Mortal Sin (51 page)

“Look,” Fiona said. “Look!”

Against her will, Moira turned her head. She was looking through a portal to the Underworld. Everything in front of her shimmered and wavered, like seeing through a mirage, or through water. Hot water because she felt the heat from the flowing lava, the touch of the flames that wicked around the edges of the doorway.

“Fulfill your destiny and you can walk between worlds,” Fiona said. “You can be with Peter. You can be with that old, rotting priest. You can be with Raphael.”

Moira spun around. “Rafe is not dead!” And Father Philip was not in Hell. She had to remember that Fiona would say and do anything to turn Moira. Moira had to be strong. Stronger.

Fiona barked out a command and Moira turned again to the portal. Through the doorway, she saw Peter. He crawled over a road of skulls. Naked. Bloody. He was hardly more than skin and bones. He’d been dead seven years, dead and suffering because of her. Because of what they’d done. Not just the magic… It didn’t matter that they were trying to do good by undoing all the evil Fiona had done because that magic led Fiona right to them. Fiona knew. That they were in love. That they were lovers. That Peter had broken his vows and they made love in secret. No one had known, until that fateful day when Fiona sent a demon in through a spell Moira had used, a powerful demon who had taken over Moira and forced her to watch as it killed Peter. As Peter died looking in her eyes and seeing only her.

She cried out, because the anguish of that time still tormented her. The pain of killing Peter, of not being able to stop the demon. The sickening sound of his bones breaking one by one. In the end, it was her fault because she was the one Fiona wanted.

Moira closed her eyes.

“Open them!” Fiona shouted.

Moira hung her head.

You are stronger than her.

Moira looked up. The portal was gone. In its place was bright light. From the light came the voice of Father Philip.

Look inside. Look to your gifts. Use not external forces, call not on the dark, but use the light within. Your light. Your internal strength. Your God-given soul. I will be with you always, dear Moira.

“Open your eyes!”

Fiona smacked her across the face and Moira hit the ground. Slowly, she rose, on all fours, then stood. Fiona was only feet in front of her. The portal was still there, to the side, showing Peter being tortured by creatures that had no name. But it was fading, blurry. It was an image that Fiona had projected, not what really was.

“My eyes are open, Mother,” Moira said. “I will not serve you. I will not be your pet between worlds.”

“You have no choice. You have sealed your own fate. Your lover released the Seven Deadly Sins on Earth, and you want to send them back. The only way you can is as their master. You will rule the Underworld. You will walk between the two worlds as a princess. You will have immortality!”

“I’m sure Serena will be happy with the honor; give it to her.”

“I can’t!” Fiona screamed. She tossed up her arms in frustration. A tree shook behind her and a flock of birds erupted, then fell from the sky, dead. “Don’t you think I would have rather had my loyal daughter in such a role? But you are the only one. You have been consecrated for the position. And I don’t need your consent. Everyone you love will suffer, especially Raphael, unless you do exactly as I say!”

Fiona was desperate. Something had changed in the last three months to push Fiona to this.

“The thing is, Rafe and Rico and Anthony and all the others, they understand the risks. They would be willing to martyr themselves.”

“I will not kill them, Andra Moira; I will torture them in far worse ways than you ever were.”

Moira involuntarily shuddered. But she said, in a voice surprisingly strong, “Try it.”

Fiona screamed and in her anger shot out a bolt of a spell that would have brought Moira to her knees. But Moira anticipated it. She understood her mother’s rage. Her needs. Moira dropped to the ground and rolled away. She picked up her dagger that her mother had tossed aside, and repelled the second, weaker bolt Fiona shot her way. It reflected back to Fiona and zapped her. Fiona’s face turned red in rage and she pointed to the house. “Watch!”

Fiona called up the elements in a powerful spell and the black smoke that surrounded the house swirled faster and faster. The house was on fire, which meant at least the burning oil had worked… or so Moira hoped. But had they all gotten out in time?

The Earth turned orange as Fiona began to slice layers off between this world and the next. Moira’s throat constricted as she saw the sheer power of Fiona’s unrestricted black magic. It sounded like a giant hand had reached down and crushed the house in a giant fist, cracking wood, falling stones, shattering glass. She turned from the ongoing destruction and charged Fiona.

Fiona had aged years in the last five minutes. The black magic was killing her, and her use of it in such force had accelerated it. The change threw Moira off balance, so much that she stumbled before she attacked. Fiona put her hand out and with the force aimed at the house, lifted Moira from her feet and threw her twenty feet in the air. Moira came down hard, then felt nothing as her consciousness slipped away.

Fiona watched as the house collapsed into the Earth, then turned to her daughter, her first born, the one who had been conceived and born and raised to do one thing… yet turned her back on her destiny.

Tiffany approached cautiously with Adrienne. “The others are too injured to move,” Tiffany said.

“Forget them. It’s done. Carry her to the altar.”

Tiffany and Adrienne did as they were instructed. Fiona followed slowly. Her back ached. Her voice was weak. She felt dizzy and at a loss.

Moira had goaded her into using her power; how had she known using it would age her rapidly? Who had betrayed her with her secret? The only one who knew was Matthew…

No, he would not have betrayed her.

Serena suspected. Serena always had a soft spot for Moira.

Had she? Serena had been so secretive lately. So quiet. Absent. Had she been plotting her ascension as Supreme Mother? That would explain a lot… the trip to Victoria ostensibly to find the key to Cain’s Box.

Maybe Matthew was in on it. He’d spent nearly two weeks in Santa Louisa searching for Jezebel’s Blade; what had taken him so long? Richard had found it, had he not? All Matthew had to do was retrieve it.

Maybe they were all plotting against her.

Wouldn’t they be sorry when she came to them in her full power and immortality? Wouldn’t they get on their knees and pray for her forgiveness when she controlled the Underworld?

“Tonight!” Fiona explained in as strong a voice as she could muster, “Tonight, Andra Moira descends to save us all.”

Subconsciously, Rafe knew the dream was a vision—a memory from the past.

But it felt like he was really there, decades ago, when Monsignor Patrick Flannigan confronted a vicious demon. Monsignor Flannigan, one of the slaughtered priests, who Rafe had almost forgotten was at the mission because he was the last to have arrived before Rafe.

Patrick walked on the cliffs, the surge of the ocean below audible, but hidden in a dense fog.

Evil lurked in his homeland. An evil brought forth by people.

He came to save the lost sheep, the altar boy who’d begun to dabble in magic, and the boy who wanted a friend. The orphans, Billy and Simon, were in danger. Patrick didn’t know how he knew, but he trusted God, and therefore, he went in search for the boys.

Patrick refused to allow a child to turn evil if he could prevent it. If there was nothing else he did, he would protect the children. It was the children who were the future. It was the children who would show the way. Love, hope, faith… but the greatest of these is love. Patrick found the boys were in the ruins of the fort on the edge of the cliffs outside Cahirciveen. The ruins had been used in many dark magic rituals. Patrick had come to cleanse the area time and time again, but the evil remained. Craving souls, as if evil had independent thought.

He was too late. Billy had an asthme—a ritual dagger used in the dark arts. It was a mock Mass, and he used the Host he’d stolen for a dark and hideous purpose. How had he turned so far down the treacherous path? Patrick feared for his soul.

Billy’s voice came over on the wind.

“Your mother walks between two worlds. You can walk with her. All you need to do is say yes and drink from this cup.”

“No!” Patrick shouted and ran toward the altar. “No, Simon!”

Billy jumped up, rage twisting his face into a hideous monster. “You’re not welcome here!” He spoke in Gaelic, a dark prayer Patrick knew about but had never heard spoken.

“I offer this soul to you. Take it freely to walk between the worlds forever and ever… ”

“Simon! Don’t touch the cup!”

Simon looked terrified and moved away from the altar. Billy hit him with a rock and the younger boy crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Billy smiled, and a dark mist rose from the chalice and circled the two boys.

“When I get back, I’ll have answers to everything.”

“It’s a lie, Billy! The serpent lies!”

Billy collapsed. The thick black mist was a barrier between the astral plane and the Earth. Billy had commanded something that Patrick had heard about but never seen. Nothing physical survived the astral plane. If they couldn’t get back…

Simon was unconscious. He would never be able to get back on his own. When Billy was done, Simon’s body would die and his soul would be trapped.

Patrick called on all his memories for the one exorcism that would work. And thanks be to God, it was on his tongue, in raw Gaelic. He shouted at the growing cloud. The Earth shook. His chest tightened as the cloud tried to suffocate him. He prayed his faith would protect him as he tried to protect the innocent children.

It wasn’t a cloud at all
—
Billy had brought forth spirits from the astral plane. As Patrick’s exorcism repelled them, they became desperate and violent, surrounding him as they shrieked in agony.

Patrick finished the exorcism. The Earth stopped shaking. The cloud was gone. The wind died down. And the bodies of two boys lay in front of him. He knelt and felt their pulses. They were both alive. Thank God.

Billy opened his eyes and stared at Patrick with a hate so vile Patrick would have nightmares about it for years to come. “Damn you, Father.”

#

“Dammit, Raphael! Wake up!”

Rafe sat up with a jolt as water splashed over his face. Above him, a fire raged. Phineas knelt beside him. “I know what to do,” Rafe said.

“We’re trapped.”

They’d fallen in the basement. Phineas had pulled Rafe to the edge to protect them both from falling debris.

“The tunnel?”

“On the other side of that cave in.”

Rafe gestured to the stairs. “We have to take them.”

“The house is on fire.”

“It’s either try to get out or die down here.”

Phineas tried to stand, then fell. Blood oozed from claw marks on his chest and face. “Go,” he told Rafe.

“Not without you, brother.”

“It’s because of me this happened.”

“It’s because of Fiona O’Donnell that this happened.” Rafe pulled Phineas up. “Anything broken?”

“No, but—”

“Then help me help you.” Rafe felt like he’d been hit with a brick in the back of his head, but a concussion—if that’s what it was—was the worst of his injuries. And he didn’t know how much of the pain was from Patrick Flannigan’s memory and how much of it was from the fall.

As they walked up the stairs, the rest of the living room floor gave out and fell into the basement. They were walking into the unknown, but at least it was a chance.

Rafe began mumbling in Gaelic, the exorcism coming to his lips smoothly.

He’d never learned Gaelic. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he repeated everything Patrick had said, and knew he’d remembered correctly.

They opened the door which led into the kitchen. The kitchen was full of smoke and one wall was on fire. They pushed through, out the back door, and tumbled down the stairs. The black cloud surrounded them. Phineas started toward it.

“No!” Rafe called him back.

Behind them, the house moaned, shrinking into itself.

This black cloud of spirits was bigger than the one that Monsignor Flannigan had faced, but Rafe had faith that the exorcism would still work. He shouted it, and the cloud undulated in front of him. He continued, feeling the spirits reaching out for him, for Phineas, their icy hands touching his skin. Each touch felt like a needle, but he pushed forward, arms up, chanting the exorcism with everything he had.

Phineas screamed beside him and collapsed, but Rafe continued. He couldn’t be distracted, he couldn’t stop or the spirits would win. They spun around the house, and around him and Phineas, and still Rafe spoke, commanding them to return to their world, commanding them to leave the Earth, to go in peace.

“
Suaimhneas síoraí tabhair dó, a Thiarna, agus go lonraí solas suthain uirthi. Go bhfaighe a anam agus anamnacha na bhfíreán trócaire ó Dhia agus cónaí faoi shuaimhneas.”

The Gaelic rolled out as if it were his native tongue.

“Amen!”

The Earth shook, and the black cloud was sucked into the burning house.

“Run!” Rafe told Phineas. He helped him up. “Run fast!”

The house began to collapse behind them, drawing into itself, a mixture of fire and spirits and wood and stone. The lost souls screamed as they were pulled back to wherever they’d come from.

Rafe stumbled and fell to his knees. The ground had stopped shaking. He looked over this shoulder.

The house was gone. In its remains was the basement, flames shooting out of the ground, devouring everything that had been above it.