Allison Brennan - Original Sin

She stopped the truck, turned off the ignition, and walked cautiously through the weed-strewn central courtyard. The cabins were about twenty, perhaps thirty feet apart. Cypress and eucalyptus trees shielded the area from view. Only a few hundred yards away was the main access road into the mountains-the access road Lily had found-but unless you knew these cabins were here, you wouldn’t find them.

Moira stumbled over tree roots and caught herself on the leaves of a prickly shrub.

“Damn.” She pulled two thin, sharp thorns from her right palm as she righted herself. She shivered uncontrollably, her wet clothes plastered to her skin, her hair heavy with the weight of rainwater down her back. She wanted nothing more than to get back into the warm truck and return to her miserable motel and sleep.

She didn’t believe in luck, but a spike of adrenaline hit her bloodstream as she thought of her luck in finding this place. If, in fact, Rafe Cooper was here. Could it be logic? Maybe. But still … the whole thing felt oddly fortuitous to her. She didn’t like being manipulated, by either humans or supernatural beings.

“There are always signs, there is always a helping hand. It’s understanding the signs, accepting the help, which is difficult for everyone-and you. That’s where your bias, your fear, your arrogance, and your ignorance will get you killed if you can’t see the truth.”

“Shut up, Rico,” she muttered again. She wished she’d never trained with him, because she couldn’t get his damn lectures out of her head. She pushed aside her concerns-the idea that this place was a sign she’d somehow unknowingly followed-and walked among the cabins.

Each cabin was locked tight, windows boarded up, locks on the doors, all in disrepair, abandoned for many years. But there was something different about the third cabin from the end. She stared, tilted her head, and squinted through the still fog.

She approached the house cautiously, walked the perimeter slowly.

Then she saw what had caught her eye.

The front door was splintered just a bit, the freshly split wood bright against the weathered door frame.

The lock was still on the knob, but the doorjamb had been broken. Moira hesitated. Human or possessed? She didn’t know what was going on with Raphael Cooper, but she couldn’t take chances. She pulled out a large crucifix on a chain from a deep pocket inside her jacket and put it around her neck, then pulled the Beretta out of her concealed pocket holster.

No movement, no sign of anyone watching. She opened all her senses, listened, felt the atmosphere around her. No electrical charge in the air. No smell of sulphur or rotting meat. No extreme heat from one of Hell’s gateways, nor the ice-cold sensation of ghosts. Nothing. Still, that didn’t mean that her truck hadn’t drawn attention, or that there wasn’t a way for Cooper to see out a crack in the barricaded windows-if it was Cooper inside. She didn’t think he was dangerous-he’d saved Lily and stopped Fiona-but Moira couldn’t afford to be wrong.

She pushed on the door firmly and it opened, a thick sliver of wood falling to the ground.

In the darkness, Moira caught sight of a gutted kitchenette to the right and a door in the rear. As her eyes adjusted to the near black, the only light coming from the diminishing gray day behind her, she saw a man in hospital scrubs huddled in the far corner of the empty room.

She approached cautiously and said, “Cooper? Raphael Cooper?”

He didn’t move. She squatted, the crucifix swinging on her chain between them, and checked his pulse. It was strong. She let out a long breath.

“What happened to you last night?” she whispered.

She pulled out a flashlight, turned it on, and popped out the bottom to rest on the wood floor. The glow lit the entire room like a lantern. The scrubs Cooper wore were torn. His skin was cold, and he was huddled tightly for warmth, though sweat and a day’s growth of beard covered his face. His hair was longer than in his picture, damp and curling at the ends from the moisture. As she watched, his body began to shake and he shouted out a command of sorts.

It was in Spanish, a language Moira recognized but didn’t understand beyond the basics. He continued, his voice fearful and commanding at the same time. She touched his sweating forehead, smoothed back his hair, and murmured, “Shh, you’re having a bad dream.”

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, eyes frightened and lost. He pulled himself into the corner, shaking.

“Raphael, my name is Moira O’Donnell. I’m a friend of Father Philip.”

He stared at her and she wasn’t sure he’d understood her.

“Do you remember what happened last night? On the cliffs? The coven?” She paused. “The Seven Deadly Sins?”

Slowly, he shook his head. His voice was rough and low when he said, “She’s dead.” He coughed to clear his voice.

“No, she’s not. You saved her. You saved Lily.” Moira took his hands, squeezed them. “Lily wore the white dress. You told her to run and not look back.” She pulled a water bottle from her jacket and handed it to him.

He looked at the water, then at her, then took the bottle.

“It’s okay,” she said, reassuring both him and herself.

“She’s dead,” he repeated. He sipped the water, then coughed.

“Yes, Abby died,” Moira said. “Abby was also there. But you saved Lily. The girl in the white gown. She’s alive and well and safe.” At least she hoped Anthony had been able to find and protect her.

As Rafe remembered the night before, relief crossed his face. “Lily?” he asked. He sipped more water, then drank fully.

“I need to get you out of here,” she said.

“No. No. Give me a minute.”

“Excuse me, but you look like death warmed over. Anthony has a place for you-”

“Anthony. He’s here.” A statement, not a question.

“Has been the whole time. Raphael, I’m-”

“Rafe. My friends call me Rafe.”

“I’m Moira.”

“Moi-rah,” he whispered, smiling. He pronounced her name right, and she liked the way he said it.

He took a deep breath and straightened his legs, leaning against the wall. “Thank you.” He finished the water. “I’m not usually this out of sorts.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I think I can forgive you, considering.”

“Considering.” He gave her a half-smile. “I’m getting my strength back.”

“A miracle,” she said, not realizing until the words were out that she sounded sarcastic.

“You don’t believe in miracles.”

“Sure I do. I just haven’t seen any lately.”

He looked beyond her, at what she didn’t want to think about. He was a seminarian; of course he had stronger faith than she did. So had Peter, and look where it got him.

He shook his head. “I didn’t stop them. They’re out there. They’re everywhere …”

Moira wasn’t certain whether he was talking about the demons or Fiona’s coven.

“We’ll get them back.”

“Oo’la te-ellan l’niss-yoona: il-la pac-can min beesha.”

Moira wasn’t sure what language he was speaking, but it sounded familiar. “What did you say?”

He stared at her. “Aramaic.” That didn’t answer her question, but he continued, frowning. “The Conoscenza was stolen. My fault.”

Moira sat next to him in the dark, dank cabin, her back against the wall, facing the door. Though he’d lost too much weight since he’d had his picture taken for the paper, he was a tall man, with broad shoulders. She felt small sitting next to him, even though she wasn’t short.

He touched her shoulder, her damp hair, and said, “You seem … familiar.”