Allison Brennan - Original Sin

She chanted the name Prziel over and over and suddenly the shaking stopped; the potion settled and returned to its clear color. At the bottom of the bowl, the crystal, now red, glowed.

Serena removed the crystal with iron tongs to prevent the demon from escaping into her. She carried it over to a map of Santa Louisa County and put it down, spinning it gently with the tip of the tong.

“Find him, find this blood,” she commanded the demon.

The crystal moved across the map. It started lazily, then began to spin faster like a child’s top, all over the map. Faster, faster, faster, until it spun itself off the table and across the room, hitting the wall with enough force to embed it inside the wood.

Fiona ignored the trapped demon and looked at the map. “There!” she announced excitedly.

One blood-red drop told them that Raphael Cooper was at the Santa Louisa Coastal Inn.

Rafe pretended to be asleep when Anthony arrived in the two-room suite. Moira was arguing with Anthony.

“Don’t wake him. Give him an hour, at least, okay?”

Movement at the partially open door. Rafe felt it was Anthony, making sure he was both alive and present.

“Did you seal both rooms?” he whispered.

“Of course,” Moira snapped. “I’m not a complete novice.”

“No, you’re not.”

It wasn’t a friendly comment.

Rafe breathed a sigh of relief when Anthony didn’t try to wake him. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk to Anthony-he wanted to see his old friend. But he felt safe here, at least for the time being. Safe enough to try to organize his thoughts before Anthony bombarded him with questions. Moira already had many; Rafe had seen them in her brilliant blue eyes.

Moira had insisted he lie down while she sealed the rooms against demons and witchcraft, but he watched her. She was meticulous, pouring salt, reciting prayers as if they were spells, not leaving any edge unprotected. But while demons couldn’t come in, and spells couldn’t attack them, both he and Moira knew that the protections were mere stopgaps in the battle. A temporary fort that could be breached with time and strength.

He prayed silently in the dark, blocking out the loud whispers of Anthony and Moira in the room next door. A verse from the Book of Sirach came to him, and he shuddered:

there is anger and envy and trouble and unrest,

and fear of death, and fury and strife.

And when one rests upon his bed,

his sleep at night confuses his mind .

Sleep … how could he sleep? He’d been in a state of sleep for ten weeks. Ten weeks of a coma? A drug-induced sleep? A spell-induced sleep? He didn’t know, but his thoughts were filled with confusion and sorrow.

I failed and they died .

He’d not only been tempted, but he’d given in to his temptation. He’d lusted, and his weakness had brought death into the mission.

He closed his eyes and pictured her , the woman who had lied to him, had seduced him, had brought evil into the mission. Seduced him-he was a willing partner. He’d seen her as the sign he’d been waiting for that God wasn’t calling him, that He’d never called him into the priesthood. He’d been dangerously wrong.

He wanted to sleep, here, safe, knowing Anthony and Moira would be sentries against the evil that wanted him. But he couldn’t sleep. His mind was a mess; he could hardly keep his thoughts straight.

When he’d first seen Moira O’Donnell, he was certain they’d met before-talked before. He remembered her hair, her voice with her subtle Irish lilt, her long, elegant fingers … But they’d never met. He knew they’d never met.

It was as if she were meant to find him. But that scared him as well, because he was a pawn in a larger game.

And last night on the cliffs-the words he knew, the phrases, the commands. He didn’t question, just spoke-ordered- commanded -and the arca , Lily Ellis, was saved. As hard as he tried now, he couldn’t remember what he’d said.

He hadn’t been possessed, but nor was he quite himself. It was as if his brain had many rooms, and someone had unlocked a door he’d never known was there, then slammed it shut-and locked it-after he had a glimpse inside. Try as he might, he couldn’t open the door again. This wasn’t the first time, and he feared it wouldn’t be the last.

He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep undisturbed by the nightmares-real and imagined-that had haunted him during the three months he was in a coma. He had to tell Anthony about the dreams, but would Anthony believe what Rafe had seen? The dreams felt so real that Rafe was certain they were memories, but that was ridiculous. It was more likely the work of one of the local witches-and there were many, as he knew from his time at the mission. They had blinded him to their evil intent, and when he finally learned the truth, it had been too late. They’d planted dreams and nightmares in his mind during his coma to torment him.

He moaned out loud, his chest tight with emotional pain, as images of the vivid, blood-soaked chapel snapped into his head. He’d been blinded, true, but not just because of the witches. What if he couldn’t stop the evil that threatened them? What if he’d unknowingly unleashed the arca when he saved Lily Ellis? He’d saved one, but many more were in jeopardy.

He slipped into an uneasy sleep … And the dreams returned. And try as he did to wake himself, he couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t awaken for the last ten weeks, though he’d desperately tried.

The priest prepared the homily as he always did, after prayer and fasting .

The African villagers Isa served had nothing. Some went days without food. Water was scarce. Children were starving .

What could he say to them tomorrow? They stared at him with blank expressions, sitting in the tent church, converting to Christianity because they received a small wafer of bread. The bread of life …

“Give me faith, Lord.”

He had great faith, which was why he’d been sent to Kenya. Missionaries died here. They were tortured and murdered for giving hope to a hopeless people. Death didn’t scare him. He believed in Paradise .

“Abba! Abba!” The boy, ten, ran into the small hut Father Isa Tucci lived in behind the tent church. He grinned, carrying a long animal in his bony black arms. “I hunt him.”

At first, Isa panicked. He had a great fear of snakes. But this snake was dead, a nonpoisonous boa .

Isa smiled at the boy. “Let’s prepare a fire.”

How could he feed two hundred people with one snake? He would make a stew. And he prayed for a miracle akin to the loaves and fishes. These children of God needed a miracle .

They needed food .

The potatoes he grew were small, but they would make a good starch. He used the last of the beans, only three handfuls now, feeling a bit like the foolish boy who bought magic beans hoping to grow a beanstalk to the heavens. Everyone in the village contributed something. There was laughter and talk .

Father Isa looked on in approval, humbled. “Thank you, Lord.”

Hours later, they went to sleep with full stomachs and hope. There were leftovers-enough for a small bowl tomorrow for every man, woman, and child .

In the middle of the night Isa woke to the familiar sound of many Jeeps. Fear clutched his heart. Evil lived in darkness .

He emerged from his hut and saw that the tribal chief had also stepped out. “We must hide,” Isa told him .

He shook his head. “It’s too late.”

“No-”

“Save the children.” Children were being brought from their huts as gunfire rang out nearby .