The excitement quickly ended.
“Today, you begin your final journey here on earth,” Fiona said, beaming at Moira, proud of her. But Moira didn’t like what her mother was saying.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will be able to walk between the worlds at will. You will be able to control spirits with a command, initiate requests from every coven on earth.”
“I still-”
“You will understand!” Fiona was losing her temper and Moira shut up. She couldn’t face Fiona’s wrath, not on this day.
She was treated like a princess, and even Serena, her eleven-year-old half-sister, was excited for her. “You’re going to be a goddess. Forever.”
But Moira was skeptical. Mediator? Goddess? Walking between the worlds? It sounded like she was to be a spirit herself, a ghost, trapped into slavery, doing the bidding of whatever witch summoned her …
Then that night …
Moira would never forget the screams of the two men who were stabbed in the chest with a glowing dagger.
Her mother’s fury when she didn’t drink their blood.
The chaos when her refusal caused the demons they’d trapped to break their restraints and torture those whose protective shields were weak. Fiona had then used all her power to send them back to Hell. Moira helped out of fear more than rage.
“You will comply!” Fiona said, coming at her with a dagger dripping with human blood. “You are here because I made you. You will serve me or you will burn!”
Moira ran, tossing spells out almost without thought, stopping those who tried to capture her … she didn’t even know where she was until she ran out, saw signs in French, and wondered how she’d been ignorant for so long. She hadn’t even remembered the journey! Had she been drugged? Under a spell?
She ran, hid, ran again, covered herself with protective spells and shields and anything she could think of. Anything and everything except calling forth a demon to do her bidding.
This was so wrong, people dying-how could Fiona have killed those men? For her? So she could be a slave?
That was the first night she’d ever been alone. But Fiona soon found and punished her. Afterward, Moira played the good daughter as long as she could. She learned as much as she could to fight her mother, to stop her, studying Fiona’s enemies, particularly St. Michael’s Order, a much hated group.
And then at last, she escaped. And this time, she knew enough to keep her whereabouts hidden from her mother.
She had heard about Father Philip of St. Michael’s, and that he might be able to help her, but had no information about where he lived or what he could do for her. She tried to find him by leaving coded messages at every Catholic church she entered, not knowing whom to trust. After more than a year, she started finding messages from Father Philip when she went to the churches, in the middle of the night, to steal holy water. Slowly, he told her of many atrocities her mother had committed over the years, awful things in which Moira had unknowingly participated. Horrified, she worked to undo the damage they’d caused, righting wrongs, hiding from Fiona while seeking more information from the elusive Father Philip.
She didn’t realize until later that St. Michael’s Order had been trying to find her. Or that until she escaped her mother, they would have killed her to stop Fiona. To stop her from becoming the Mediator. And she still didn’t fully understand what being the Mediator meant!
After two years of running and despair, the holy man arranged to meet her at dawn, in a small church in rural Italy.
She knew him the moment she laid eyes on him.
“Father Philip?”
He nodded, then crossed the stone floor, the rising sun streaming through ancient stained-glass windows. Father Philip was older than she’d thought, with trimmed silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, but he was spry, stood straight, but was still several inches shorter than she. “Child, at last. We’ve been looking for you.”
She frowned. The notes they’d left for her over the years had been pretty clear: they did not want to have anything to do with her personally, but they would feed her information.
“But the messages you left for me-”
“That was Pietro. You will meet him. He insisted that we test you, to make sure you weren’t setting a trap. This is the first time I’ve stepped outside our sanctuary in many years. There are some who-” He stopped, put his hands on her shoulders. “Some people who want to hurt me. Like your mother.”
She became suddenly scared and confused, and started trembling, sitting down heavily.
“Moira, what is it?”
What if this was a trap … for her?
When she didn’t answer, he said, “I will show you something that may give you a modicum of peace.”
He removed his clerical collar, then pulled back the neck of his shirt far enough to show her his upper right breast.
On his tan skin was the tattooed symbol of St. Michael’s Order that she’d seen in one of the ancient books she’d found during her search. The sword of St. Michael the Archangel slaying the serpent, an elaborate triangle behind it to represent the Holy Trinity.
“You are strong, child,” Father Philip told her, replacing his collar, “with a well-formed conscience. Your heart is pure; your quest has come with a price and a reward.”
“I don’t understand-”
“Join us. Let me teach you the ways of St. Michael’s. The decision is yours.” He sat on the pew. “Or continue running from Fiona.”
She shook her head. “I–I’m so lost. I didn’t know what she was doing.”
“The road you have chosen is not easy. But it is your path. I can’t walk it for you. Believe me when I tell you that every man at St. Michael’s would walk in your shoes if they could. But you are unique, Moira. And in time, you will understand that. Until then, I’m here to help you. I can teach you to avoid or confront obstacles on your path. I can give you the tools to survive. Though in the end, I cannot take your place.” He gently touched her face, his eyes watering. “I would if I could, my dear.”
Her lip quivered. “I’m so tired.”
“You are not alone, Moira.”
“She has to be stopped, but I am so scared.”
“God tells us, ‘Do not be afraid.’ But there are many things that are fearsome. There are good reasons to be afraid, and while we can be confident in our eternal life, we may be terrified on earth. We have a sacred duty to save as many souls as we can. Fiona and her kind have turned so many souls black. Hardened their hearts, devoted them to serving her and covens like hers, seeking answers where there are only dark lies. Come with me, and we can help.”
“I’m cursed.” She pulled down her turtleneck, revealing the mark of the demon on the side of her neck. “I’m theirs.” Her voice choked.
“No, you are not.”
“You can help me?”
“I will help you, and you will stop her. You are stronger than you know. But first, from this moment forward, you must promise me no more magic. It’s your magic that is leaving a trail for Fiona to follow. It’s why she’s close.”
“But it’ll leave me unprotected! I can’t, it’s-”
“Even magic used for good leads to evil. Never forget that.”
She’d tried to live according to Father Philip’s rules. He taught her everything about St. Michael’s Order. And her knowledge of Fiona and covens would help them stop the evildoers. Father Philip and his order had been floundering ever since Fiona began to unite the independent covens. Moira’s unique position gave them intelligence they’d never had before.
She wanted to help, and did. But it felt … passive. It became increasingly difficult to follow Father Philip’s rules. She wanted to be out of the walls of St. Michael’s, out tracking Fiona herself! But Father said she was unsafe outside the monastery’s walls. She’d traded fear and hunger for security in a beautiful sanctuary that too often felt like prison. And then there was Peter …
Together, they�
��d begun to use magic to undo the damage that Fiona had done. As a team, they were so powerful, and they were doing good! They had great successes, though even those they kept secret. Rico and the others believed that it was their own handiwork, while Peter and Moira were aiding them from afar. They were …
… leading Fiona right to them. It was the magic that revealed Moira’s location, the magic that led Fiona to St. Michael’s, and no amount of protection could shield Moira from her own arrogance.
Fiona found her, sent a demon to possess her, and with her own hands Moira had killed the one man she loved.
SIX
Oh mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law
Lawman has put an end to my running
and I’m so far from my home.
— STYX, “Renegade”
Moira had to steer well clear of any self-pity, especially now when Anthony had the opportunity to chip away at her carefully constructed shields. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Skye McPherson approaching Anthony, who was standing near the edge of the cliffs. Skye and Anthony talked, and Moira knew damn well what Anthony would say about her.
Moira turned on her flashlight and shined it on the ground, looking for more clues.
It was obvious-at least to her-that there had been a full, protective circle here. Anthony knew how to read the signs and symbols, how to trace their magical supplies. As a demonologist, he might even know which demons had been summoned. But most of the symbols were obscured. Some attempt had been made at collecting the supplies-she saw only two candles, yet the wax in the dirt indicated many more. Something violent had wreaked havoc here. Maybe she could piece it all together and somehow discover Fiona’s weak spot.
If only it weren’t just about her, Moira wouldn’t hesitate to use magic to find and destroy her mother, even knowing that she herself would likely die and her soul would be lost. What did Moira have to live for but regret?
But she couldn’t risk innocents. Lily, or Jared, or even that bastard Anthony Zaccardi. She’d told Father Philip she couldn’t bring Anthony in because she didn’t want to risk his life, and while on the surface it sounded altruistic, it was purely selfish. She didn’t care if Anthony was dead or alive, as long as he was dead through natural means. Then his eternal fate was between him and the Big Guy. But witches? Possession? Hell? She couldn’t suffer through that again.
You’re pathetic. Get over it already.
Good going, Mo. Practice that tough love on yourself; maybe you’ll believe it one of these days.
Moira walked along the perimeter of what had been the outer circle and suddenly spotted something. She stopped, squatted, and inspected the earth.
There had been a double circle, and the remnants of a hexagram. But this hexagram had crossed the inner circle and touched the outer circle. Generally, the hexagram was constrained by the inner circle. She hadn’t seen one of these before, but she knew the triangles at the tips of the hexagram within the double circle were for specific, ancient rituals. They were not well known, not practiced by most covens because most covens were novices working basic spells that did nothing but add to the fissure between the underworld and humans.
For Moira’s entire life, her mother had been obsessed with finding the Conoscenza. Everything that she and Peter had uncovered years ago told them that the Conoscenza, the Book of Knowledge, the key to finding the Tree of Life, was gone forever. What if they’d been wrong? What if Fiona had found it? How in the world had her mother even read and understood it? It wasn’t written in a known language; it was so foreign, so old, that it was rumored to have first been written in the generation after the fall of man, by fallen angels and the humans they seduced into rebellion.
The two types of demons-fallen angels and lost souls-had one thing in common: they wanted out of Hell. Lost souls were dangerous, but they needed a body to possess. They were weaker than fallen angels, more susceptible to traditional exorcism rites, vulnerable to certain weapons such as iron.
Fallen angels, they were spirits. They were a whole other breed of demon-deadly, dangerous, and wholly evil. They didn’t need a human host, though they could take one easily if they wanted. God put them in Hell for a reason, and dammit, they should stay in Hell!
The Conoscenza gave these dangerous incorporeal creatures an opportunity to escape. Humans, playing with matches and lighting the eternal fire. Manipulating demons with magic took extreme power and fine control, which few witches possessed. It would be far too easy for the demons to break free of restraint and gain the freedom they desperately wanted.
Fiona had been so certain the evil book still existed. She had lusted for it, obsessed over it.
If it existed, great, untold evils would be unleashed on unsuspecting humans. There would literally be Hell on earth until the End Times.
Heat rose from the ground, dark fog swirled around and around and Moira nearly screamed. But Skye and Anthony were still talking off to the side, and they didn’t see anything, didn’t feel the heat that saturated Moira. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck, her skin burned, and in the dark she saw the eye of evil itself, staring at her, marking her. Beneath her feet the river of fire returned, its flames reaching out for her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream …
… then it disappeared. She fell to her knees, caught her breath, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she stood over Hell itself.
“Moira?”
She jumped up and whirled around, fists on the rise until she realized that it was McPherson, who had approached so quietly that Moira questioned her own instincts, her training, her will to live.
“Sorry.” Skye assessed Moira and frowned. “Are you all right? Are you sick?”
She must look like crap for the sheriff to sound so concerned. “Fine.” Her voice was rough. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. So what are you doing now? Did you call Jared Santos, verify that everything I told you is the truth?”
Skye didn’t answer her question directly. “The crime scene team is on its way; I need to ask you to leave. I shouldn’t have let you stay here in the first place. I’ve just been used to letting Anthony help …” Her voice trailed off as she glanced over at Anthony, who was inspecting something on the ground.
“I understand,” Moira said even though she didn’t. Anthony aiding the police?
But Moira could learn nothing more here. She needed to make sure Lily was safe, find out if Jared had found her. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Jared:
When you find Lily take her to my motel room. Tell no one. Do not let her out of your sight. Call me!
She sent it, then deleted all her messages with three quick strokes, just in case the cop wanted to look.
Skye looked at her suspiciously. “You and Anthony have a history.”
The cop’s face was blank, but Moira could read her eyes. The sheriff believed everything Anthony told her, and she now had complete disdain for Moira. It angered and embarrassed her. She reacted with sarcasm.
“Yeah, we go way back,” she replied, adding with a wink, “but he meant nothing to me.”
Skye was not amused. For a moment, Moira saw a hint of jealousy, which the cop quickly covered up. Anthony and a cop. That was one for the record books.
“Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning. Why are you in Santa Louisa?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You might be surprised.”
Anthony stood only feet away. He was listening, pretending to examine one of the symbols painted onto the ground. Jerk. He could have made this so much easier if he’d just vouched for her.
If Skye McPherson was involved with Anthony, she wasn’t ignorant of what was really going on in, above, below, and through the world.
Moira couldn’t exactly tell the complete truth. Anthony knew enough to be dangerous to her, but he didn’t know everything. “I investigate supernatural phenomena. I believe that the fire here a couple of months ago opened a gateway from
Hell. A back door of sorts. And a particularly dangerous coven has been preparing for tonight, sacrificing one of their own to bring forth something evil.” She glanced at Abby’s corpse.
Wow, four sentences and not a lie in them! She was good.
“What specifically were they trying to summon?”
“Demons, of course.”
“When you say ‘coven,’ do you mean witches?”
She shrugged. “Or magicians. You say tomato, I say tomahto.”
“Excuse me?”
“Witches and magicians are essentially the same thing, sort of like …” She thought about it. “All magicians are witches, but not all witches are magicians.”
“Which means what exactly?”
Moira was getting irritated. She really didn’t have time to educate the sheriff-why hadn’t Anthony done it? “Whatever the hell you want it to mean.”
“Don’t screw with me, Ms. O’Donnell. I have one dead teenager, one missing teenager, and when I get back to the station I’ll have the D.A., reporters, parents, and cops to answer to. I don’t have time to play twenty questions.”
“And I don’t have time to explain the nuances of the black arts! Go ask your pet demonologist and leave me the hell alone!”
Moira knew she was overstepping, but she really hated being here. She was worried about Jared and Lily, not to mention that the ground she stood on was a portal to Hell.
Anthony stepped forward to defend Skye. “Watch yourself, Witch.”
“Asshole.”
“Enough!” Skye said. “Why would they want to bring up a demon?”
At least she wasn’t calling her crazy, Moira thought. That was a first. She noticed that Skye and Anthony exchanged significant glances.
Moira ignored Anthony and continued. “It’s always about power and knowledge. This group is already potent. They’ve been summoning evil spirits for generations. The leader-”
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