Allison Brennan - Original Sin

If Moira succeeded in stopping Fiona, another magician would take her place. There were always more waiting in the wings, studying, practicing, looking for an opening to seize power and wrestle control away from the demons. It was as euphoric as it was deadly, as addictive as it was dangerous.

It was Fiona who’d united the covens and magicians in pursuit of her goal, Fiona who’d convinced them that together, they had influence. She’d been right. And the more control she wielded, the more covens would join her, a never-ending cycle that had to be stopped.

Moira felt like a pawn, expendable, used first by her mother from the moment of her conception, then by St. Michael’s Order. They didn’t care what happened to her. Deep down, she knew it. They wanted one thing from her: a weapon against the rising dominance of Fiona O’Donnell and the legions of covens she directed.

Sometimes Moira wished she’d let her mother sacrifice her.

Sometimes she wished she could just disappear forever.

Most of the time she wished she’d never been born.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Self-pity is for the weak; regret is for the hopeless .

“Shut up, Rico,” she whispered.

God may have forsaken her, but evil couldn’t triumph. If she lost to Fiona, every sacrifice Peter had made would be for nothing. His death would be for nothing. The cycle would repeat like a violent No Exit . Sartre would be amused, perhaps, at the endless game where the end was certain, but irrelevant.

Peter .

She fell to her knees in the wet, sandy soil, her body vibrating with restrained sorrow. Tears, mingling with the rain, fell to the rocky earth.

“It’s not fair!” She pounded the ground with her fists. She missed him so much! Her voice cracked and she absently pushed the hair back from her face.

She stared at the ground. There was a symbol here, vague and disappearing in the rain. She crawled several feet to where it was clear, touched it.

It had been disturbed during the ritual and she couldn’t make it out completely, but seeing it stopped her numbing inaction. She knew exactly what was happening to her.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and looked around. The rain was slow but steady and she was drenched, but that didn’t bother her, nor did the cold that seeped into her bones. This place was evil. She’d told Anthony just that. She had been standing here doing nothing but feeling sorry for herself and thinking through her problems over and over and over … inaction.

Sloth.

One of the seven deadly sins.

She looked at her watch. Hours had passed. It was five o’clock, the light had changed, and she realized then the terrible risk Santa Louisa-and the world-faced with the Seven on the loose.

As soon as she realized what had been happening to her, her mind cleared. She admonished herself, drenched to the skin, but resolved. She had come out here to find Raphael Cooper, and she’d allow nothing to stop her.

After stealing the Mustang from Frank, high school librarian Bea Peterson pulled over and took the top down. She didn’t care that it was raining, or that she would ruin the beautifully restored seats, or stain the red carpet. She wanted to drive with the top down.

Nor did she care that she wasn’t dressed for the weather, wearing the thin wool sweater she kept at the library to stave off the chill. Her graying hair first frizzed in the moisture and wind, then the wavy strands hung heavy with the weight of the rainwater. Her thick makeup ran down her face, turning her from a moderately attractive, overweight middle-aged librarian into a sad clown-or to some she might appear deranged, her wild eyes giving light to something far more sinister and feral than anyone at the school expected from sweet Bea Peterson.

Bea drove, without thought, without regret. Carefree and single-minded, she laughed out loud as she sped around the bends of the cliff-side highway too fast. When she skidded, or spun the wheels in the narrow sandy shoulder, she whooped and hollered, as if she were on an amusement-park roller coaster. In the rain, this road was used only by necessity. The few drivers Bea passed honked at her reckless driving, but she laughed. They didn’t know what freedom felt like. They didn’t know how much pleasure there was to be had driving a classic car like this. It was hers!

Just before she crossed the Santa Louisa County line into San Luis Obispo, Bea stopped the Mustang in the middle of her lane. She stared toward the ocean, except the fog was so thick and wet she couldn’t see the water. Her heart raced. She didn’t want to give her car back to Frank, but she’d have to if she went back to the school. And he’d be angry with her for getting the interior wet and for the scratch on the door when she went around a corner too fast.

She’d seen his face in the rearview mirror when she drove away, running after his car. It pleased her that he was shocked and angry and sad that he’d lost it. She frowned. Why? Why was she so happy that Frank was miserable?

Her breaths came sharp and quick as she replayed the last hour, from seeing Frank drive into the parking lot to her grabbing his keys and driving away in his car. Her car . From sideswiping a car taking the turn out of town to taking the top down to hitting nearly one hundred on her drive. Reckless. Foolish.

She didn’t understand why she’d done it. Except that she wanted this car. This Mustang. It had to be hers. The urge had been so powerful, so overwhelming, that she couldn’t see anything but the need to have it.

She needed to go back. To apologize. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe Frank would forgive her.

No .

She cried. The car reminded her of what could have been, of the choices and decisions she’d made-right and wrong.

It’s your car now .

Go back .

Go forward .

The bend in the road up ahead was so sharp that directly forward led into the ocean. Straight down to the rocky coastline below.

They won’t let you keep the car. They’ll give it back to Frank and you’ll be arrested. Lose your job. Maybe go to jail .

They’re not going to let you keep the car .

They’re going to take your car .

Bea put the car in drive and pressed the accelerator, turned the wheel sharply to the left, and she was flying … flying off the cliff. She held on to the steering wheel as her body pulled from the seat-the old Mustang didn’t have seat belts. Then she was flying. Flying, falling, hearing but not seeing the crashing waves, the salty mist reaching up to catch her.

She hit a protruding rock, her body bouncing off and into the water, where it was tossed onto more rocks.

By then she was dead.

Moira slowed Jared’s truck to a crawl as she neared the end of the narrow road, the windshield wipers moving intermittently back and forth, visibility so poor she was unsure she was even going in the right direction anymore.

Then she saw the broken sign, so weathered from age it was colorless.

LCOME TO P AC GE RESOO ETS

Her heart raced as she realized this was an abandoned motel or lodge of some sort, with separate cabins all boarded up. She released the brake just enough that the truck moved forward, the road turning to gravel overgrown with small shrubs. A sign posted on the first cabin read:

Property of the State of California

Trespassers will be prosecuted

Each abandoned cabin appeared to be a large, single room facing the ocean, far off the main road and obscured by trees. In the dark, Lily could have easily passed by and not known they were here. A perfect hiding place.