was clear she was surprised.

“Let’s go.”

He led with the flashlight. The tunnel was narrow; they could only move one across. The ceiling wasn’t even six feet tall and he walked with his head down. A musty, unused smell filled his nose. If the other end was sealed off, they were doomed. They would cook in this tunnel and the firefighters would never find them.