Carnal Sin

by Allison Brennan

  If he didn’t have the sick sensation that his brain was melting and about to leak out of his ears, he’d have been able to talk himself out of the situation. A ball hit his windshield. He swerved, hit a parked car. End of story. He’d been furious and in pain and the patrolman had rubbed him the wrong way. But he hadn’t decked him until the novice had called in the incident—on an unsecured channel where everyone and the press could hear. The gawking bystanders had finally left, but passersby kept looking into the car, watching him.

  Worse, the longer he sat here doing nothing, the more apprehensive he became about Julie. What if she pressed charges against him? He’d bruised her—sure, the sex was consensual, it had always been wild between them, but he’d never left marks like he’d given her last night. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—he didn’t even remember, only flashes of screwing her and the disturbing feeling that he was losing his mind.

  Grant caught a glimpse of himself in the patrol car’s rearview mirror. Hair matted from sweat. Blood on his scalp from when the young cop had thrown him against the hood after Grant had hit him. His eyes were more red than white, and his pupils were dilated.

  No wonder the uniform thought he was on drugs. He looked like he’d been on a bender for a week. He should have listened to Jeff this morning and gone home to sleep off this headache. But sleep was the last thing on his mind. He had to find Julie.

  An unmarked black pool car pulled up behind the black-and-white. Jeff got out of the driver’s seat, and—Grant almost couldn’t believe Johnston’s audacity!—Raphael Cooper stepped out of the passenger seat.

  What was his partner doing with that prick? Where was Moira O’Donnell? In the back of his mind Grant remembered Jeff saying that the Donovan sisters had kidnapped her. Kidnapped? Ludicrous. As ridiculous as Nina Hardwick’s accusation that Pamela Erickson was a witch. Or Moira O’Donnell’s claim that she was a psychic.

  He reached for the handle only to remember he was in the back of the patrol car and trapped. He saw his partner talking—arguing—with the cop, but he could hear only indistinct voices and isolated words.

  Stress. Difficult case. Girlfriend.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” Grant mumbled.

  He didn’t know why he insisted that Julie was his ex. He still slept with her. He still sought out her company. He still called her in the middle of the night when he had insomnia. When he’d had a rough day. When he had to tell a mother that her son was dead.

  He stared at his hands. He’d calmed down enough to convince the uniform not to cuff him, even though he was still trapped in the back of the patrol car. He’d been there the day the sheriff had come to the house and told his mother that Brian had died. That Brian had died a hero defending an elderly couple in a twenty-four-hour convenience store during a holdup didn’t matter. He was dead. Grant’s little brother was dead, and his mother had never recovered. And she never wanted to look at Grant again, since Grant was the one who had told Brian to go to the store. Brian always did what Grant said. And Brian was dead.

  Julie had listened. God, he missed talking to her. He just wanted to make everything up to her. Maybe there was more to them than he’d realized. Maybe he should have tried harder to make the relationship work. He didn’t want to be with her 24/7, but when he wasn’t, he missed her.

  He wanted to fix everything. With Julie. With them. With their future.

  The door opened and the uniform said, “You can go. But I’m writing this up.”

  He wanted to deck the prick—again—but relief over getting out of this damn car won over vengeance.

  Grant stepped out, saw Cooper again. “What’s he doing here?”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so gruff or ungrateful—he was damn humiliated, but he couldn’t think about that now. Raphael Cooper stared at him as if he were a problem. He was a cop.

  Jeff put a hand on his forearm. “Grant, let’s go back—”

  Grant shook Jeff off. “I need to find Julie.”

  “All right,” Jeff said, then glanced at Cooper.

  “Why are you looking at him?” Grant asked. “Is he in charge now? Is he your senior officer?”

  “Detective,” Jeff said, sounding stern but looking uncertain, “I think we should talk about this in private.”

  “Fuck that. I’m going to Velocity—Julie is waiting for me, and I need to talk to her about this case.” That sounded lame, but he couldn’t think of another reason for this overwhelming need to see Julie. Now. Passing cars on Washington Boulevard slowed as the drivers turned their necks to see what the commotion was about. The kids from the park were watching from the field. Grant’s humiliation made him want to fight, to regain ground. To do something to fix this. But the only thing that would fix it was Julie. He had to see her. Only thinking about her made the pain fade enough so he didn’t think he was dying.

  “I’ll take you,” Jeff said quickly. Too quickly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I could ask the same about you,” Jeff said.

  Jeff was acting like he was the problem. “Shit, Jeff, I have a migraine the size of Dodger Stadium, that’s what’s wrong. Why the fuck is Cooper here? Why’d you bring him? Where’s O’Donnell?”

  “We’ll talk in the car,” Jeff said.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. There’s nothing wrong with the engine in my car. I’m getting my keys—”

  “I have your keys, Grant. You’re in no condition to drive.”

  “I’m not on anything!”

  Cooper said, “Detective, you’re sick—we don’t have a lot of time, I’ll explain on the—”

  Before Cooper could finish his sentence, Grant charged him. He would not tolerate a civilian giving him orders. He was not sick.

  Then why is your dick hard as a rock and your head is about to explode? Why were you thinking of picking up a hooker? Why’d you hurt Julie during sex?

  Something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t focus.

  He tackled Cooper, but the larger man pivoted and Grant went down hard on his right arm. Cooper was down, too, but he rolled away and jumped up, as fluid as a prizefighter.

  Jeff grabbed Grant by the arm and pulled him up. “Stop,” he said in a low voice so only he could hear. “You’re making this worse. I can fix it, but not if you don’t calm down.”

  Grant let Jeff walk him to the pool car. Cooper got into the passenger seat. “I’m not sitting in the back like a criminal,” Grant said. His vision was blurring and he shook his head to clear it, but that made the migraine pound. He grabbed his head and squeezed as if trying to hold his skull together. He stumbled and would have fallen to his knees if Jeff hadn’t held him up.

  “It’s going to be okay, Grant. I promise. We’re going to see someone who can fix this. You’re going to get through this.”

  “We’re going to Velocity. To see Julie.”

  “Sure,” Jeff said. He glanced at Cooper and refused to look Grant in the eye.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Grant, I think—”

  Grant pushed Jeff hard against the car and ran in the other direction. What was wrong with everyone? Why wouldn’t they give him a straight answer?

  A sharp pain exploded in his lower back and his body vibrated violently as he fell to the sidewalk, twitching and dazed. His last clear image was of his partner standing over him as he lay nearly paralyzed from the Taser.

  “I’m sorry, Nelson, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  Moira assessed the situation pretty quickly, coming to the conclusion that she was screwed big-time.

  She’d done exactly what Rafe would have told her to do: wait for an opportunity. But so far, there had been no chance to escape. And now, Wendy had her tied down in a spirit trap. She’d been stripped down to her bra and jeans, her leather jacket and turtleneck shirt tossed to the far side of the room. There was nothing sexual about her partial nakedness—Wendy had searched her completely and found all her goodies. The sacred oil, the holy water, the
salt lining in her jacket, the iron in the pockets, the devil’s cuff—everything that could have helped Moira fight demons. All gone.

  Yep, she was screwed.

  “Where are we?” she asked. She’d only seen a small portion of the mansion Nicole had brought her to—secluded, opulent, and empty. They were in the dining room. The table had been pushed to the side, all the chairs had been removed, and a spirit trap was painted on the wooden floor. Pam Erickson watched from one of two doorways, and Nicole had laid out her tools on the table: an asthame, glass bowl, and a variety of dried herbs. Moira also noted a vial of blood.

  “Kent Galion’s house,” Wendy said. “It’s perfect. Rape, murder, violence—perfect to complete the ritual. I like the balance.”

  She sounded so much like Fiona, except for one major difference. Moira had never doubted Fiona’s sanity—she was simply evil and selfish. But Wendy was a magician and crazy. A dangerous combination.

  Moira said, “As I told Nicole, you’re a fool. You don’t have a succubus in your power, you have the demon Lust, and she’s only playing along with you until she completes your demands; then she’s free.”

  “You know nothing about my magic!” Wendy lit all the candles in the room with a simple incantation.

  Moira laughed. “Parlor tricks.”

  “I didn’t believe Nicole when she said you turned your back on your heritage. I’m shocked it’s true.”

  “I know more about magic in my little finger than—”

  Moira sucked in her breath involuntarily as Wendy delivered a psychic punch to her chest. She couldn’t speak as she recovered from the jolt.

  “Yes, please be quiet.”

  Julie Schroeder entered the dining room. She wore a thin, flowing red gown. As she sashayed past the flickering candles, Moira noted she wore no underclothes.

  Moira found her voice enough to say, “Lying bitch.”

  Julie laughed and Moira frowned. She’d closed off her senses when she’d been kidnapped, out of fear and self-preservation. Now, she slowly opened them.

  It only took a few seconds to realize she was facing a demon.

  Not just any demon. Lust inhabited Julie’s body.

  “Where is my soul?” the demon asked.

  “We’ll begin the ritual and find him.” Wendy glared at Moira. “You screwed up my plans when you showed up at Velocity. I couldn’t wait for Grant.”

  “I feel just awful about that.” Moira feigned a yawn, keeping an eye on Nicole’s ritual.

  “It doesn’t matter because I know how to find him.”

  The three women circled the demon and held hands. The demon closed her eyes, a secret grin on her face.

  Wendy spoke an ancient Latin incantation that at first Moira didn’t recognize. She listened, unable to translate it quickly. Then she heard one word, oculus, eye. It was an all-seeing spell, for the witch to locate someone. Eye … blood …

  My eye, his eye. My blood, his blood. As it is above, so it is below.

  Wendy held up the small vial of red liquid that Moira knew in her heart was Grant’s blood. She twisted off the cap, and for a second Moira thought she was going to drink it. Instead, she held out her wrist and the demon cut it with Nicole’s asthame. Wendy gasped, then poured a few drops of Grant’s blood on her wrist. The demon put her finger in the mixed blood and wrote a symbol on Wendy’s arm.

  The intimacy of the ritual astounded Moira. Even Fiona would not have risked her life by allowing a demon to cut her skin, even for added power.

  Wendy held her arms out and the demon spoke the language of the Conoscenza, the ancient book written by demons that Fiona had found. The book Moira needed to destroy to prevent the Seven from being summoned again. Unable to translate the words, Moira didn’t know what the demon Lust was saying, but the rhythm and tone chilled her until she couldn’t stop shaking. The ground beneath the house shook slightly, barely enough to feel, but magical energy flowed around them until on a breath of stirred air, the spell left in search of Grant.

  “I see him!” Wendy cried. She laughed and didn’t sound sane.

  A cell phone trilled.

  Nicole said, “That’s Julie’s phone.”

  Wendy, eyes bright with demonic magic, answered the phone.

  Moira heard Rafe’s voice on the other end.

  “I have Grant Nelson. You have Moira. Let’s trade.”

  Wendy laughed until tears ran down her face, then hung up without answering Rafe’s question. She faced Moira with a glowing smile. “I hope you said goodbye to your boyfriend because you won’t see him until you meet again in Hell.”

  The demon, Wendy, and Pam Erickson left.

  Nicole smiled at Moira. “It’s just you and me.” Moira felt the energy building again. “I can’t kill you yet, but I can have some fun.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Rafe had Grant Nelson restrained in the reverse spirit trap. They were in Jackson’s church, in the large area where the altar had been. A twenty-foot-tall empty cross hung on thick wires from the ceiling, the base eight feet overhead and behind them.

  A thick line of salt circled Grant, as well as a nearly invisible circle of sacred oil. Rafe hoped they weren’t making a mistake using the church as their last stand—it had once been a Catholic church, and Jackson said the relics beneath the altar had never been removed. They were safe in a wooden box beneath the floor. Maybe it was overkill, but Rafe tied Grant to a chair directly above the relics. If the cop didn’t calm down and listen, Rafe wouldn’t be able to free him, and if Grant couldn’t defend himself it could put him at greater risk.

  He hoped he was doing the right thing—and he wished Anthony would call him back with answers. They were cutting it far too close. If Anthony didn’t know what to do, then they would have to wing it. Which might well get them all killed. Rafe tried not to dwell over Moira’s captivity otherwise he’d lose his edge. Wendy’s laughter had been borderline hysterical, and Rafe expected the demon any minute.

  He didn’t know if he could do this without Moira, and prayed she was safe.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafe said as he checked Grant’s restraints.

  “You kidnapped a cop. Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” Grant glared at Jeff Johnston, who stood to the side, his eyes red with restrained emotion and uncertainty. He’d been the one to Taser his partner. “I’ll have your badge, Johnston.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Grant, but you’re not yourself.” Jeff asked Rafe, “Is he possessed or something?”

  “No. He’s infected. The demon Lust did a number on him, and now she’s coming to finish the job. Steal his soul, then end his life.”

  Grant fought his restraints. “You’re both fucking insane! I’m going to kill you!”

  “I want to cut you loose,” Rafe said, “but you’ll only endanger yourself if you leave this spirit trap.”

  “I’m going to throw the book at you,” he growled.

  Jackson Moreno brought the chalice from the sanctuary. “I don’t think we should bring that out,” Rafe said. “Not until Anthony calls.”

  “I’ll keep it with me.”

  “But—” Rafe was unsure. Moira had been adamant about keeping it well secured until the demon was trapped. “I’m going to call Anthony now,” he said. “We can’t wait.”

  “What’s that?” Grant demanded. He was obviously in pain, but not from the restraints. His hair was dark with sweat, his face flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He was fighting the lustful urges, but Rafe suspected he’d be vulnerable as soon as the demon arrived. Rafe couldn’t free him; Grant Nelson wasn’t in his right mind.

  “I’ve been telling you the truth, Detective. Wendy Donovan is a witch,” Rafe told him as he called Anthony. “She summoned a succubus—a demon who steals the souls of men during sex—in order to gain favors. But this time, she trapped one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and it’s not as simple to get rid of it.”

  “You’re all fucking lunatics!”

  Let me talk to him.

  There was
no way Rafe was letting Julie take over. Moira was already going to be livid that he’d let the witch’s spirit inside him. Rafe couldn’t give up even a sliver of control.

  Anthony answered his phone on the third ring. “Rafe.”

  “I’m desperate for answers, Anthony. We have the cop, the demon is on its way, and the Donovans have Moira somewhere.”

  “What? Who has Moira?”

  “Wendy and Nicole Donovan plan to turn her over to Fiona.”

  “You can’t let that happen!”

  Rafe hesitated. For two weeks Anthony had been berating Moira, doubting her, and arguing with her. It had developed into a huge problem between him and Anthony as well, and now he was suddenly concerned about her safety? Not simply concerned—but panicked. “I have no intention of letting them harm her. But it’s nearly sunset here and we’re out of time.”

  “Where’s the chalice?”

  “We have it here.”

  “You need to contain the demon in the chalice and then melt it. But you won’t have much time.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “That, I’m not as certain about.”

  “You’re not helping, Anthony.”

  “What do you want from me? I’m seven thousand miles away, and I’ve been reading handwritten notes in four languages for twenty hours straight. In one book I’ve found reliable, it states that any physical portal—that is, an object and not a place—into the underworld can be used to trap a demon using a binding exorcism prayer. In my experience working with artifacts, I believe this is correct.”

  “Have you done it?”

  “I haven’t had cause. I’ve encountered demons trapped in physical vessels like the chalice during archeological excavations and have successfully sent them back, but I’ve never handled a demon as powerful as Lust.”

  Rafe considered Anthony’s experience. “Right now the demon is in a human body. Do I need to draw it out of the body first, then bind it to the chalice?”

  “I would suggest just that. You’ll need to be in the reverse trap to protect you.”