Mortal Sin (50 page)

“By the power of Ianax and the Queen of all—”

“Can it,” Moira said. She held her dagger up to ward off any magic and kicked over the candle. The wax spread in the dirt. Moira eradicated the symbols with her foot, then sprinkled some holy water around for good measure.

The girl froze. “How dare you!”

“Please.”

“This won’t stop it. We can’t be stopped. The spell has already been done.”

The girl picked up her athame, her ritual knife, and dipped it in a chalice that Moira hadn’t originally noticed. She spoke in Latin, and though Moira had a basic understanding, she didn’t need to speak the language; she could feel the sleeping spell at work.

It was a spell Moira knew well. She waited, circling the girl, until the girl said the final word and aimed her athame at Moira. Moira put her own dagger up and deflected the spell right back to the redhead. The girl collapsed in a heap.

“Oh, if only they were all this easy!”

She knocked over the chalice on her way to the second point. Halfway there, she heard a deafening shriek from the house. It wasn’t human, but it was in pain. She turned just in time to see a tree fall into the living room.

Resisting every urge she had to run back to the house and save Rafe, Moira ran double time to the second witch. The second witch was even easier, and a bit more fun. Moira knocked her out with the end of her dagger before the witch even knew that she was there.

But at the third point in the cast circle, Moira wasn’t as lucky. This was a witch she knew.

“Adrienne.”

“I knew you’d run away.” Adrienne was burning herbs in a chalice and directing the smoke toward the house, fifty yards away. As the smoke drifted off, it seemed to turn denser, creating a fog. Moira sensed it was a cloaking spell of some sort, whether to hide a person or to alter perception, she wasn’t sure. Hell, it could have been simply to obscure the house and make it more difficult for those inside to make their way out.

“I’m not running,” Moira said. “Two of your sisters are down and out. Now you pay, bitch.”

Adrienne smiled. She slowly walked in a wide circle, her asthme out but not in a position of attack. Moira circled across from her, not turning her back on the woman. “I know so much about you,” Adrienne said.

“I know about you. I know you burned five witches on Fiona’s orders. When that gets out—and I will make sure it gets out—you’ll have every witch on the planet hunting you down like an animal. Provided you survive tonight.”

Adrienne looked momentarily perplexed. She dipped her dagger down, twirled it, and shook her sleeves. Oh, yes, this woman was up to something. She was good.

“I know a lot of things,” Moira said.

Adrienne pushed back. “You are a fool. And you’ll pay for walking away from your destiny.”

“I make my own destiny, thank you very much, and serving Fiona and the Underworld is not in the plan.”

“But it is. You just don’t realize it yet.”

With a flash of white, Adrienne brought up her asthme while spouting a fast spell. All the energy from the mini circle she’d been casting as she walked pulsed out at Moira.

But Moira had been anticipating the attack and deflected it with her dagger. She tried to fling it back at Adrienne, but the girl had already protected herself from the trick.

“I’ve heard about what you can do,” Adrienne said. “Being passive isn’t going to save you. You won’t be able to hold back the forces that are coming.”

The Earth shook all around them, and Adrienne laughed. Moira glanced toward the house. Every window blew out of the house simultaneously. Rico had broken the last seal of protection.

The battle had begun.

Moira kicked over the chalice, then poured holy water over the remnants. They flashed and sparked, and both she and Adrienne jumped back. The smoke that had been building around the house started to move faster, circling the house like a slow tornado.

Adrienne’s expression told Moira that she hadn’t expected that, but Moira didn’t care. Rafe and the others would need her to complete her mission, which meant taking out Fiona
now.

Moira went on the offense. She sheathed her dagger, ran and tackled Adrienne to the ground. The move surprised Adrienne, who had little experience fighting. Moira immediately disarmed her. She pulled out a zip-tie and pushed Adrienne to her stomach. The girl fought and scratched, but Moira was stronger. She pulled Adrienne’s hands behind her back, kicked her in the back to subdue her, and secured the zip-tie.

“You little bitch, you are not free. You’ve never been free! You can’t stop what’s already been started.”

Moira left her and ran toward the fourth point in the circle. The smoke around the house was becoming thicker, moving faster, and Moira feared for the others. She wished she knew what the smoke was, but it didn’t feel familiar to her.

This ended now. If she had to kill Fiona she would. Because Moira didn’t know any other alternative to make the woman stop. To save Rafe and the others. To end this once and for all.

Moira just wanted a life. For twenty-nine years, she’d lived without her own purpose, her own dreams. First as a tool for her mother, then in fear of her mother. For the first time, Moira had a purpose, she had a goal beyond destroying her mother’s coven.

As soon as she reached the fourth point, she felt a strong magic all around her, but didn’t see anyone. She immediately brought out her dagger. There was no light here; the night was blacker than before. Impossible. It was part of the spell. Moira reached out, trying to figure out how to dissolve the spell surrounding her, and she sensed someone behind her.

Moira whirled around, her dagger out, and there was no one.

“Boo,” a voice said behind her.

Moira turned again and in one blink saw a beautiful black woman who had to be Tiffany Truxel based on all the descriptions she’d read after learning about her going to Victoria. Moira didn’t have time to talk, instead, flipped her dagger around to hit the woman on the side of the head.

She hit nothing. No one was there.

A pain in her lower back had Moira in the dirt. Her dagger fell from her grasp, and the laughter she heard was all too familiar. All too insane.

“You’re finally mine,” Fiona O’Donnell said.

Every window shattered in the house. The sound was both alluring and terrifying.

The final protection had been broken; the demons were coming.

Rafe looked at his brother, bait in the trap. Phineas stood straight, ready to die if necessary.

“Raphael,” Phineas said, “what’s that smoke outside? Or is that fog?”

Rafe turned to the window that didn’t have a tree blocking the view. The mist was blacker than night, blowing around the house as if they were in the center of a tornado. But they felt no wind, no air, like standing at the eye of the storm.

It’s a spell
—
it’s separating you from Moira. It’s taking you to the astral plane. You and the entire house. Nothing physical can survive in the astral plane.

Rafe trusted the voice, though he wished he knew who it was. All his other visions had been memories, things that were locked and fixed. This was… advice. It wasn’t a memory, but information he needed. Information he’d wanted, and then it was there.

Rafe was on the verge of aborting the mission when the swarm of demons came in and attacked Phineas. There were hundreds of them—small, vile creatures half-floating, half-running on twisted limbs. Phineas fought them with his knife, screaming in pain as one after another bit him.

Rafe lit the oil. Immediately, the flames encircled Phineas. Dozens of demons burned immediately, their inhuman cackles disintegrating as their corporeal bodies turned to dust.

Rafe started the exorcism. It was in Coptic, a language he did not know, but the words flowed freely as if Coptic was his native tongue. As he spoke, several of the creatures that hadn’t been trapped in the circle launched an attack against Rafe, but he was ready for them. He had his knife, coated with Moira’s blood. He attacked with vigor, slicing anything that came toward him as he shouted the prayer to send them back to Hell.

The demons he slayed screeched in pain, dead or dying. They didn’t go back to the Underworld or burn or scamper off. They simply fell to the floor. But each blow that Rafe threw to defend himself, weakened him.

As the exorcism began to work, the demons trapped in the circle were sent back to Hell with a cry that sounded a lot like a hyena’s bark. The room filled with the sound of agonized yelps as the flames grew and touched the ceiling, searing it. The house shook, but did not fall.

The last words from Rafe’s mouth were a simple prayer he’d learned as a child.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be…

Rafe collapsed, fatigue leeching all energy from his bones.

He couldn’t see his brother through the growing flames. Rafe tried to stand, but couldn’t. The scorching fire raised the temperature in the room. The huge house shifted beneath him, as if the very foundation had jumped a foot.

You have to stop the spell or you’ll all die. Get up, Raphael!

Where was Rico? Had he and Nikolas gotten out of the house? Rafe had no idea how much time had passed. He didn’t think much, maybe five minutes since the final protective seal had been broken, allowing the demons to rush in. But already, the ceiling was on fire and the flames were rapidly moving to the corners. Soon, the room would be ablaze and Rafe wouldn’t get out.

Phineas hadn’t escaped the demon trap, and Rafe didn’t know if he was dead. But he couldn’t just leave him to burn to death. He had to save him.

Rafe crawled over to where he’d already taken the drapes from the windows. He pulled the thick material around himself and forced himself to stand. He was weak, but as he moved, his energy returned. The back of his mind suggested that there was an apathy spell at work, to make him feel defeated and helpless. The more he moved, the stronger he became, even as the heat seared his lungs.

He jumped through the flames and saw Phineas lying unconscious in the middle of the trap. In his hand was his St. Michael’s medallion—odd, considering he’d forsaken St. Michael’s when he joined the Sword. Or, maybe not. Maybe in his heart he was still part of the Order, still part of the family. A wayward child. A prodigal son.

Rafe grabbed Phineas by the armpits to drag him out. He was still breathing, thank God. Rafe said a quick prayer as he started to drag him out. But before he could reach the wall of flames, the floor beneath them cracked and splintered, shifted and tilted.

And then they were falling.

#

“Wake up!”

Moira moaned involuntarily, then forced her mouth closed. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain.

“Good,” Fiona said. “
Cead inion.
You’re back among the living. For now.”

“
Cailleach.”

Fiona slapped her. “Shut up!”

The anger surprised Moira. Sure, she’d insulted her mother, but last time Fiona had laughed and simply zapped her with pain. This time, she’d used her hand, showing emotion out of control.

“Control,”
Fiona had often said to Moira growing up
, “is what separates us from the peons. We are powerful because we have control. Of ourselves, of everything around us.”

Something had happened to Fiona, Moira thought. And she needed to know what. It might be the key to defeating her.

Moira was on the ground, unrestrained but stripped of her weapons and protections. She pulled herself up to sitting position. She was in the middle of a circle within a circle, the fifth point in the larger circle that surrounded the house. It was dark, pitch black, no stars visible. Impossible. Except Fiona always had a great command of the elements. If she wanted fog, there would be fog. If she wanted to black the sky, she would black the sky. It might be an illusion, Moira thought. So that all she could see was what was within the circle surrounded by black candles.

“Tiffany! Get the others, bring them here,” Fiona said. “They were weak fools, to be defeated by this nothing.”

“Yes, Supreme Mother,” Tiffany said and scampered off.

“
Supreme Mother
,” Moira mocked.

“Yes,” Fiona said. “Everyone else recognizes my power, my authority. And you will, Andra Moira. You will succumb to me. You will fulfill your destiny and serve me as liaison to all other worlds.”

“Sorry, Charlie, no can do.”

This time, Fiona didn’t slap her or laugh. She just smiled. Moira watched her closely as Fiona approached her. Her mother, who had always looked impossibly young and beautiful, looked old. She was only forty-eight—she’d conceived Moira in a ritual on her eighteenth birthday, had her nine months later—but she’d never looked older than her twenties. Moira knew it was because of magic, but what had failed her? Something was wrong. Her usually vibrant bright-red hair was shot with gray; her vivid blue eyes were shadowed; her smooth skin sagged with wrinkles. She looked…
sick.

“You’re dying.”

“Because of you!” Fiona shot out impulsively, then spun around as if she knew she shouldn’t have said anything.

“Good,” Moira said, baiting her.

“You ungrateful spawn,” Fiona said. Slowly, she turned to face Moira. With a flick of her wrist and a brief incantation, Fiona shot a spell at Moira. Moira had no weapons to fight Fiona, no protections against the dark magic.

At first, Moira didn’t feel or see anything. Only Fiona, standing there looking too old, too sick, to be her vibrant, evil mother.

Then Fiona looked over Moira’s shoulder and smiled. “Hello, Peter. It’s
so
good to see you again.”

Moira’s chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. Not because of any magic, but because she felt the spell. And it wasn’t just any spell. It was necromancy in its purest, most vicious form.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look. She wanted to believe that St. Michael’s had properly taken care of Peter’s body, but that day had been chaos, and when chaos reigns, anything could happen.