Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

Moira said, “I’ll know.”

“If they value it so much, won’t they lock it up?”

“No reason to,” Moira said. “They probably have a hidden altar-either a locked room or a room behind a false wall. I can find it. Protective magic will be stronger the closer we get to the chalice.” She frowned, and Rafe reached over and took her hand. He didn’t say anything, but she squeezed back.

She cleared her throat. “So what’s your plan?”

“We wait until everyone inside is asleep. Then we go in and steal the chalice. Put it in Jackson’s iron box, and then … what?”

“I have a vault,” Jackson said. “I can keep it there. It will be safe, at least for a while.”

“See?” Rafe smiled. “A plan.”

“Waiting. My favorite thing,” Moira said sarcastically as the three of them left the hotel room.

As soon as Anthony landed in Italy and worked his way through customs, he called Skye even though it was nearly two in the morning in California. He’d promised he’d call when he landed, and if he woke her he’d say good night and remind her that he loved her.

He simply wanted to hear her voice.

Skye picked up on the first ring. “Anthony?”

“Good morning. Why are you awake so late, love?”

“I can’t sleep.” She sounded exhausted.

“What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?”

Anthony stopped walking through the airport and found a place against the wall where he could stand without being bumped by other passengers. “Tell me. Is it the situation in L.A.?”

“Partly, but Rafe and Moira are working on it. They’re consulting with Jackson Moreno. Know him?”

“Yes, very well.” He breathed marginally easier. “He’s trustworthy.”

“Good, because I had to come home. Truxel dropped the charges against Elizabeth Ellis. She’s out of jail.”

“And Lily?”

“She’s here with me. Then there’s the press-” She stopped.

Anthony heard the tension and stress in Skye’s voice.

“I’m not going to complain.”

“You can tell me anything, Skye.”

“I know. You do your thing, come back soon, okay?”

Anthony spotted John Vasco from St. Michael’s crossing the baggage claim area. Anthony raised a finger and John nodded.

“Of course,” Anthony said quietly. “As soon as possible. Are you okay, Skye?”

“I’d be better if you were here.”

“I miss you, mia amore.”

“Ditto.”

“Be careful. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”

“Love you, too. I hope this trip of yours is worth it, that we have the answers we need to stop these … things.”

She still had a hard time talking about demons.

“So do I.”

He reluctantly cut off the call. John approached. Anthony hugged his brother-in-arms. At forty-three, John was the oldest living demon hunter out of St. Michael’s. He’d backed off most assignments and acted more like a bodyguard than a hunter, but he still worked in the field when needed. He said little, and his loyalty was legendary. He’d risked his life to save both his comrades and innocent strangers, and never once complained or questioned his duty.

“Good to see you,” Anthony said.

John stepped back, his expression grim. “Dr. Lieber is dead.”

Rafe drove by Wendy Donovan’s house in the Hollywood Hills and there was no activity. They drove far around the hillside, then turned around and came back. Still no activity.

“Maybe they’re at the club,” Jackson said.

“Wendy left early,” Rafe said.

“Oh yeah, right about the time their good friend Nadine had a fatal accident with a demon.” Moira rolled her eyes.

Rafe parked down the hill, out of sight from the house. The three of them walked along the edge of the road and stopped in a cluster of trees across from Wendy’s driveway to inspect the property. The house looked deceptively small from the front as the entrance was on the top floor and the structure went down three stories, terraced to complement the cliffside. It was after midnight. The house was quiet, but not completely dark. Dim lights on each floor-the subtlety of a nightlight-highlighted each curtained window. No movement or sounds came from the house.

Rafe didn’t like the risk they were taking, but waiting until Wendy Donovan went to work tomorrow ran the risk of there being another innocent victim. And considering what had happened when the demon left Nadine Anson’s body, whoever hosted the demon would be at similar risk.

Moira had been unusually quiet and physically tense as they waited, and Rafe gave her some breathing room, keeping his eyes and ears open, concerned for her safety. She was exhausted, and if they had any other choice, he would have taken her back to the hotel to sleep.

“They protected the house from evil spirits,” Moira whispered. “The spells grew as we got closer, but right here it’s stronger. They must have left an opening for the demon. We find that opening and that’ll be the room where they have the altar and spirit trap.”

“And the chalice.”

“Right.” She shivered. “They’ve been doing this for years; they have it down. The spells are strong. But they have settled in the house.”

“Settled?” Rafe asked.

She frowned. “I–I don’t know. It feels heavier at the bottom than the top. I wish I could explain it better.”

Jackson said, “This is the top story-there are two more beneath it. Does that mean their altar is on the bottom floor?”

Moira didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Wait here.”

She started across the street before Rafe could stop her.

“Moira!” he whispered loudly.

She put her finger up in the air behind her and disappeared in the roadside shrubs that framed the front of the house.

“Dammit,” Rafe said. He wanted to go after her, but he knew-he hoped -she wasn’t going to do something stupid.

Moira wasn’t reckless, even though she repeatedly risked her life. He had to count on that now.

Time passed slowly as he waited, and Jackson said, “Should we follow her?”

Rafe glanced at his watch. He was getting antsy as well, but it had been only two minutes. “Give her another minute.”

Moira came back in less than that. “The altar is on the bottom floor. That entire space is like a psychic fortress. But there is definitely a hole in the far corner. That has to be where their demon trap is.”

“We should go down the cliff and in through the bottom,” Jackson said.

Moira shook her head. “They’ll know. There’s no easy way to get to the bottom-floor balcony without more equipment than we have, or making a shitload of noise. And breaching that fortress could very well alert them. We go in from the top, work our way down.”

“But doesn’t that put us more at risk?” Jackson said. “Greater chance of encountering someone?”

“I didn’t sense any movement inside. There are no bright lights anywhere in the house. If they have an alarm, we’re screwed.”

“Not necessarily,” Rafe said.

She raised her eyebrow. “Oh? Holding out on me?”

“I have a bit of skill in that area. I’m about as good with security systems as you are at picking locks.”

“That good, really?”

Rafe liked that Moira was bantering with him again and not deadly serious. She would perform better-and safer-if she relaxed.

Moira picked the lock on Wendy’s front door quickly, and Rafe inspected the entry for evidence of an alarm. No sensors, no pads, no wires to indicate an alarm system.

“Clear,” he whispered.

He closed the door soundlessly and surveyed the space. Their eyes were already adjusted to the absence of light and they listened intently. An antique clock-several of them, by the sound-tick-tocked in a room to the left. The entry itself opened into a large square gathering room. To the left was a grand dining room that sat at least a dozen, with pillars instead of walls separating it from the entry and the hall.