Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“I know you are upset with me, Philip, and I am sincerely sorry that I had to keep information from you. Rico needed Moira to believe that she was to be one of us, but it was simply to divert her questions. He never lied to her.” He hesitated. “Since you’re reluctant to bring Gideon, instead John will escort you to Santa Louisa.”

“I’m going to Olivet.” Even as he said it, Philip realized that he’d been unconsciously planning to go directly to Santa Louisa. Anthony, Moira, Raphael-they were in danger, and they needed the truth if they were to have a chance.

Philip wiped drops of rain from his cheek. “They deserve the truth.”

“Perhaps. Philip, up until now, Moira’s visions have been of the present; if she begins to see the future we have to stop it.”

Philip shook his head. “There are gifts-”

“Her gifts are not from God. Philip, you are blind when it comes to Moira. I need you to be safe. John will escort you to Santa Louisa. He can protect you.”

What Pietro was implying … “Moira would never hurt me, or any of us. It took her years to accept the assignment to”-Philip hesitated, unable to say the word kill , in violation of all he believed- “stop her mother and the coven.”

As he passed Peter’s tree again, he glanced over, his heart heavy. Pietro had said all he had to say.

They stepped inside the stone halls, water sliding off their clothes onto the ancient floor. Philip said, “I will leave tomorrow. Gideon will stay here, yes?”

Pietro nodded solemnly. “Agreed. Gideon will join you later. I will prepare John to escort you. You’ll both leave at dawn.” He took Philip by the arm. “We cannot lose you, Philip. I’ve been … uneasy lately. Without you, we lose our center.”

“I am merely a man.”

“You are a rock, Philip. I remember when you arrived at the gates. I was ten, not privy to much, but I heard Father Lucca say, ‘This one, he is of the foundation. We must protect him as long as possible.’ And he took you under his wing. It was a first for him; he’d never raised one of us.”

Philip had never heard that story before, and it moved him. “Are you keeping anything else from me?” he whispered.

“You now know everything I know, but-” He stopped.

“But? Pietro, please. I must know.”

“The Cardinal knows more.”

Moira realized after hitting Anthony that she’d let her temper get the better of her, but connecting her hand with his arrogant face had been so damn satisfying that she gloated for the first five minutes she was locked behind bars. True, she probably couldn’t take Zaccardi out in a fair fight, but she didn’t care if she played fair, and she’d surprised him. Wham! Down on his knees. She wished she’d broken his nose, but no such luck. She rubbed her hand. Rico had taught her how to pull punches to minimize damage to herself, but damn, her palm was still sore.

There were only four cells in the Santa Louisa County jail, plus a larger “drunk tank.” There were two men in the drunk tank-sleeping. Only one other cell was occupied, and that man was sleeping as well. Though the place was clean, she occasionally caught a whiff of stale urine or vomit underneath the antiseptic cleanser.

Her cell, surrounded by three smooth, gray cinder-block walls, was on the opposite side of the wide walkway. Narrow steel bars and the three sleeping prisoners were her only view.

Six minutes of incarceration and the walls began to shrink. Her heart raced as the floor seemed to rise. She knew she was panicking, but knowing it didn’t stop the pressure in her chest, or the sweat from breaking out on her neck, between her breasts, and on her palms.

She’d been in prison before, only nothing as lavish as the Santa Louisa Sheriff’s Department.

The first time Moira had run away she was sixteen. And because she’d been stupid and unskilled in survival, Fiona had found her. Punished her. Sent her underground, in a dungeon of an abandoned castle in Ireland. Dark. Cold. Damp. With the foul stench of mold and decay, of dead, rotting rodents. She heard the rats scurrying all around her, above her on the beams, in the corners, in and out of the bars of her cell. It could have been the seventeenth century as easily as the twenty-first.

Fiona had left Moira for a week. Alone. With only enough food and water to ensure survival. Into her dreams, Fiona had sent monsters so real Moira didn’t know whether they were nightmares or reality. She hallucinated and had nearly been broken. Nearly . Except for the hard rock of hatred in the core of her heart, hatred of Fiona. It kept her alive, it kept her breathing, and when she was free she played Fiona’s game for months. When she ran again, Fiona didn’t find her for nearly five years.

Moira’s breath caught and she stared at three barred, horizontal windows on the far wall. Tilting her head up, she stared greedily at the dark sky, a nearly full moon blurred by high clouds. She had to get hold of herself. She wasn’t underground, this wasn’t a dungeon, and Fiona didn’t know she was here. She focused on the red planet through a small opening in the clouds. Mars was so bright tonight! She watched it appear and disappear as the clouds and earth moved. Imagined being outside, beneath a vast array of stars, in an open field, physically free and emotionally calm. Without trouble, without the pain of regret, without the torture of memories that burned.

It felt like hours, but it had only been ten minutes since she’d begun to panic. The terror subsided, but she felt … prickly, as if she were being watched. Tense, knowing that the panic of confinement was just beneath the surface, just waiting for something to draw it out.

The deputy who had brought Moira in had left, but he had to be nearby, didn’t he? They wouldn’t leave her in a locked cell without being able to see or hear her. She called out, “Hey! Come on, let me out! Please! Find the sheriff-” What was her name? “Skye! Are you there?”

“The courts open at nine a.m.,” the man alone in his cell said from across the corridor. “Shut up or you’ll wake the boys. They’ll puke up their rotgut dinner and we’ll be smelling that shit for hours.”

Moira wasn’t getting into a conversation with anyone. Instead she focused on paying Anthony back. She’d deck him again-out of sight of his girlfriend the cop.

“You’re too fresh-faced and pretty to be a hooker,” the prisoner said. “And you don’t look drunk. Drugs?”

She didn’t respond.

“Come on, sweet thing, talk to me. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” He laughed at his stupid joke.

She glared at him and turned her back.

“Bitch,” he mumbled. “Hope you go to State; the dykes would love to wipe the floor with your attitude.”

Anthony wouldn’t let it go that far, would he? Send her to prison for years? No, he couldn’t. Father Philip would get her out. First call she made would be to Rico. He’d get here fast in his private plane. No way he’d let her stay in prison. And he’d beat the living daylights out of Anthony for putting her here. She hoped she could watch. No one fought better-meaner or dirtier-than Rico.

The door opened at the guard station. Finally.

Moira was about to rip Sheriff Skye McPherson a new one, but she bit her tongue.

It wasn’t the sheriff coming through the door. Even before she saw the woman, she knew who it was.

Fiona .

An exotic, seductive scent-lavender and orchids and dark ocean breezes floating on a rich, musky base. Unique, enchanting, deadly.

Moira quietly backed against the wall closest to the door, where Fiona wouldn’t first see her-not that it mattered. Fiona knew she was here; otherwise she wouldn’t have come, wouldn’t have risked exposing herself. But Moira needed a minute, a few seconds , to adjust to seeing her mother again for the first time in seven years, when she’d blindly caught up with Fiona after Peter’s death. Rico had risked his life to save her. She hadn’t deserved to be saved.