Original Sin (34 page)

Distant voices. Movement. A door slamming shut.

Right here, right now, someone other than she was breathing.

Rico called it “mental muscle,” where instincts took over and the reaction to a threat came before conscious, coherent thought.

That mental muscle saved Moira’s life.

She hadn’t registered the movement when she faked right, then dove to the left, between two redwood trees, as a charge of energy hit the ground where she’d been. She fell into a somersault and jumped up ready, dagger in hand.

A strawberry blonde, taller than Moira. Slender. Willowy. Pale.

So familiar, the laugh a memory from the past. Of green and salt air and clover and lavender fields. Of tea and dark beer and freedom.

Of youth and innocence.

Of hope.

Moira shouldn’t have been surprised to see Serena—she’d already gone head-to-head with Fiona—but she was nonetheless startled by her sister’s presence.

“Serena.” She cleared her throat.

Serena grinned. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. You don’t scare me.” Not like Fiona.

Serena wrinkled her nose and said mockingly, “You
should
be scared. If
I’d
trapped you in a jail cell, you wouldn’t have lived.”

Moira’s heart nearly broke. She remembered Serena as a little girl, so sweet, so perfect. Moira had practically raised her during the years they lived in Kilrush before Moira knew about Fiona’s plans for her, before she realized that the magic she used hurt people.

But she hadn’t seen Serena since she’d escaped from her mother and found Father Philip. Serena had just turned thirteen when she helped Moira run away the last time.

Moira hadn’t forgiven herself for lying to Serena that day, but she had to—Serena wasn’t going to leave the coven. She was too needy, too attached. Moira had given her a chance, two days before she planned on leaving, a small test. Shared a “secret” to see whether Serena would tell Fiona. Serena had failed, revealing the false secret, and Moira accepted that her sister would never leave Fiona.

“It’s not too late for you to turn away from the coven. Leave Fiona.” Moira was buying time. She doubted Serena was of the mind-set right now to leave. If only Serena would listen and believe the consequences!

Serena shook her head. “You had everything. You could have walked between the worlds—”

“It was a fucking lie and you bought into it.”

“I’ve been there. It’s no lie.”

“End it now. Tell me where Rafe is and I’ll get him. Fiona won’t have to know you told me anything. We can stop this. Serena. The demons you released are killing people! You don’t have control, but you
can
help stop the insanity.”

“
We
didn’t release the demons. Rafe did. He interfered. We would have had them under control and he loosed them. Now, we will get them back. You saw the message. We want her.”

“I’m not giving you Lily.”

“Yes you will.”

Moira watched her hands. There was something shimmering, shiny, almost seductive, that Serena was playing with in her palm. Moira felt energy building in the still air, the magic growing as Serena was silently working a spell. Her sister had indeed developed as Fiona wanted—into a strong, powerful magician.

Serena said, “Rafe has caused severe damage to our movement, and Fiona is punishing him. Because
you
stole our
arca.”

Serena was trying to twist Moira’s heart and make her feel guilty. Moira forced herself to stay calm and put Rafe—and what Fiona was doing to him—out of her mind. “I don’t want to hurt you, Serena. Walk away now—”

Serena laughed, and her hands seemed to shimmer with a faint orange glow.

“You
hurt
me?
You have no power. You gave up your power. But me?”

She turned her palms toward Moira. A bolt of energy, almost unseen, a sliver of brightness, came forth. Moira put up her dagger as a shield in reflex, but was too late. The energy hit her chest and Moira was thrown back ten feet, right on her ass.

Moira was stunned, but no more so than Serena, who seemed to be uncertain how she’d performed that magic.

Moira knew how Serena had done it. Her sister had somehow tapped into a stream of power from the underworld. An open gate … were the gates still open? Few witches could channel such energy directly from their body—they generally used crystals and rituals to generate that kind of charge. Serena had done it at will.

Serena put her hands up again, an odd smile on her face, but this time Moira was prepared. She held out her dagger and repelled the energy into the closest tree. Her addiction bubbled to the surface, the overwhelming desire to use her dormant magic returning. This morning in Skye’s house, she had felt it; it was stronger now, as if each small taste made her craving grow.

Serena glared at her. “I will kill you!”

Moira realized that it wasn’t a craving to use magic, it was a reflex. She remembered the pain of Fiona’s attack in the jail, how she had battled it internally, not with an exchange of magic. She’d survived. Maybe next time she wouldn’t, but there was hope for her without turning to supernatural forces.

She held her dagger as if it were her lifeline.

Serena laughed. “I’m not possessed. I’m not a demon. Your religious symbols and amulets don’t scare me.” She stepped forward. “You have to believe for them to work. You don’t.”

“I do!” Moira bit her tongue, furious with herself that she’d allowed Serena to goad her into defending herself.

“You don’t!” Serena’s palms went up and Moira turned the dagger to repel the energy shock, using the power of the relics and her internal hope.

The dagger burned in her hands and she cried out, but held tight as the sacred blade reflected the energy safely away.

Serena tried again, but whatever energy she had drawn in was extinguished. And worse for the witch, she was drained. Moira could see it in her stance, the way she swayed like a drunk, in her eyes, in her voice.

Moira said, “Walk away, Serena. Leave Fiona.”

“She needs me.” Her voice was small, almost childlike.

“All the more reason to run away while you can. She’ll weaken if you leave. I can stop her. You can’t let this go on! You can’t continue to play with human lives like we’re game pieces. We’re flesh-and-blood people, just like you.”

Serena attempted to gather more energy, but the attempt pained her, bringing her to her knees, and she struggled for breath.

“I loved you, Moira,” Serena whispered, and Moira remembered the little girl she’d raised when Fiona went off on her extended trips. So beautiful, so fair, so quiet, so smart. Sweetly Serena, Moira used to say.

“I love you, Serena.”

“Don’t talk of love! You don’t know anything!” Serena reached into her pocket and Moira raised her dagger.

Serena threw something small, a crystal smaller than a Ping-Pong ball, on the ground, while saying, “In the name of your master Baal, in the name of your master Baltach, I command thee Prziel to steal Andra Moira’s soul!”

The small ball of glass shattered on the sidewalk. A thick liquid poured from it, the consistency of pooled blood, moving, growing, into a being, a person, a …

Demon
.

With a deformed, horned human head and the body of a goat, the demon took shape and continued to grow.

Moira froze. She’d faced possessed people, but never an incarnate demon.

She’d never faced a pure, soulless spirit.

“Mine!”
the demon hissed.
“Mmmmiiiiinnnnee!”

Her fear was absolute and instant, but she couldn’t allow fear to win. Her soul was at stake, eternal pain and suffering, and it was time to accept her fate, here, now.

She would not die without fighting back.

The demon was far more fearsome in appearance than in action. He staggered, weak, and didn’t seem to see her clearly. Moira could use that to her advantage.

He lunged at her, his body not quite fluid but moving fast and breezily, as if his corporeal form were made of thick gas. He had form, but he over-exerted himself in the failed attack and wavered before her eyes before solidifying again.

He was blind, sensing her through smell or instinct. He staggered, screaming in pain. She hadn’t touched him, only jumped away, into a controlled fall to bring herself back on her feet and ready to fight.

She pulled out what Rico called a poisoned dart: a three-inch iron barb that had been blessed and saturated in sacred oil and ash from Sunday palms.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, go back to the pit!”

It took all her willpower and control to stand her ground as the demon attacked again. She held the dart out and as soon as it pricked the demon’s corporeal shell, the creature screamed an agonizing bellow that Moira felt deep in her chest. She fell to her knees, unable to breathe, unable to move. The demon turned to dust, and a gust of hot air swooshed down and consumed the dust like a vacuum. It happened so fast, and Moira was in such pain, she wondered if she were delirious.

When she could finally look up, her sister was gone.

THIRTY-ONE

My friend, this life we live
Is not what we have, it’s what we believe
.

—3 DOORS DOWN, “It’s Not My Time”

When Anthony and Lily arrived at the mission, he spotted an unfamiliar car. He pulled up close behind it and proceeded with caution.

Lily had slept during the drive up the mountain, and he let her continue to sleep while he inspected the intruder’s vehicle. Just as he noticed the car had a rental sticker in its back window, Father Philip stepped out of the mission’s only remaining structure.

“Anthony.”

He took long steps to reach the only father he’d ever known, and hugged him tight. “Father. It is good to see you.”

“And you, son.”

Anthony stepped back. “Why did you come here instead of Olivet? And without a bodyguard. It’s dangerous here.”

“We have much work to do, but not enough time. Where’s Moira?”

“Gathering information on where to find Rafe. The coven has taken him!”

“Anthony—we need to talk. Moira didn’t go after Rafe alone, did she?”

“We had to split up. She’s at Good Shepherd Church, a front for Pastor Garrett Pennington—one of Fiona’s magicians—hoping that there will be information there to help us find where they’re holding him.”

Father tensed, concern crossing his tired face. Anthony had always known Father was older than most of the elders, but now he appeared even older than his years, and it greatly worried him. “Who is her backup? She shouldn’t be alone.”

“We had no choice. I need to protect Lily Ellis, the young woman they called the
arca
. The coven wants to trade Rafe for both Lily and Moira.”

“They will never exchange him. Rafe’s too valuable to them. Come inside. Fill me in while we prepare.”

“We? You can’t be part of this! You will stay here, where it is safe. With Lily.” But Anthony didn’t know if Father Philip and Lily were safe anywhere, alone. He’d left Rafe in what he believed was a safe refuge, yet they had found him. No one was truly safe as long as Fiona O’Donnell was alive. He wished Rico could come, but he was battling evil elsewhere. Despair rushed Anthony. How could they possibly battle against a coven as large and powerful as Fiona’s with just him, an old priest, and Moira—who wasn’t even part of the Order? So far she had been more diligent and useful than he’d expected, but she’d also rushed off this morning without discussing it with him. Moira was a maverick. St. Michael’s couldn’t function with mavericks; it was their communication and planning and union that gave them the strength and intelligence to fight supernatural battles on earth without succumbing to the dark forces themselves. How could their pitifully small group possibly save Rafe and make sure Lily didn’t fall into their adversary’s hands?

Despondent over their options, Anthony gently woke Lily and carried her inside. There were two small rooms remaining at the mission, the small entrance and what long ago had been the caretaker’s office. He placed her on the cot in the corner, where he sometimes slept when he worked late and the weather was too poor to drive down the mountain.

Father Philip sat next to her and took her hand. “Lily,” he said, smiling. “My name is Philip.”

“Hi.” She swallowed nervously and blinked.

“You’ve been very brave.”

She shook her head. “I’m scared.”

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. I have a few questions for you.”

She glanced at Anthony. “You can trust Father Philip,” he told her. “I’ve known him all my life.”

Father Philip said, “I don’t blame you, Lily, for not trusting me, or Anthony. But—”

She shook her head and sat up on the cot, leaning against the stone wall. “I trust you. Moira told me the truth from the beginning, but I didn’t want to believe her. She told me I could trust Anthony, and I do. I’m okay—I just wish I understood what was going on. My mother—she’s a witch. I don’t understand, but I know what I saw.”

“Did you see your mother on the cliffs when Abby died?”

She shook her head. “But she was there! She told me she was; she knew what happened before I told her.” She looked from Father to Anthony and asked, “Is Jared okay? I haven’t seen or talked to him since yesterday morning, when his dad took me home. My mom took my cell phone, wouldn’t let me talk to him, or go on the computer. When I tried to leave, she locked me in the basement and said—” She paused and bit her lip nervously.

“What did she say?” Father Philip prompted.

“That I was here for a purpose and I should be proud. But Abby died, and my aunt came over last night and I heard them talking—”

“Your aunt? Abby’s mother?”

She nodded. “Aunt Darcy. She’s my mom’s cousin, but I always called her aunt. And she wasn’t crying or anything about Abby. She was actually mad! At me because I’d run away.”

Father nodded. “Abby, I’d like to baptize you. A Christian baptism. I need you to answer the questions I ask truthfully. You are of the age of consent, and if you lie, I can’t help you.”