Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“Anthony,” Father snapped, interrupting him. “You’re wrong about Moira, and while she was supposed to return to Olivet, Rico knew her plans. But we haven’t time for this discussion now. Are you certain about the Seven?”

Anthony hesitated, feeling like an admonished child. “Yes,” he replied. “I’m certain that’s who they were summoning, but I can’t say whether it worked, or why they need the Seven, or who specifically is behind it. This is bigger than anything I’ve dealt with. I need my books, I need to research.” He felt far more confident poring over ancient texts than battling demons face-to-face. He’d done it once to save Skye-he didn’t want to go through that horrible experience again.

“Good, I’ll send you anything you need. But please, let Moira do her job.”

“Job? What job?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone.”

Anthony froze. Father Philip was his mentor, had been since he was a small boy. They shared the same last name, because that was the way it was at the monastery with the orphans-one of the priests or monks “adopted” the child and was his primary caregiver. Father Philip had taken him … and Peter. Which was why Anthony didn’t understand Father’s acceptance of that witch, Moira O’Donnell.

“Has this job been going on while she was supposed to be at Olivet?”

“Longer. Anthony-I will explain when we are face-to-face. Or you can ask Moira herself.”

“Neither will happen soon.”

“It may be time for a council at Olivet.”

Anthony couldn’t control the hurt he felt deep inside that Father had kept something as important as this from him for so long. But he said, “I understand.”

“Anthony, I need to talk to Moira, where is she?”

“Jail.”

“You need to get her out as soon as possible! Anthony, she needs your protection.”

“Protection?” He rubbed his jaw. “Hardly.”

“Fiona will find her in jail! The police wouldn’t allow her to have any of her protective gear. You know that!”

For a moment, Anthony felt a twinge of guilt.

Father said quietly, “You and Peter were close. I understand. I loved Peter deeply. What happened was a grave mistake; it was hard on all of us. But you must forgive Moira. Both she and Peter were culpable, but in the end, it was Fiona and her demon who killed Peter, not Moira, and not Peter himself.” Father Philip’s voice deepened. “Anthony, you are very special. Exceptional and gifted by God. You are vital to our calling. But your weakness will be your destruction. If the Seven have been released, your anger will be used against you. You must pray for the strength to forgive.”

Anthony felt the reprimand from thousands of miles away, even though Father hadn’t raised his voice. “Now, tell me, how long has she been unprotected?”

Anthony swallowed a retort and said, “An hour.”

“Don’t let Fiona find Moira. I will leave for Olivet tomorrow.”

“You’re coming to America?”

“I must. Promise me you will get Moira out of jail.”

Anthony struggled, not wanting to obey. “Yes, Father, I will.”

Philip Zaccardi packed light-he didn’t need much.

The priest despised travel. He rarely left St. Michael’s. His fellow monks, the young men he trained, thought it was because he was fearful of flying. They were right about one thing: he was afraid. But it had nothing to do with airplanes.

If Anthony knew the private revelation Philip had been entrusted with years ago, the young demonologist would insist he never leave the island. But Philip had told no one; it was a revelation meant only for him.

The time had come. If he was right-and he believed he was-people would die. If his interpretation was wrong? He’d set into motion a chain of events where far more would suffer and die, including those he deeply cared for. But inaction, doing nothing in the face of evil, was a sin, and to many-including himself-inaction was an even greater sin than being wrong. No one could sit on the fence in the battle of good versus evil. The line had been drawn eons ago, when the serpent first lied to Eve. Sides were still being chosen. Only God knew the outcome, and He wasn’t sharing.

Philip sought out Bishop Pietro Aretino, the elderly vicar who handled the day-to-day spiritual needs of the priests and monks. It was time for confession.

One might think the sins of a devout priest were few, but Philip’s mind was a maze of conflict and doubt. Doubt showed lack of faith, which increased fear, endangering him and others both physically and spiritually.

Philip’s entire life had been filled with doubt and questions. And yet, he persevered. Still, he stood against evil.

After he received dispensation, the bishop took him on a walk through the garden. The garden that he’d at one time cherished was going the way of weeds. Such was the reality of the twenty-first century: fewer young priests with strong backs, more elderly priests with weak bones. At one time, decades in the past, when Philip had been new to St. Michael’s, it was common to have three, four, or even five infants left on the island each year. These young ones were to be raised and trained in the battle against evil. Now? Four in the last twenty years. Did that mean the final battle was near? Would ten-year-old James Parisi be the last warrior in an order that had been founded hundreds of years before?

“You’re leaving,” Pietro said.

Philip had said nothing of his journey during confession, but the bishop was astute, even in his advanced age. “Yes.”

They walked in silence. It was midday, the clouds obscuring the descending sun. Philip paused to pull weeds that surrounded the tree they’d planted after Peter’s death. So many trees in this row … too many trees. Peter. Lorenzo. Elijah. And more.

“Take Gideon with you.”

Philip hesitated, then slowly rose and faced Pietro. “I thought we’d decided Gideon would stay another year.”

“We haven’t the luxury of time.”

Philip didn’t want to disobey orders, but he wanted to keep Gideon safe. His mentor had died last year, and Gideon’s training here was complete. His calling was still obscure, but his gifts were many. Dangerous gifts, and easy for misinterpretation by the young man.

Pietro resumed walking down the broken stone path with deliberate steps, his age forcing him to walk slowly and carefully. “You have affection for the boy.”

Philip followed. “No more so than the others.” Was that a lie? Not a deliberate lie. To clarify, he added, “He reminds me of Peter.”

Pietro nodded.

“Peter failed.”

“Did he?”

“He believed he was stronger than he was; he believed he could turn dark power into light. He kept secrets.”

“You fear for young Gideon’s soul. Your greatest failing, Philip, is your greatest strength.”

When the older priest didn’t elaborate, Philip said. “I’m going to Olivet. I’ll need your blessing and authority.”

Pietro nodded. “You have it.”

“Anthony is asking questions.”

“As he always has. Let him ask. He’ll find answers when he asks the right questions.”

“If he’s right about the Seven-”

“He is.”

Philip stopped walking. “You know something of this?”

“I know the Conoscenza was not destroyed at Santa Louisa.”

“In Santa Louisa! The Conoscenza was destroyed hundreds of years ago. Here, in Italy-”

“A book that had been called the Conoscenza was destroyed, a brilliant forgery. But the real Conoscenza , the one written in ink tainted with demon blood, the one written by demonic hands, the original, which is older than Moses and unintelligible to most humans, is still on earth. Our ancestors in the Order were misguided, led by their own pride and erroneous sense of invulnerability. They were deceived. One of their own betrayed them, a Judas, who forged the book and hid the original so well that no one knew it existed.”