Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“She promised she would tell me before she went to the meeting,” Jared insisted. “I don’t understand why-”

“We haven’t time.” Moira cut him off and pushed him out the door, rolling her eyes, having no patience for the kid’s excuses. Meeting . Nice way to sugarcoat deadly occult rituals.

She spotted Jared’s black truck parked at the end of the front row. She started to run. “Let’s go. The cliffs.”

“Is Lily really in danger?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

She abruptly turned around and he stumbled to avoid running into her. “You told me about the fire,” she said with frightening vehemence. “About the dead animals near the cliffs, Lily’s cousin Abby and all the weird things you saw. Everything matches what I know about these rituals. It’s the timing I don’t understand, but I do know we have to go right now .”

Moira didn’t give him time to answer or argue. She ran around to the passenger side and hopped into the truck. He quickly followed and headed for the cliffs.

During the ten-mile drive, she called Father Philip. When he came to the phone, he sounded extremely worried. She hated that she’d caused him to fear for her safety.

“Moira, where are you? You haven’t called in three days. I was worried.”

“I’m still in Santa Louisa.”

“I’m checking out one more thing; then I hope to know more.” She hoped to still be alive. She very much wanted to be wrong about tonight.

“Have you seen Anthony?”

Her hand tightened on the phone at the mention of the name. Father Philip had told her the demonologist was in town, but because they both thought there was time, they hadn’t contacted him. Not that Moira would. Anthony despised her because of what had happened to Peter. He blamed her, even more than she blamed herself.

“No. I told you-”

“I should have called him when you arrived,” Father Philip said.

“So he could get himself killed?”

“He’s much stronger than he was seven years ago.”

“He’s not a hunter,” she protested.

“He’s gifted in other ways.”

“He hates my guts.”

“He hates no one.”

Father didn’t know what he was saying. “I can’t risk him, too.” Her voice cracked. Damn, she didn’t even like Anthony-the man Peter had called brother-and she had to worry about him now.

“Anthony is a grown man. He’s faced his own battles, and survived.”

Father Philip believed in forgiveness; Anthony did not. But Moira couldn’t tell Father that. He wouldn’t believe it, or if he did, it would hurt him. And he was the last person on the planet Moira wanted to hurt.

“You are certain about the gateway,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t go back.”

“I have to. There’s a coven in town; all the signs are here. If this is Fiona-I have to stop her.”

Father Philip said, “I’ll call Anthony.”

“No!”

“Moira, child, you can’t do this alone.”

“He’s not going to help me.”

“Yes, he will. You need to have faith and trust, Moira.”

“And a little bit of pixie dust?”

“Excuse me?”

“A joke.” If she didn’t laugh, she was going to fall apart.

“I’ll call Anthony and be mediator. You need to explain your visions. Don’t go to the site again until you have backup.”

“Too late, Father. I’m on my way. Something’s happening right now.”

“Moira-”

“I’ll be careful.” She hung up.

“Maybe,” Jared said as he drove too damn slowly, too damn cautiously, through the thickening fog, “I should call my father-”

“Sure. Call him. Tell him you’re working with Moira O’Donnell, P.I., as in Paranormal Investigations . That you contacted me to check out supernatural phenomena in the area and oh, by the way, there’s a coven of witches on the cliffs about to open a big-ass gateway to Hell and release Lord knows what demonic forces into the world.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“I’m not . If you want to call him, fine, but you’re already risking your life to help your girlfriend. I don’t know what we’re facing, and if you want to get out now, fine by me.” She didn’t want him to leave her alone, even though he didn’t know what he was doing. But she didn’t want to risk his life, either.

“I love her,” he said. He didn’t make a move, either to leave her by the side of the road or to make a call. Love Moira understood. It made you do stupid things and it hurt worse than a knife to the gut.

She wished she had someone to back her up other than a testosterone-fueled teenager playing Romeo to Lily’s Juliet. At least she had a getaway driver. And Father Philip would call Anthony. She knew that as certainly as she knew the sun would rise in a few hours. Whether she lived to see the next day was another story.

“Step on it, Jared. We might already be too late.” None of Moira’s visions had been about a future event, but Fiona was still around. Rituals took time, especially with Fiona, who liked all the bells and whistles, especially with complex rituals. Moira knew this was a big one. If she cut off the head of the coven, the rest would scatter, and hopefully whatever evil they’d summoned would turn on them.

A confrontation with her mother would likely kill Moira, but she also knew that if she didn’t stop her, Fiona would destroy innocent people in far more painful ways. It was now or never.

On the horizon, in the direction they were headed, lightning slashed the fog. It was too close to the ground. Rivers of bright lava crossed the road in front of them. Above them, a fluttering of bats … but they weren’t bats. They were an “it,” one large dark cloud with mass, with volume, evil to its core.

She screamed and Jared jumped.

The fires were gone, but she’d seen them. She’d seen them. Hadn’t she? Was she losing her mind?

“What the fuck? You scared the he-”

“Didn’t you see it? The fire? The … dark cloud?”

He frowned. “I-it was just birds. It’s the middle of the night; they got startled or something.”

“Denial will get you killed.”

“What do you think that was?”

She swallowed. She didn’t know, but whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be here . “Hell on earth,” she whispered. Then, more urgently, she said, “Go faster, Jared.”

“Dear God, why are you doing this to me?”

Biting back a curse, Rafe Cooper stumbled along the rocky cliffs that, to him, marked the edge of the world. It was a long, long way from his youthful island home in the blissful isolation of Sicily’s St. Michael’s.

Earlier tonight, he’d been in a hospital bed. He’d opened his eyes with the overwhelming, undeniable compulsion to leave. How he got from there to here he didn’t know, only snippets of his two-hour journey remaining.

When he tried to think-to remember -knifelike pain sliced through his head, lights and shadows exploding, and he had to stop until the intensity subsided.

He knew who he was-Raphael Cooper-and he knew why he’d been in the hospital-the attack at the mission. He’d been the sole survivor. Uninjured while the others had been butchered. Comatose, according to the doctors, but that couldn’t be right. He’d been unable to see or speak, but he heard everything. He heard far too much, so why couldn’t he remember now?

Again, pain sliced through his skull as he tried to recall what had happened during the months he’d been in the hospital.