Mortal Sin (47 page)

“You bastard,” Rafe said. “You are no longer my brother.”

“Rafe,” Moira began. “We have a truce right now. We don’t have time.”

“He would have killed you for your blood.”

“But he didn’t.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Rafe said. The deep betrayal he felt in his heart spread. “What he did to you, to Rico—to that coven in Anacortes.”

Moira frowned. “Believe me—I know exactly what Phineas is and what he does. But we need him now.”

“You condone him murdering an entire coven?”

“No, of course not.”

“He burned them alive! At the stake!”

Moira’s face paled. She turned to Phineas, shock in her eyes.

“No,” Phineas said. “That’s not what happened. You’re lying.”

“They were teenagers, Moira,” Rafe said.

“How could you do that?” Moira said to Phineas. “You’re no better than my mother. Worse, because you hide behind God. Fucking hypocrite.”

“That did not happen! Moira, I told you the truth—we reflected their magic back at them. We left them half-crazy, not dead!”

Phineas turned to Nikolas. “Tell them!”

Nikolas hesitated. “Adrienne led the mission. We did everything you said, and she told us to get back to the boat. But she followed ten minutes later. She couldn’t have had time to do anything like what he claimed.”

Phineas turned back to Rafe and Moira. “See? I’m not a cold-blooded killer!”

Moira said, “Ten minutes is more than enough for a powerful witch to string up a few people. Especially if she had help.”

“No one was with her,” Nikolas said.

“Doubtful. My guess? Fiona is behind
all
of this. She wanted that coven destroyed for her own reasons, and it would give her great pleasure to use Gabriel’s Sword to do it.”

Phineas rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I never wanted anyone to die, this is not right.”

“Who’s Adrienne?” Rico asked.

“The witch who infiltrated Phineas’s group,” Moira said.

Rafe said, “Phineas, you’ve gone too far. You’ve always gone too far. We don’t kill witches just because they’re witches.”

“That’s not what was supposed to happen. I swear to you, brother.”

Rafe wanted to believe Phineas, but after what he’d done to Moira, Rafe didn’t know if he could trust a word.

Rico said, “We don’t have time to debate this. Do you feel the pressure?”

Rafe looked at Rico who sat on the floor, leaning against a wall. The man was stubborn and in pain, but Rafe would trust Rico wounded more than Phineas whole. “What pressure?” Rafe asked.

“From the Underworld. All around us.”

Moira stepped away from Rafe, and Rafe reluctantly let her go. His presense would cloud her perceptions, and they needed all the inside information they could get.

“Rico’s right,” she said. “Demons are building up for an attack. They are the children of Set, seeking revenge on Phineas and the others. Fiona’s out there, close by. We have to stop her.”

“Plan,” Rico said.

“We draw the demons to one location and trap them,” Moira said, “but I have no idea how. With the coven working double time to break down all the protections in this house, we hardly have enough time to create a big enough demon trap. And then to convince the demons to walk right in?” She shook her head.

She slumped against the wall. Rafe had noted her fatigue when he first saw her, but Moira was more than exhausted. She was pale and thin with dark circles under her eyes. Four nights ago she got on a plane for Montana ready to fight and take on the world; tonight, she looked defeated and weak, as if Rafe could knock her over with a feather.

Phineas was to blame.

Rafe walked up to his brother. They were not identical twins, and Rafe didn’t know if he was older or Phineas, but they were the same height with the same hair and eye color. Biological brothers. Rafe wanted to hit him for what he’d done to Moira. She hardly deserved the treatment, but more than that, Phineas had done it for more than her blood. Phineas had been wanting Rafe to join Gabriel’s Sword for years. Phineas twisted thinking would convince him that if he could convert Moira, the woman Rafe loved, that Moira would in turn convert Rafe. And Phineas would then have what he’d wanted since he walked out of St. Michael’s more than a decade ago: a family.

It’s what they all wanted, but could never have. Duty always came first.

“Moira may have forgiven you,” Rafe said to Phineas in a low voice, “but I have not. You overstepped this time, and there is no going back.”

Moira pushed herself from the wall. “Rest,” Rafe said to her. “You’re weak.”

“Rafe.” She put his hand on his arm. She was so tense, worried. “We have a truce. Let’s keep it for now.”

“I have a plan,” Rico said.

“We’re all ears, Obi-Wan,” Moira said with her usual attempt to lighten the mood. Rico actually smiled. There was hope for him yet, Rafe thought.

“There’s no guarantee it’ll work,” Rico began.

“There’s no guarantee of anything,” Moira said. “But I refuse to stand here and let Fiona shake the house down on top of us. So spill it.”

“The house is the center of the circle. The demons have been trapped between the outside of the circle and the house. We need a trap inside—so when they breech the house, we can effectively trap them in one room.”

“But the cracks from the shaking will split any trap, rendering it useless,” Phineas said.

“Not if we use holy oil for the trap, and light it on fire as soon as they enter.”

No one spoke. “That’s cutting it close,” Rafe said. “We’ll all be sitting ducks until the fire takes hold.”

“And,” Phineas added, “the house will burn down around us. We won’t have a lot of time to get out.”

“It’ll work,” Moira said. “But we still need to destroy the outer circle and weaken Fiona’s magic or she’ll use our own fire against us. And someone needs to perform an exorcism to send the demons back to Hell, all while the house is on fire around them. And how do we? I don’t know anything about the children of Set, or whatever these damn things are.”

Rafe did. He knew exactly what to do, and he didn’t question how he knew it.

“I can do it,” he said.

“No,” Moira said. “No, no, no. You can’t. You won’t get out of the house alive.”

“I will, Moira. I promise you.”

Moira’s eyes watered and Rafe reached over and touched her cheek. “Moira, trust me.”

“I do, but no! I can’t do this alone.”

“You will never be alone; I am not going to die tonight.”

“You don’t know that!”

The house shook again, and this time didn’t stop until after a full minute. A
swoosh
of hot air moved by Rafe. Moira pushed him aside. Her dagger was in her hand and she jabbed it into the air. But it wasn’t the air she struck. A small demon emerged from nothing, impaled on her dagger. It was black with red eyes, looking like a twisted gargoyle. He writhed and screamed, its dying stench a blast from Hell itself.

Moira flung the creature across the room where it fell to the floor, motionless.

No one spoke as they looked from the dead demon to Moira.

“How did you do that?” Rico asked quietly. “I didn’t see it.”

“I—I felt it,” Moira said. She turned to Rafe. “You felt it too.”

He nodded, unable to explain how he’d done so. Except that because he and Moira were together, their bond was stronger. He felt what she felt.

Or she felt what he felt.

“How did you kill it with a dagger?” Phineas said.

“It’s the same dagger I cut myself with.” Moira pointed to his shirt, which was stained with her blood.

“We need to begin,” Rico said. “Time is already against us.”

Moira’s eyes were damp as she grabbed hold of Rafe. “I swear if you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I will not die.” Rafe wished he believed it. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he could send the demons back if they were trapped. And to trap them would take the most powerful demon trap they knew how to create—one with a ring of holy oil fire.

Rico said, “Phineas, you have to be the bait. You’re the one who ordered the demons killed in Anacortes, and Fiona has summoned them with the promise of your soul.”

“I understand,” Phineas said. “I am ready.”

“Rafe, if you know the prayer, you have to be with Phineas,” Rico said, watching him closely.

Rafe didn’t want to—he couldn’t forgive his brother. Not after what he’d done to Moira, and what he failed to do in Anacortes. He’d failed to control his own people, and that had resulted in a mass murder that Rafe would never forget.

But Moira and the others were more important than his anger toward Phineas. He would do what needed to be done.

“I need help with the trap,” Rico said. “I can’t move as fast as I need to.”

“I would be honored,” Nikolas said.

Phineas said to Savannah, “I need you to get the other three to safety. The southeast corner of the basement there is a trap door. It’s camouflaged under a burlap sack.”

“Other three?” Rafe asked.

Moira said, “Adrienne nearly killed three of Phineas’s people with a poison in spaghetti sauce. I’ll never eat spaghetti again.”

“They are too weak to fight,” Phineas said. “Moira saved their lives.”

“Hardly,” Moira said.

Rico nodded. “Get them out, I agree.”

“Jonah, you go with them.”

Jonah frowned and looked at the group. “That means you’re going outside alone? That’s suicide.”

“I have no intention of dying tonight either,” Moira said. “No one can come with me. My mother can’t see me. I’m the only one who can sneak up on her.”

Rafe would have argued, except he was the only one who knew the exorcism that would work on these demons. He couldn’t go with Moira and trap the demons.

Rafe turned to Moira and handed her a piece of paper. “That’s where our ride is waiting.”

“You’d better be there.”

“So had you.” Rafe leaned forward and kissed Moira on her cheek. Then he whispered in her ear, “Trust your instincts, Moira.”

She turned him to face her. “Rafe,” she said quietly, “the one thing I’ve learned in the last three days? I can’t battle the Seven without you. We have to do it together, or we lose the battle.” She kissed him. “No one is going to die tonight. You had better be here.” She squeezed the paper. “Or I’m coming back here for you.”

The heat from the pits of Hell burned Anthony’s flesh as he limped down the rocky path. He tripped over the stones and fell to his hands and knees. His palms were seared and he cried out in pain. The physical pain was tortuous, but the knowledge was killing him.

God, take me now! Deliver me from evil!

He saw the truth. He wasn’t walking on rocks, but human skulls, crushed under the weight of thousands of years of demons traveling along this same path.

Your god can’t save you. You’re mine.

Anthony pulled himself up from the road of the dead and continued along the steep path. There was a way out. If this was Purgatory, he would suffer for his sins and find the way to redemption. The road to paradise. It was here. He would find it. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

God, I did everything you wanted!

Laughter all around him, the foul, sickly breath of demons howling at his pleas.

You lie to yourself. You are a fool.

Anthony ignored the temptations of the demons, ignored their attempts to break his faith. He was flawed. He was a sinner. But he had never wavered in his faith.

That’s what Saint Peter said when he denied Christ three times.

Anthony stumbled again and opened his eyes. The soulless bones stared back at him, accusing him.

You’re marked, Anthony. You’re marked by Wrath. He has your soul now. You will never escape.

Anthony screamed and thrashed. His hand fell into the burning lava that flowed like rivers of blood alongside the crumbling road. Trees of fire towered over him, spirits flew by, their touch a lifetime of agony.

Dear Lord, I am sorry for my sins. For what I have done. For what I have failed to do.

Laughter, again.

They all say they’re sorry, but it’s too late.

He gasped as the sulfuric air made it harder to breathe, the farther up the mountain of skulls he climbed. The trail became steeper, harder, and for every three steps, he slid two back. But he was making progress. He would survive. He had to survive.

Raphael, I am sorry for what I did. Skye—I love you, Skye. Forgive me.

It’s not Skye you need forgiveness from.

Anthony crawled when his legs wouldn’t hold him.

You will never learn. And now, it’s too late…

The mountain of death crumbled beneath him and he fell down, the screams of the damn echoing around him…

#

Skye did a quick reconnaissance before she returned to the truck where she’d left Charles Wicker. “I’m pretty certain only Gonzalez is inside. I saw Juan—he’s sitting at a table. I don’t know what he’s doing. He looks like he’s slumped over, asleep.”

“He’s very sick.” Wicker made a move to get out.

“Stay in the truck,” she ordered. Not only because he was in his sixties and not physically fit to fight the younger deputy who was holding Juan, but he wasn’t a trained cop. She couldn’t both rescue Juan and protect the doctor. “I’ll get Juan.”

“This deputy of yours is probably a witch.”

“I can deal with him. The one thing I’ve learned about these people is that most of them can’t do shit. I don’t think they have any real powers, except for crazy Fiona and her family.” Skye had seen things that she couldn’t explain, outside of the explanation of witchcraft. But most of the players on the periphery had no supernatural power, or if they did, they didn’t know how to use it.

Except that triad. Those girls freaked her out, and she really didn’t like that Hank hadn’t been able to find them after they’d walked out of the sheriff’s station.

“Don’t underestimate anyone.”

“I won’t, but I have a handle on this. Just—be ready for anything. My goal is to rescue Juan, not capture Gonzalez.”