Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“He must be,” Anthony said. “The marks are almost identical.”

“I have everyone working on that case, checking his background, his apartment, his associates. He’s not married, but maybe he’s friends with someone at the school; maybe he had reason to be there yesterday.”

“Or maybe,” Anthony said, “he was part of the coven. Maybe he was at the cliffs during the ritual-maybe all of these people were.”

Skye said, “So were Lily and Rafe.”

“I’m going back to the house. I’ll look at Rafe myself. After, I’ll head back to the mission and research what this mark might mean.”

“After I talk to Rucker,” said Skye, “I’ll check on Lily.”

Anthony hesitated, wondering if he should tell her that Moira had gone after Lily. Instead, he said, “Be careful. Elizabeth Ellis is a witch.”

Rod Fielding’s head shot up. “Elizabeth?”

“You know her?” Anthony said.

“We go to the same church. She’s a nice woman; so is her daughter.”

“Don’t go back to that church. The new pastor, Pennington, is suspect.”

Fielding frowned, and Anthony wondered for a brief moment whether he could be trusted. But why would he call them to the morgue and show them the marks on the corpses? And he’d gone above and beyond after the murders at the mission.

The coroner shook his head. “I don’t go often, once in a while. I’ve only been twice since Pennington took over. I don’t really like him much. He has charisma, I’ll give him that. Very attractive to the women, and young. Pennington came with outstanding credentials. I don’t think Matthew Walker would have turned over his church to just anyone.”

“That’s something we definitely need to look into,” Anthony said.

Skye asked Rod, “Do you know how I can reach Walker?”

“His cell phone number is in my Rolodex. Grab it on your way out. Tell him I said hello. I should have called him at some point. His mother was gravely ill. I just didn’t think of it.”

On their way out, Skye took Anthony’s arm. “Anthony, please be careful. And remember-let me handle the police work. Too many people are watching me too closely. Any hint that the police department is investigating supernatural crimes and everything we’ve done to protect Juan Martinez and Rafe Cooper will blow up in our faces.”

Moira wasn’t certain how she knew something was dreadfully wrong at Skye and Anthony’s house, but before she turned Jared’s truck down Skye’s street back to Skye’s she sensed a charge, electricity in the air. Maybe it was the scent of fear.

Lily’s feet were bleeding. Moira had forgotten she’d been injured running from the coven two nights ago until she saw the blood seeping through her thick socks. Running three blocks and hopping over a couple of fences in the process hadn’t helped any. Now she curled into a ball in the passenger seat. The cab was so hot Moira was sweating, but Lily had complained of being cold.

Moira approached Skye’s house cautiously, looking for anything amiss. Skye’s truck was in the driveway, but the second car was gone. She drove around behind the house, since there were no fences to block her view.

A metal chair was overturned on the deck.

It might be nothing; it could have been knocked down by wind at night. But Moira didn’t remember any wind strong enough to knock the chair over. And Skye McPherson seemed too … meticulous … to leave a piece of furniture in disarray.

She stopped the truck but didn’t get out. She couldn’t leave Lily alone, but she also didn’t want to bring her into an unknown situation.

“Lily,” she said.

Lily opened her eyes. “Where are we?”

“The sheriff’s house. I need to check it out before I bring you in. How are you doing? Can you walk?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Be alert. I’m going to open the windows. I know it’s cold out, but if you see anyone, scream bloody murder. Even if it’s someone you know. I’ll hear you.”

Lily nodded, her body shaking.

“I’ll bring a blanket as soon as I can.”

Moira parked the truck, opened the windows a crack, and left the keys with Lily. “Lock it,” she commanded, and got out.

Moira took the three steps up to the deck with one leap, her dagger in one hand, ready to attack. Every nerve was on high alert, every cell listening, smelling, feeling what was outside the house, and inside.

There’s no one here .

No movement. No breathing. No life.

Her heart skipped. The idea that Anthony and Rafe were dead, deserting her. Moira couldn’t do it alone. She needed backup, anyone to be on her side.

And she wanted it to be someone she trusted. Like Anthony.

Like Rafe.

She felt alone again, cold and helpless and hopeless.

Without hope, you have nothing .

The sliding glass door was ajar. She pushed it open with one finger and stepped inside.

The kitchen was a disaster. Dishes had been thrown around the room and shattered. Large platters and mugs had left gouges in the walls. The table was no longer in the center of the room; it was upside down, in the living room near the front door. The couch had been upended. Pictures had fallen from the wall, the frames and glass broken. Feathers from throw pillows had been scattered everywhere. A crucifix, one that Moira remembered hung over the doorway, had been thrown into the antique hutch, breaking a collection of dishes Skye had stored there.

No one had touched a thing. As certainly as she breathed, Moira knew that a magician had walked in here and had a temper tantrum. Everything she passed by had invisible remnants of dark energy. She had never felt quite like this before. The entire house seemed alive, sizzling, crackling with sorcery.

As she breathed in the pulsating energy surrounding her, Moira’s cells tingled. It would be so easy to pull that energy into her, to absorb it, to refuel. She was so tired …

She stood in the guest room and stared at the bed Rafe had slept in last night.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pounded her fists on the wall. She had to resist the urge to draw in the magic. Walking in here she had a taste of it, just a taste, and it fed her craving. On her tongue, in her eyes, coating her eardrums. Every sense wanted to absorb the energy, thirsty for it …

She must resist. “Clamaverunt iusti et Dominus exaudivit et ex omnibus tribulationibus eorum liberavit eos!”

The spells here were powerful, drawing her in. She battled them the only way she knew how. She continued with verse after verse of Latin exorcism rites, until an audible snap and a whoosh of air, so subtle, so quiet no one else would have heard it, told Moira the residual magic had dissipated.

The dark craving instantly faded and she could focus on the task at hand.

Where were Rafe and Anthony?

Moira walked carefully over the ruins of the house, checked each room twice, and found no one, living or dead. She was alternately relieved and terrified.

When she returned to the living room she saw the message, pinned to the back of the front door. A message that only Fiona would have left.

An eye for an eye, yours for mine .

The arca and the traitor for your brother .

Two for one, for he has caused trouble .

I am more than fair .

The longer you delay, the more he suffers .

Outside, Lily screamed.

Moira fled the house, heart racing with the fear that not only had Fiona kidnapped Rafe but now she had Lily, too, and Moira had been responsible for both.

Anthony stood on the deck. “What happened?” he demanded, looking over her shoulder.