Original Sin (6 page)

“Fiona,” Serena exclaimed, eyes wide, “that’s the language of the
Conoscenza!”

Fiona couldn’t think now of how Cooper knew the book, as the demons roared from their traps, shaking the foundation of her control. They could not be contained in the bowls forever, and with Cooper trying to reverse the ritual, she was losing them.

He continued to speak in the most ancient of languages and Serena murmured spells to counter him.

“Turn the bowls,” Fiona commanded her coven. “Release the Seven.”

Her followers stared at her, surprised. They were
not
allowed to question her.

“Do it! Or my wrath will be greater than any demon on earth! Turn the bowls and protect yourselves!”

The women turned the bowls that contained the demons and, while chanting protective spells, stepped into the inner circle. The demons roared, now free from the chains of Hell. They swirled within the trap, frenzied by their freedom. If the
arca
were here, the ritual would be near complete. The next step was for the
arca
to draw them inside herself.

If not for Raphael Cooper! He had sent her off, and now the demons had nowhere to go. Nowhere but freedom to roam the earth.

“You are to blame!” she pointed her finger at him. “You take responsibility for the deaths and souls the Seven will claim!”

She turned her face to the heavens and chanted, “Belial, Hecate, Sammael, and all the named and nameless fallen ones, I command thee to shield thy servants, protect the sanctified, and mark the one who thwarted my will!”

The demons broke through their traps, swirling within the double circle, faster and faster, a tornado of smoke and fire, as the Seven lost their growing physical forms and melded within each other, in and out, gaining strength and speed and volume as they rose like a column and surrounded the coven.

Cooper was brought to his knees by a screeching tumult of such intensity that it vibrated within the circle. All dropped to the ground, unable to stand, holding their ears. The candles were snuffed out all at once, and blackness fell. It was chaos as the light vanished—no moon, no stars, no flame. The gut-wrenching sound of demonic screams filled the void.

With an invisible explosion, the Seven burst through the double circle, up and out, into the world.

“Get him,” Fiona told Garrett as she rose from the ground. “Now I will learn his secrets.” She would take deep pleasure in torturing Raphael Cooper. He would tell all he knew before she was through. He would renounce all he believed in and swear allegiance to Fiona!

She would make Cooper suffer. Suffer for as long as it took her to hunt down each and every one of the Seven, even to the ends of the earth. He would pay dearly for his interference.

“He’s gone,” Garrett said.

“He’s not gone. Serena! Light!” Cooper could not have fled so quickly.

Serena fumbled in the dark and came up with a flashlight. She cast its beam around the circle.

The coven members were rising from the ground, the stench of fear rising from their skin. Pitiful.

Cooper was nowhere to be seen.

“How did he breach the circle?” Fiona demanded.

“How did he know the language?” Serena countered.

“Garrett, you and Ian stay and destroy the circle and bring the vessel.” She waved irritably toward Abby’s dead body. “Then find him. I want Raphael Cooper in front of me before sunrise.”

She looked at the others. “Disperse! Quickly! Speak to no one of this. Punishments you could never even imagine await anyone who betrays me.”

“Dammit!”

Moira slammed her fist on Jared’s dashboard as he stopped his pickup truck at the end of the short road that led to ruins along the cliffs.

“They’re gone,” she lamented. And for a split second, she was relieved. She wasn’t ready for this confrontation; she wasn’t ready to die. Guilt washed over her—she needed to prepare herself for the inevitable. She’d been trained for this moment, and now she wanted to run? She could never live with herself if she did.

“Maybe you’re wrong,” Jared said. “Maybe this isn’t what you thought.”

For a split second Moira hoped she
had
been wrong. It had been a mistake to come here, and she’d misread the vision. The feeling she had ten days ago when she walked across the scarred foundation and saw a burning river of tortured souls beneath the earth’s surface. No, she knew she was right about Santa Louisa, but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. What made her think she could beat her mother at her own evil game? Fiona had a lifetime of experience and a passionate—
obsessive
—desire to control the underworld. The power of Hell was on her side. Moira had fear, revenge, and a couple of years’ training with the top demon hunter in the world. That made her little better than a novice. An amateur. And amateurs died while masters prospered. Fiona, most certainly, was a master.

But if she didn’t do
something
to stop Fiona, Peter’s death wouldn’t be avenged. If she didn’t stand against evil, she stood for it. If she didn’t die fighting evil, she allowed it to flourish.

Rico always quoted some guy who’d said
all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good
men
do nothing
. Being cocky, and scared, finally Moira had countered with, “You’re a man, I’m a woman. So you do it.” Rico just stared. He had
no
sense of humor. And when you faced life and death on a regular basis, Moira didn’t understand how anyone survived without enjoying a little humor in life.

She took a flashlight from her pocket and opened the passenger door. “I’m checking it out.” The interior light came on, and she quickly reached up and flicked it off.

Jared became incensed. “We have to find Lily! She’s not here, no one’s here! Where’s her car?”

She understood the kid’s frustration. What if … She shot a glance at Jared. Her instincts told her he wasn’t possessed or under a spell, and both Father Philip and Rico told her to trust her instincts, but she still doubted herself. With minimal movement, she reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small bottle that looked like Visine. She squirted it toward Jared and the holy water hit him on the cheek.

“Hey!” He wiped his face, scowling. No mark, no steam, no rage, no rolling eyes. Even the strongest of demons couldn’t hide their first pained reaction after being hit with holy water, even if it was no more annoying than a bee sting.

“Sorry.” She pretended to put a drop in her eyes and pocketed her emergency “test” kit. She didn’t know why she had it. When she’d faced someone possessed, she
knew
it as certainly as she knew her name. But Rico insisted, and she was good at following orders. Most of the time. Sort of.

“I should have gone to Abby’s house first,” Jared mumbled. “Lily is probably there.”

“You did the right thing.”

“I’ve called her cell phone ten times … maybe she’s mad at me.”

“Stop second-guessing yourself.” Moira should have sat on the girl, or pushed her harder. Lily had seemed too fragile to handle all the information about the dangerous game Abby was playing with magic, and Moira had avoided the harder truths. Some people weren’t ready for
any
truth, let alone the tough facts. Friends who played with the dark arts were already too far gone, but Lily wouldn’t have been able to accept that truth about her cousin and confidante, Abby Weatherby. Once committed, there was no turning back. Once a person tasted dark power, giving it up was impossible.

So Moira had told Lily to stay away from her cousin, to let Moira know if there was anything strange going on, if Abby confided in her. She’d damn well learned her lesson—rely on no one else—and she prayed Lily was alive.

“We’ll just look around the ruins for ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll know if the coven was here. Maybe we’re not too late.” She said it to give Jared hope; she didn’t believe it.

A reluctant Jared followed her into the night. Almost as soon as she’d stepped from the truck, Moira smelled evil. A subtle aroma on the edge of the ruins, growing with each step she took. Incense. Poisoned incense. Strong herbs and odors to control spirits. But it was the sulphuric stench of Hell itself that raised the hair on her arms and made the scar on her neck burn. As Moira neared the midpoint of the spirit trap, she slowed her pace, her feet heavy as lead. Slower. Slower. She wanted to run back to the small, safe island off Sicily and lock herself inside St. Michael’s fortress. She didn’t need this, didn’t want it, but she could not shirk her responsibility.

All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men—and women—to do nothing
.

As Moira approached the wide circle painted in white on the ground, it became clear that the ritual had been interrupted. There were signs of violence—overturned candles, disturbed earth, a feeling of unrest, of commotion. While no candles burned, the scent of extinguished flames hung in the low-lying fog.

There, in the middle of the circle, was a dead body.

Jared saw it right after she did.

“Lily!” he cried.

“Don’t—” Moira tried to stop him, but he pushed her aside and ran into the center of the ruins.

Moira hated being this exposed. There was nowhere to hide, but at least she’d be able to see anyone approach as easily as that person could see her. A small consolation.

Jared knelt next to the body. When Moira looked over his shoulder, she saw it was not Lily, but her cousin Abby.

She lay naked and dead on a red silk sheet. Her eyes were open, her mouth gaping, but there were no wounds on her body. No knife marks, no claw marks, no burns or any external sign of how she died.

Could she have been poisoned? There were impressions in the sheet and ground where bowls of incense had burned, and in the daylight Moira could probably identify what herbs and resins had been used, by scouring the ground for spillage and faint smells. But Fiona and her coven were smarter than that; they wanted to intoxicate their victims, not poison them. They didn’t make those kinds of mistakes.

If Abby Weatherby was dead, they wanted her to be dead.

Jared put his fingers to Abby’s neck, presumably to check for a pulse, but Moira snapped, “Don’t touch her!”

“We have to get her to a hospital,” he said.

“She’s dead.”

“How do you know? You don’t know that. She could be—”

Moira said, “Look at her eyes, Jared. Open, glassy, and her mouth—dammit, she’s dead and you must not touch her.”

She didn’t know why that was important, or even if it was. Maybe it was more important for the cops, none of whom would believe that something supernatural had killed the teenager. Without a doubt this was Fiona’s handiwork. The drama, the location, the oversized circle, the elaborate symbols.

Moira cast her light around the site. She hated being inside this spirit trap, even though it had been violently broken. A pile of incense was scattered across the linen. Dried candle wax mixed with dirt and rocks. Any vegetation or plants, here at the lot where the house had burned, were all dead. Nothing living could survive above a gateway to Hell.

What had happened? The ritual circle was a mess. It was a big no-no in the occult world to leave behind signs of any rituals. Witches were hunted as fiercely as they themselves hunted. If demon hunters—like her, Moira acknowledged—could trace a coven’s symbols, they could better track and stop them.

Leaving
anything
here, at the ruins on the cliffs, told her that Fiona and her minions had been stopped.

Before or after they summoned the demons? Moira didn’t know for certain. But based on the earlier lightning and darkness flying over them, Moira suspected there was at least one more demon on earth tonight.

Jared paced. “Where’s Lily? What happened to Abby? Why is she naked? What’s going on, Moira? You didn’t tell me anyone was going to die!”

Moira countered his hysteria with a calm voice. “I don’t know where Lily is. She and Abby were playing with dangerous things. Where there’s danger, there can damn well be death.”

Moira turned away from the dead teenager, deeply sad and angry at the loss of life. She said, “I don’t know what happened here, but there was a fight—and they left fast. Picked up most of their supplies, but there are two candles over there.” She gestured toward two black pillars on the edge of the circle. “And they didn’t completely eradicate the symbols. Very sloppy, and Fiona is not sloppy.”

Leaving Abby here … that was plain stupid. They always disposed of their victims. They had to, or news of the crime would get out to the public and they would have to be even more cautious. Murder was a crime; occult worship was not.

Ignoring her own advice to Jared, Moira squatted next to Abby and touched her body with two fingers. Her skin was cool and slick with moisture from the ocean fog. Moira was no cop, but she didn’t think the girl had been dead long. And the recent dead were ripe for the picking of demons. If Fiona had brought forth something, it would be around. Or coming back. Demons always returned to their origins—one of many truths Rico had pounded into Moira’s head during their lessons.

She pulled out a container of salt from her pack and poured it in a circle around Abby’s body. She didn’t know whether it would do any good—if the demon was powerful enough, it could just lift her body out of the circle. But it would slow him enough to buy her time. Salt was a purifier and a preservative, a mineral that naturally repelled demons. But like virulent bacteria, the strongest demons built up resistance to any defenses, including ancient defenses like salt.

“What are you
doing?”
Jared asked her, looking at Moira as if she were a nut job. She was used to it. She’d never been normal, and it seemed that now, at the ripe age of twenty-nine, normal wasn’t in her future, either.

“The salt will stop a demon from snatching Abby’s body. She hasn’t been dead for long. After an hour or two”—Moira honestly didn’t know how long, Rico had only told her to guard the recent dead because they could be summoned—“it won’t matter, because the demons won’t be able to inhabit her. Sort of like animals who only eat fresh kills.” She guessed.