Mortal Sin (44 page)

Savannah spoke up for the first time. “Moira? How did the demon get inside? With all our protections, how did it walk into the house, even inside of Jonah?”

“Adrienne,” Phineas said. “I should have killed her!”

“Stop it! I need to focus.” Moira stepped away from the three of them because their fear and anger was affecting her. She let the magic in the air touch her. It oozed over her, caressing her skin, making her crave it. It would be so easy to turn the spell against Fiona and the others. She knew how. She had once been strong.

But then she’d be destroyed.

She closed her eyes. Felt the different strands. “There are five witches, working together to weave this spell.” Fiona didn’t work with others, except maybe Serena. “It feels bigger because together, they’re stronger. Like the triad.”

“What triad?” Phineas asked.

“It’s a summoning spell.”

You are the reward. Revenge is sweet.

“Phineas—the demons you killed last night. Their brothers want you, to punish. Fiona’s coven promised them your soul in exchange for me.”

“What are you talking about?” But he looked worried. He damn well should look worried!

The magic changed suddenly, and Moira had her dagger out, expecting an imminent attack. “Something’s happening—”

The spell shifted. There was another threat, but Moira couldn’t figure out what was going on. She needed eyes on the circle. She had to stop it. One Son of Set she could handle; but if the coven brought forth more, she would be out-numbered.

“I need to see what she’s doing,” Moira said.

“I saw on of them at the edge of a circle,” Jonah said. “It’s huge. I can take you.”

“I need my jacket,” Moira told Phineas. “With everything I had inside.”

“I will fight with you.”

“You may die with me.”

“Moira, I would be honored to die with you.”

Creepy, but the sentiment was valid. “We’re not dying tonight,” she said.

I hope
.

It was six in the evening when Skye reached the abandoned sugar factory on the southern coast of Santa Louisa. The sinking sun was blocked by a thick fog that came off the ocean. A lone patrol car was parked by the entrance.

She stopped her vehicle fifty yards back. She could barely see the entrance through the fog, but she hoped that meant her arrival would be a surprise to Deputy Gonzalez.

Skye said, mostly to herself, “They took Juan for a reason.”

“He witnessed your D.A. killing someone. That’s reason enough,” Dr. Wicker said.

“Then why not kill Juan? They could have made him disappear. Truxel didn’t know he’d been there until we got the report on Juan’s fingerprints. Juan had been following Matthew Walker, not Truxel.” She frowned.

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I’m missing too many pieces. But taking what we know, it seems that Walker came to town two weeks ago and found the dagger. How? How did he know it was in the Hangstrom’s storage unit? Someone else must have been researching it for him. The bank was foreclosing, they were selling all contents, and someone local must have known the Hangstroms were close to the church.”

Wicker said, “From what you’ve said about this dagger, it was protected by St. Michael’s. How did the Hangstroms get ahold of it?”

“I don’t know. But if they were close to St. Francis church, then maybe they were close to the priests at the mission. Or one of the priests.”

Bertrand had kept Rafe in a coma for a reason. They wanted something from him. Information?

“Let’s say that one of the priests gave the box to the Hangstroms for safe-keeping. Is that possible?”

“Yes,” Wicker said. “Unlikely, but possible, if they thought someone was trying to use it.” He paused. “They were troubled priests because of their past, but they were getting better. Rafe and I worked closely with them. Some would never be whole, but others… ” His voice trailed off. “Anyway, when the witches started poisoning them, they grew increasingly paranoid. We knew something was wrong, but we didn’t know what or why. Maybe in their paranoia, one of more of the priests thought the dagger in the box was affecting them. It would make sense, knowing what we know about their psychosis. Many of them had encountered demons in artifacts and buildings, trapped and helpless, but freed through evil or magic. It would be logical that they would try to put an object of evil as far from them as possible.”

“Why the Hangstroms and not the church?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they thought whoever wanted the dagger would look at the church?”

Made sense, but Skye wished she had better information, not relying on theories and conjecture.

“Whoever Walker was working with located the dagger. Walker came to retrieve it. Why did he stay for nearly two weeks?”

She didn’t have an answer, but continued her extrapolation. “Juan said that Truxel thought Bertrand betrayed him. What if Bertrand located the dagger and informed Walker? Maybe Truxel wanted it as well.”

“Nine,” Wicker muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You keep saying ten days between murders, but it’s nine. Nine is an important number in numerology, and very important in many rituals, both devout prayer and satanic rituals. Walker may have needed the nine days to purify himself. To be able to control the dagger. If he is in fact the one who killed both the homeless veteran and Father Isaac. It’s nine days, and that’s what’s important. That’s why he stayed.”

“You may be right.”

“I am right. And if Rafe were here, or Anthony, they would tell you the same thing. If Walker controls the dagger, if he controls the demon inside it, he is far more powerful than we can imagine.”

“Great,” she muttered. “So why do they need Juan? Why not kill him?”

“I don’t know. Except they think he can be useful.”

“Wait.” She sat up. “If we’re right and Truxel thinks Bertrand betrayed him, that means he’s on the outs with Walker and Fiona’s coven. Maybe he’s using Juan as a pawn. Or trade. Or something.”

“Juan was possessed by a powerful and ancient demon. What that demon knew, Juan knows. That’s why he’s been so twisted these last six months—the last three in particular, since the Seven were freed. His writings make no sense to us, but they make sense to
someone.
Maybe the coven.”

“And if Truxel gets them, then he has information that the coven wants.”

“A dangerous game for all concerned.”

“It’s been a dangerous game for the last six months since Fiona started this fucked plan.”

More than anything, Skye wanted these people out of her town. Out of her life.

“Let’s get Juan back.”

#

“You shouldn’t have come,” Rafe said for the third time.

He and Rico had left Glenn at the small airfield near the coast of Guemes Island. They’d taken a boat over, but Glenn had a lot of friends and had procured a small plane that would take them back to Santa Louisa when they found Moira.

Rafe had wanted Rico to stay with the plane.

“You’re our pilot,” he’d said. “If you get yourself killed, we won’t be getting off the island.”

“Moira can fly a plane.”

“Dammit, Rico!”

Arguing with Rico was fruitless. The man was part machine. But his machine was falling apart. He was limping badly, and they’d already stopped once to redress his bandages. Though the wound itself was relatively clean, walking on it all day had irritated it and ripped the stitches.

“Rafe?” Rico said.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

So Rafe kept his opinion to himself. Glenn had given them the layout of the compound where Phineas had been living on and off for years. It was a terrific location. Secluded, in the middle of a tree-studded mountain in the middle of a low-population island. Access by private plane or boat. Easy to hop into Canada if the heat in the U.S. got hot. A good place to regroup. Similar reasons why Olivet was in the middle of Nowhere, Montana. People didn’t ask questions. People kept to themselves.

There was a vehicle in the distance, and Rafe put his hand up to stop Rico from walking or talking. He pointed in the direction of the voices, and Rico nodded.

The map Glenn had drawn showed them they were about fifty yards from the compound boundary. A private road led directly to the compound. There was nothing else around them—no people, no rangers, no town. They were walking parallel to the driveway because Phineas would have security—both cameras and people—to watch for danger.

They ran low toward the driveway, then hid behind a thick grouping of trees. To the west Rafe could see the gate. There were two cameras on either side of the locked gate. Barbed-wire fences went off in either direction.

They waited.

A black SUV passed their hiding spot. It idled at the gate. A stunningly beautiful black woman got out of the passenger seat and pointed at the cameras. A spark burst from each. Then she walked to the lock, said something Rafe couldn’t hear, and the lock fell.

A witch.

She pushed the gate open and the SUV rolled through. The woman got back in. They disappeared from view.

“They’re all in danger,” Rafe said.

“We came to rescue Moira,” Rico said. “I am not concerned about what happens to Phineas and Gabriel’s Sword. Not after what they have done.”

Rafe couldn’t disagree with Rico, but he wasn’t going to allow a coven to murder his brother and his brother’s followers, as misguided as they were.

“We need a plan,” Rafe said.

“We get to the barn as Glenn indicated. We’ll have full view of the house and the property, then we can find the best approach.”

Rico was right, but Rafe feared they were walking into a far more dangerous situation than they had planned for.

And he always planned for danger.

#

Kyle had been edgy all day, ever since he’d returned from taking Rico and Rafe to Anacortes. Spirits were trying to talk to him, but he’d shut them out. Shutting them out made him even more nervous, because the more he closed off, the more urgent they became.

Still, he’d promised his uncle that he wouldn’t communicate with any of them until they had word from Rico that things were okay. “Okay” being kind of subjective these days. Too many things going on that they couldn’t explain. The little he had slept since the battle in the hotel basement was broken and disturbing.

But more than one spirit was trying to communicate. To warn him, he thought, but he didn’t listen closely because he’d promised he wouldn’t.

After he cleaned up after dinner, Kyle planned on staying up to keep watch, though he didn’t really know what he was keeping watch for. Soon, fatigue won and he dozed in the big chair in the living room.

A knock on the door startled him awake.

“Uncle Brody?” he called out in the semi-dark.

The rectory was quiet. By design, they had a small parish, so Uncle Brody could work on special projects for St. Michael’s. He rarely went out in the evenings. He glanced at his cell phone—6:39 at night. He was surprised that his uncle was already in bed.

Kyle walked to the door and looked out the peep hole. A lone man stood there, about forty, well-dressed with a wool overcoat, appropriate for the evening. Without unchaining the security bolt, Kyle opened the door the inch it allowed.

“May I help you?”

“Kyle Callahan,” the man said, “I’ve been eager to meet you.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Matthew Walker, and I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m not interested.” He closed the door. He started for the stairs so he could wake his uncle.

The chain on the door rattled behind him. Kyle turned around, startled, and as he watched the dead bolt turned and the man walked in.

“Kyle,” Matthew Walker said, “if you want your uncle to live, you need to come with me.”

“What?” Kyle was confused. Every instinct told him to run, but his uncle was his only family. Uncle Brody had raised him after his parents were killed. Kyle would do anything to protect him.

“I need someone with your unique skill set. When you are done, you can return home. No strings.”

“You’re a witch.” That was the only explanation for how the chain fell from the lock.

“I prefer magician.” He shrugged. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

“No—”

“Your uncle is asleep. He’s sleeping because of a spell I cast over him while you were off assisting my enemies. I could have killed him, but I’ve come to appreciate that murder doesn’t inspire people to do what I want. However, your uncle will not wake up unless you help me. He may survive three, four, five days—and if the doctors put him in the hospital, put him on fluids, monitor him, he may survive for weeks or years. But he will never wake up unless you do exactly what I want. Do you understand?”

Kyle ran upstairs to his uncle’s room. Brody slept on top of his comforter, fully-clothed. Kyle shook him, trying to wake him up. “Uncle Brody! Please wake up.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t grunt or groan or wave Kyle off. Kyle checked his pulse; it was strong. But Brody would not wake.

He spun around. Matthew Walker stood in the doorway. “Come with me, or I’ll kill him now.”

Kyle hesitated. He looked around for answers, but saw nothing. No weapon. No sign. No one to help. He was alone.

Just like when he was three and his parents were killed.

“Time’s up,” Walker said. He walked over to Brody. Kyle pushed the witch away from his uncle.

Walker scowled.

“I’ll do it!” Kyle said. “What do you want?”

“You have to come with me.”

“Help my uncle first.”

“No. I’ll wake him up after you perform. We’re going on a trip to the states.”

“I can’t leave him here like this!”

“One night won’t kill him. When he doesn’t show up for his poorly attended eight a.m. mass, someone will check on him; otherwise, his housekeeper will be here at noon, correct? Someone will call an ambulance. He’ll get an IV and they’ll run tests and they’ll conclude that he’s in an unexplained coma.”

Walker led Kyle from the room. “I’ve done it before, Kyle. And as long as you behave, I’ll wake him up. But you screw me? I will kill him. And I always keep my promises.”