Mortal Sin (31 page)

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Raphael, you need to listen—”

“No,
you
need to listen. Moira is not going to die.”

“This is why I could not tell you. You are not thinking clearly.”

“Then explain it to me.” Rafe sat down.

Anthony did not. He stared at Rafe, as if he didn’t know what to say. “I can’t,” he finally said.

“Whatever is in those papers is a lie,” Rafe said. “I will share the truth as I know it, even though that’s more than you’re willing to do.”

“Is this coming from Moira? What does she think she knows?”

“This is coming from Lily. She has a connection to Father Philip.”

“We can’t believe what she says. She’s the daughter of a witch.”

Rafe slammed his hand on the table. Several books toppled over and fell to the floor. “Father died saving her life!”

Anthony bent over and picked up the old books. He carefully placed them on the table. “That doesn’t mean there is a godly connection,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Whatever you know, Lily knows. Father keeps telling her in her dream to save Moira. It’s urgent. She said that whatever you think you know is wrong, that the papers were altered.”

“They have not been altered! Why do you think I’ve been reading and re-reading all of Dr. Lieber’s original notes? Over and over? Every night? Why my relationship with Skye is in jeopardy because I spend so much time here, at the mission? Rico doesn’t want Moira to sacrifice herself. He begged me to find another solution. But Lieber, in all his writings, was clear about one point: Moira must sacrifice herself to send the Seven back to Hell. It’s the only way. And you and Rico are blinded by misplaced trust and admiration of that woman.”

Rafe shook his head. “God does not work that way.”

“And what would you know? You’ve never fully committed to any of our causes! You are filled with doubt, doing dubious things with that witch.”

The anger in his voice surprised Rafe. He slowly rose from his seat. “I thought we were beyond that.”

Anthony ran both hands through his hair. He took a deep breath. “Raphael, you are my brother. I love you. You need to see the truth.”

“Lily said Dr. Lieber was murdered.”

Anthony opened his mouth, then closed it. He sat down and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“You suspect.”

“The timing of his death was suspicious, but the inquiry showed no foul play. He was an old man. The trip from Switzerland to St. Michael’s was exhausting.”

“But.”

“I don’t see how any of this can be a forgery. You and Rico are grasping at straws!”

“You need to figure it out. It might not have been done physically, but magically. Moira would know.”

“She can not touch these papers.”

“You need to accept her as you accept me.” Rafe paused. “Or have you decided I’m not
pure
enough for your cause?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re one of us.”

“Five minutes ago you said I wasn’t.”

“I did not!” Anthony squeezed his temples. It was clear he had gotten little sleep. Rafe leaned over.

“I will not let Moira die. Not as some part of a supernatural plan to send demons back to Hell. You should have brought Moira to St. Michael’s to inspect Lieber’s body, to inspect the monastery. What if we’ve been breached? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Rico and I are doing everything we can to verify the authenticity of Dr. Lieber’s notes! But martyrs are needed. They are part of our history. They are part of our future. You know that.”

Rafe froze. “Does this assignment Rico is on with Moira have anything to do with this?”

“No,” Anthony said slowly. “You know as much as I do about that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t let her come between us.” Anthony put his hands out, palms up.

Rafe had grown up at St. Michael’s just like Anthony. Just like Rico and all the others. They’d been trained up to be warriors for God, battling evil using whatever talents they had. They were brothers—more than if they had been born of the same woman. They mourned. They fought. They believed.

Never before in his life had Rafe felt his calling more so than now. Ever since he was a boy, he’d studied every possible subject, he’d tried every possible calling, but when it came to committing—to being a hunter like Rico, or a priest like Father Philip, or a demonologist like Anthony—Rafe had stepped back. He knew in his soul, deep where no one saw him, that the decision would have been wrong.

Until now.

Until Moira.

With all his faith, all his knowledge, he knew keeping Moira safe was his purpose in life. Why, he didn’t know. He loved her. Dear Lord, he loved her with every cell in his body. But this knowledge was
more
than any physical or even an emotional love. Deeper. Stronger. Together, they were stronger. Together, they would send the Seven back to Hell. Together, they would save the Order and ensure that free will reigned on Earth. That people could choose—right or wrong, Heaven or Hell, good or evil. It wasn’t Rafe’s place to judge. It was his to ensure a level playing field. With Moira, they could restore balance.

Everything on Earth hinged on balance. Light and dark. Rain and sunshine. Life and death. It had been created perfect, yet was now out of balance. He could almost picture the weight the darkness carried.

If the Seven reigned on Earth, the deck was stacked against humanity. If the Seven won, not only would St. Michael’s Order be defeated, but Rafe’s brothers would suffer and die.

They would suffer for eternity, until the end times.

“If Moira dies, the end of the Order will be at hand.”

Anthony slowly shook his head. “She’s turned you against your brothers.”

“Hate has turned you against the truth.”

Anthony’s skin rippled in barely contained rage. “You know what she’s done! She killed Peter!”

“Fiona O’Donnell killed Peter! You can not lay that on Moira’s feet! Any more than you can blame the eleven innocent priests who were poisoned into slaughtering each other. That was one Judas, Jeremiah Hatch. You can’t blame Moira any more than you can Juan Martinez when he was possessed.”

“She’s a witch!” Anthony shouted. “She may not have practiced in seven years, but she is still a witch in her tainted soul. We must capture the Seven and she must martyr herself to save humanity. Or are you so selfish that you would sacrifice every person, every soul on Earth, because of your lust for a woman?”

Anthony had always disliked Moira, but never had he been so blatant in his animosity and hate. It oozed from him; Rafe could almost taste it.

That is when he realized that something was wrong.

“Anthony,” Rafe said, “you are not yourself.”

“I have never wavered from my path! Can you say the same?”

“You’ve become a self-righteous prick.”

Anthony’s fist came fast and with a force Rafe wasn’t expecting, hitting him squarely on the jaw. Rafe stumbled, grabbed the table, but couldn’t hold on. Books and papers flew as Rafe hit the stone floor. He lay there, stunned by the power and rage in Anthony’s right cross. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat onto the floor. His saliva was pink.

“What the hell is going on?” Skye stepped into the room and stared at the men. Rafe rose from the floor.

Either Anthony didn’t hear Skye or he ignored her. He hit Rafe again. Rafe saw it coming and side-stepped the blow, which barely grazed him. Anthony stumbled and hit the wall. He whirled around and lunged for Rafe.

“Stop it!” Skye screamed.

Rafe tripped Anthony, who fell onto the floor. “Skye—” Rafe said. “Get your Taser.”

Skye hesitated.

Anthony rolled over and pulled himself up. His eyes were wild; he was out of control. “From the minute you woke up from your coma, you were different. I should have seen it earlier. You’ve changed, Raphael.”

Rafe watched Anthony closely. Anthony was moving to his dagger, which was sheathed on the table. His best friend would kill him if he had a chance. And then what would happen? The guilt would kill him. He was infected.

“Skye—” Rafe said to the cop. She was still standing in the doorway, unsure about what she’d walked into, but they didn’t have the time to talk this one out.

“Don’t say her name,” Anthony said. “You plan to betray us all because of that witch. She killed Peter; she’ll kill you!”

Anthony grabbed the dagger and as he was about to throw it at Rafe, Skye fired the Taser into his back.

Anthony writhed on the floor. Rafe grabbed Anthony’s dagger and put it out of reach. “Cuffs,” Rafe said.

Skye handed them to Rafe. He rolled Anthony to his stomach and cuffed him.

“You’ll pay. Pay for your betrayal!” Anthony whispered through clenched teeth.

Skye stared wide-eyed, her hand on the butt of her gun. “What the hell happened, Rafe?”

Rafe pulled back Anthony’s shoulder-length black hair and pushed down his collar.

On the back of his neck was a demon’s mark. The same mark Rafe had seen on several people around the bar last night.

“Anger,” Rafe said. “Wrath.” He should have known from the beginning that Anthony was susceptible. He’d always had a problem with his anger, especially after Peter was killed. Anthony took everything onto his shoulders, the weight of the world, and Moira was—in his eyes—to blame for everything. Moira and every other witch on the planet.

“No, no, no,” Skye said. “You’re wrong.”

“Calm down, Skye.” Rafe was just as worried, but they didn’t have time to debate. “Call Rod.”

“Rod can’t come. He’s overwhelmed with everything that happened at the bar.”

“He needs to put Anthony in an induced coma. Please, Skye, we have to hurry.”

“He’s doing to die.”

“Not if we trap the demon.”

“Moira’s not here. You can’t do it alone!”

“She’ll be back.” If Rafe had to fly to Victoria and get her himself.

The door opened again and Juan Martinez staggered in. He took one look at Anthony on the floor and began speaking in Aramaic.

The portal is opening. The point of no return is upon us.

He repeated it over and over.

Skye approached Juan, shock in her expression. “Where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you.”

“I know.” He sat down heavily on the cot.

Rafe said, “Juan, can you help Anthony?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s marked, Juan. Do you remember anything that will help us?”

Juan stared at Anthony and as if he hadn’t heard Rafe said, “He’s the only one who listened to me. He’s the only one who understood.”

“He’s been here, hasn’t he?” Skye said to Rafe.

“You have to understand—he’s prophetic. He would have been killed in custody.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Rafe. Anthony had him here and didn’t tell me. He knew I was looking for him.”

She felt betrayed, but Rafe agreed with Anthony on this call. Juan was in danger. He was safe here—at least as safe as any of them.

Anthony growled from the floor where he was restrained. “You wouldn’t listen!” he screamed at Skye. “You didn’t understand that I had to protect him! I failed him six months ago. I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail anyone,” Skye said to Anthony. “Until you started lying to me.”

“I. Did. Not. Lie!”

Skye turned away from Anthony and his pleadings, and sat across from Juan. “You need to come to the station. We need to talk about what happened at Richard Bertrand’s house.”

Instead, Juan went over to Anthony and knelt by his side. He put his hand on his head and spoke in a language Rafe didn’t know. Anthony cried out, then was silent. He’d passed out.

“Did—did you cure him?” Rafe asked. He’d seen many miracles, had even witnessed a verifiable faith healing, but nothing quite like this.”

“No,” Juan said. He stumbled as he tried to get up and grabbed the table to steady himself. Rafe helped him up and back onto the cot. “I bought him some time. He’ll rest.”

Skye sat down next to Juan. “Tell me what happened with Bertrand.”

He turned to Skye. “I didn’t kill him, but I was there.”

Skye looked shell-shocked. “Juan—you need a lawyer.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“We found your prints.”

“Because I was there. I said I was there.”

Skye turned to Rafe. “You need to get him a lawyer. I have a major conflict of interest. I should have already placed him under arrest.” She said to Juan, “Don’t say anything else to me. Nothing. Got it? I’m going to read you your rights—”

Rafe interrupted, “Juan, who killed Doctor Bertrand?”

Juan said, “The District Attorney. Martin Truxel.”

“Dear God.” Skye glanced at Rafe. “Moira called and said his sister might be a witch. That he might be one.”

“Why?” Rafe asked Juan.

“The doctor betrayed him. Went behind his back. Martin was not pleased and bashed his head in.”

Juan made hand motions mimicking the attack.

“Why were you there?” Rafe asked.

“I was following the dark one.”

“Who?”

“For two weeks he’s been lurking, watching you. Watching Anthony. Watching the girl with the black hair.”

Moira.

“What is his name?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Juan curled up on the cot and closed his eyes. Rafe didn’t know if he had passed out or was concentrating, but he wasn’t moving.

Anthony cried out, then passed out again. Skye said, “We have to do something for Anthony.”

“Rod is the only one I trust with him.”

Skye looked torn.

“I’ll take care of Juan.”

“He has to come in.”

“Let me call a friend of mine, Doctor Charles Wicker.”

“Wicker? You mean the doctor in Santa Clara that Juan shot and nearly killed while he was possessed?”

“He’s recovered and he’s an ally. We can, um, have Juan put into his care for psychiatric evaluation. But Skye—you have to get Anthony help.” Rafe took Skye’s hands and squeezed them. “Anthony loves you more than anything in this world. It’s that turmoil between love and duty that gave Wrath a path inside. Anthony is intensely loyal, the best of us. He has always put duty first. But he’s also righteous. His anger’s been building for years, and Wrath knows that. You only have to see how he deals with Moira to understand this.”