Allison Brennan - Original Sin

He repeated a prayer for deliverance, over and over as he held her close. She stiffened in his arms and he tilted her chin up, but she pushed him back and started running, staggering, down the street.

He caught up quickly and grabbed her hand. “Watch out, the debris.”

“Anthony!” she shouted. “He’s here. The building is about to collapse and if we don’t get to him first, he’ll die.”

He didn’t ask how she knew-she’d had a vision. It was the only explanation.

“Where?”

“He’s in the back of a truck. He fell into the back of a pickup, but when this building goes it’s going to suck everything down with it.”

“Get the car. Now. I’ll find Anthony.”

She nodded, and ran down the street to where they’d parked.

Staying on the opposite side of the road, Rafe ran past the burning building. He searched for trucks. None in the church parking lot. He looked in front of the building next to Good Shepherd. There!

He ran across the street, the heat searing his skin, making the claw marks on his chest burn. He jumped into the bed of the pickup, his hands burning on the hot metal, and there was Anthony, on his back, trying to get up, blood running down his face and into his eyes.

“Anthony!” Rafe opened the back of the pickup. “Come on, it’s coming down right now.”

“Walker,” Anthony said, his voice dry and low.

“Later, buddy, we got to go.”

Headlights came at him and he jumped out, helping Anthony, who staggered under his own weight.

Moira leaned over from the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door.

“Get in now!” she said as the earth started shaking all around them. Anthony fell to the street and Rafe half dragged him to the car. He got in first and used his weight to pull Anthony in after him. The door wasn’t even closed when Moira floored it.

“Hold on!” she yelled, going from zero to sixty in six seconds. The door swung closed, and Anthony struggled to sit upright as the two large men were crammed in the front next to Moira.

Rafe turned his head and watched as Good Shepherd blazed bright red and disappeared into the earth. The pickup truck Anthony had fallen into was sucked in with it, along with the buildings on either side.

By the time Moira reached the top of the hill on the edge of town, all that was left of Good Shepherd was scorched earth.

Candlelight flickered inside Rittenhouse Furniture. The inventory shielded the activity, but each piece was outlined by the light, casting odd, dancing shadows out the large showroom windows and into the fog. The street lights along the edge of the small parking lot shined in interlocking circles, revealing several empty vehicles. Warehouses and light industrial businesses on this road were all closed at night. No one else was around for miles, and with the thickening fog and damp air, Moira felt as though they were the only people in the world as she approached, fifteen minutes after Good Shepherd disappeared in a blaze of hellfire.

She drove without headlights to the back of the building and parked behind the Dumpsters. It didn’t conceal them completely, but at least they weren’t obvious at a glance. She hadn’t even stepped out of the car, but the dark magic rolled off the building as the fog rolled in from the ocean: slow, ethereal, unstoppable.

She breathed deeply, concentrating all her senses on the building and surrounding area. She felt small, cleansing spells and bigger, more dangerous protection spells. She didn’t sense anyone outside watching the back door. There was a river of fear flowing through the building. She didn’t know whether it was residual emotions from the violence of the night before or fear being generated right now.

“That’s Skye’s truck,” Anthony said.

She opened her eyes and looked where he gestured. On the far side of the back lot, the sheriff’s truck was parked in the shadows.

“Is she here?” Moira said. “Is she crazy?”

Anthony said, “Walker and Deputy Young must have taken it after they tried to kill me at Good Shepherd. Thank God. It’s here.”

“Why?” asked Moira, taken aback that Walker was one of them. Why had he helped her earlier?

“The tabernacle. It’s inside the truck. We need it to trap the demon.”

“Trap? You don’t know how to send it back?”

“Not yet, but we can contain it,” Anthony said.

“You’re certain?” Rafe asked.

“Yes.”

Moira concentrated. “There are many spells in play; I’m having a hard time discerning them,” she said. “Let me try again, see what they’re doing right now.”

The harder she concentrated, the greater her headache until she visibly winced. Rafe grabbed her shoulders. “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I have to figure this out!”

“Sometimes you have to have faith.”

“I’m going for the tabernacle,” Anthony said. “Stay here.”

“You need backup,” Moira said.

“I’ll go,” Rafe said.

“No,” Anthony and Moira said together. Then Anthony added, “I don’t need backup. The truck is only a hundred yards away.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Rafe said. “I’m going.”

Reluctantly, Anthony agreed. Moira didn’t like this at all, but she didn’t have an alternate plan.

“Be careful. And, um, take this.” She handed him her dagger.

He took it, then squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

She watched the two men sprint across the back of the parking lot until they hit the trees. She breathed easier when they had some camouflage.

And she waited. And waited.

The car door opened.

“It’s about-”

She stopped.

Matthew Walker stood there looking bemused.

“Somehow, I knew you’d end up here.”

She spat in his face.

His face hardened until she thought he was capable of pummeling her to death, then he relaxed. “Tom,” he said to the cop standing behind him, “make sure she doesn’t have any friends hanging out around here.”

To Moira, he said, “Come inside. Your mother’s waiting for you.”

They had Lily.

Matthew Walker pushed Moira into the center of the showroom floor. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for the large, elaborate ritual circle to recapture the Seven. In the center, Lily was tied to a raised altar.

Anger pulsed through Moira and she fought against her restraints, intentionally slamming the back of her head into Walker’s jaw. He grunted, but tightened his hold and pulled her close. “You’re making it worse. Look. We have another surprise for you.”

Fiona, dramatic as ever in a silvery velvet gown that flowed around her body like a waterfall, sashayed into the room, holding Father Philip’s hand. “Look who I found?” she said and laughed.

Father had a cut on his head and was unusually pale. He saw Moira, and sadness darkened his eyes.

“Father-” She blinked back tears of fear. She couldn’t give them fear. There was already too much fear in the room, and demons thrived on the emotion.

“Yes!” Fiona exclaimed. “You remember him.”

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“Do what you have to,” he said cryptically.

“That’s enough chitchat,” Fiona said. “He’s just a little upset because poor Anthony died in a tragic fire.” She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. “So sad.”

Though Moira ached at the pain in Father’s expression, she didn’t let on that Anthony survived the explosion. If they suspected, they’d go out and hunt him down, and he’d never get to the tabernacle in time.

Rafe had been outnumbered worse on the cliffs two nights ago, yet he had stopped them. It was possible.

Garrett Pennington stood to one side with two other men. He looked like he wanted to kill her, his handsome face bruised and bloodied from fighting her. It looked like she’d broken his nose as well. She hoped it healed crooked.