Allison Brennan - Original Sin

There were thirty-six children under age thirteen in the tribe, but he could find only fifteen of them. They silently followed Isa to their hiding spot in the ground. They hid for hours. Through gunfire. Screams. Cries for mercy that did not come. Isa prayed. The gunmen were above them but did not see their camouflaged entry .

When the silence outside matched the silence of the children inside the cramped shelter, Isa stepped out .

The stench of blood filled his senses .

Winged predators-vultures-were already feasting on the remains. There would be more predators soon. He walked slowly through the village .

The women had been butchered, the men tortured and killed. The children that had been left behind were no longer there. They’d been taken for slaves .

He turned, saw one boy who’d been left. The boy who had hunted the snake. His hands were cut off. His feet. His tongue. Isa realized then that the child had stolen, not hunted, the snake .

As he watched, baby snakes poured out of the boy’s body, from every limb that had been severed. Isa screamed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the snakes were gone. But the boy was still butchered .

The slaughter was for revenge. One theft and nearly two hundred innocent people were dead .

Isa fell to his knees and cursed God .

Rafe sat upright in bed, the scent of blood wafting through the motel room, the air so hot his tongue was dusty and dry. For a split second he saw snakes, hundreds of them, slithering around the room, and he stifled a cry while praying for deliverance.

Then the snakes were gone, and the reality of his nightmare hit him.

Father Isa Tucci was one of the priests who’d been murdered at the mission. For months Rafe had encouraged Father Tucci to talk about the demon he’d confronted in Africa, but he’d refused. What he’d suffered then, the choice he’d had to make, had tormented him for more than a decade. Rafe understood now, understood as he never had while Father Tucci was alive.

“You had no choice, Father,” Rafe whispered. “God forgives you; you must forgive yourself.”

The room grew cold and the door between the rooms slowly shut without sound.

A flutter of wings sounded, but Rafe saw nothing.

Cold … a ghost? Father Tucci?

Rafe rose from the bed. He heard Anthony and Moira talking in hushed but firm voices. He shouldn’t have feigned sleep earlier; the relaxation had led to real sleep and the nightmare about Father Tucci. He checked the seals at the doors, the windows, the corners, the vents. Moira had been meticulous, ingenious even in sealing the hotel vents with salt and sticking a crucifix above the opening. She was exceptional in her complexity, and anyone who went head to head against Anthony had courage. Anthony was the golden child of St. Michael’s, an empath of sorts and a demonologist of the highest order, but he was also vulnerable in that he wasn’t a trained hunter.

Rafe had been at Olivet for a year after walking away from his ordination the first time. Rico had wanted him to study hunting, to discern whether they’d missed his calling on the island.

But after completing the training, he still wasn’t a hunter. He couldn’t make the commitment and walked away. As with music, some could play the notes perfectly but couldn’t make music. And some musicians made errors, but their songs were infinitely sweet. Rafe could hunt demons, but he didn’t have the core instinct that made him a demon hunter.

He’d failed at St. John’s, failed at Olivet, and failed at Santa Louisa. And now he was jeopardizing his friends, new friends and old, and risking the lives of innocent people.

He frowned. How could he know that? How could he know what had happened to Father Tucci? There was no one here-no ghost-yet why was it so cold?

He breathed deeply, realized that the chill was gone, and wondered whether the sensation had been his imagination. Or residual nightmares that clouded his physical perceptions.

He had to face Moira and Anthony. He had to take responsibility.

Moira squeezed her eyes shut. She and Anthony had been going round and round about their next step and Moira was fed up with inaction.

“Lily will die if we wait around here much longer,” Moira said to Anthony, glancing anxiously around the hotel room. “Her mother is a witch, and if she was out on the cliffs last night she knows exactly what will happen to Lily. If you’re not going to help me rescue her, I’ll do it myself.”

“What about Rafe?” Anthony asked, his voice low and harsh as he glanced toward the adjoining door. “If he wasn’t in a coma, but under a spell-” He frowned. “I protected his room from demons.”

“Protection isn’t foolproof,” Moira said, feeling a smidgen of sympathy for the demonologist. He cared about his friend, and the idea that Rafe had suffered for weeks in a magic-induced limbo disturbed both of them. “And spells are like bacteria. They adapt, become stronger, defeat the standard protection the way bacteria can sometimes survive even with antibiotics. I don’t know what they did, but they could have moved him from his room, removed any amulet you had on his body. We don’t know, but we have to assume that they did something to him. But why?”

Anthony stared at the door. “I wish I knew. He’s not possessed, but he’s not himself.”

“He’s not under a spell,” she said quietly.

Anthony turned his attention from Rafe’s door to her. She felt uneasy under his silent scrutiny, his face hard and disapproving. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and her heart twisted.

“I’ll get Lily,” she said quietly. “If she’s not at her house, I’ll track her down.”

“How?”

“Her boyfriend. Jared knows more than he realizes. But I’ll need a safe house to take her to.”

“Bring her to Skye’s place.”

“The sheriff? Aren’t you putting her in a difficult position? I’m talking about kidnapping a minor. Lily is seventeen. Her mother is a witch, but she’ll use the law when it suits her. Even if Lily wants to come with me, you’re risking your girlfriend’s career.”

“Some things are more important.”

“What about Rafe? I can’t take him there, too, and we need to stick together. If we spread out too thin, we weaken the team.” She glanced around the hotel room. Much nicer than what she was used to. “Maybe I can bring Lily here, but I don’t know how safe this place is.”

“You diligently protected-”

“It doesn’t matter how well I protected these rooms against witchcraft or demons; there are ways to get to him-and you-and me. And Lily. We’re all in danger; it’s just a matter of time. Fiona made that perfectly clear this morning. We can’t leave Rafe alone, so are you suggesting we bring him to Skye’s house as well? She’ll have to bring him in for questioning; he’s probably under suspicion for murder-”

“What?”

“Give it up, Anthony. I know Rafe didn’t hurt Abby, but people aren’t going to listen to our arguments without tossing us into a padded cell or prison, which is exactly where Fiona wants us. Where she can get to us.”

“Do not treat me like a novice, Moira. You have no idea what I’ve faced here since the murders at the mission. Antagonism. Hatred. Adoration and idol worship. Some people think I’m a religious nutcase, others think I’m a prophet, others are starting a cult. People have bowed at my feet and spit in my face. Skye has been under close scrutiny by the city council, and the fact that the daughter of the mayor is dead and there are occult overtones is going to make it much worse for Rafe. I know exactly how the town will respond when the truth comes out about Rafe, which is why I want to send him back to St. Michael’s. Except-”