“The circumstances of Abby Weatherby’s death are unclear. The Santa Louisa Medical Examiner and my office are right now processing evidence that will hopefully lead to the truth. The community deserves it, Abby’s parents deserve it.” She looked out into the audience, her expression stern.
“Abby’s body was found last night on the cliffs outside of town. There was evidence at the scene that more than one person was on the cliffs at some point prior to, or up until, her death. We know that the cliffs are a popular gathering place for young people. How do we know this? Because most of the deputies in my office grew up here, too, and I’ve been told it’s a well-known make-out spot.”
There were some giggles and nervous laughter, but the sheriff didn’t crack a smile.
“At this point, we cannot definitely say whether Abby’s death was an accident or homicide.” She let that sink in, and there were additional murmurings.
McPherson continued, “Perhaps Abby died accidentally—such as by a drug overdose or falling—or through a natural cause like an aneurysm. I can imagine how difficult it would be to witness an accidental death and not know what to do. Sometimes we might make a decision that is wrong, and then we don’t know how to make it right afterward.”
She looked out over the audience carefully, from one side to the other.
Any nervousness was gone, her voice forceful and commanding. “I want to know what happened to Abby Weatherby last night. I want to know the truth. And I know that at least one person in this room was with Abby last night.”
Again, she paused, but cut off the murmurs with a firm announcement: “Every teacher has a set of my business cards. They will be left all over the school. Call me day or night and I will meet with you, I’ll talk to you, I’ll keep it confidential as much as I can. If you’re a witness to something other than an accident, I can and will protect you.
“I need the truth. It’s what Abby and her family deserve.”
The sheriff walked offstage and Chris looked around for Ari. She was on the far side of the gym.
He and Ari had been exclusively dating for nearly two years. He didn’t know if he loved her, but he couldn’t stand the thought of any other guy dating her. And they all wanted to. She was gorgeous. Blond hair, blue eyes, big tits, and hot in her cheerleading uniform. He loved watching her when he was on the bench, or getting that short little skirt off her in the bed of his truck.
Other guys wanted to do the same. Like his best bud, Travis. Was that Travis talking to her now? Chris started over to the corner, but the crush of students delayed him. By the time he got over there, she was gone.
His head pounded and he squeezed his eyes shut. The image of Travis screwing Ari hit him, and he had a hard time getting rid of it. Travis wouldn’t do that to him. Ari wouldn’t. What was he thinking?
Chris left the auditorium, the damp fog and steady drizzle feeling surprisingly good on his hot skin. He felt ill; he knew better than to work out and not eat. But when he’d heard the news about Abby, he couldn’t think about food. Now he was paying for it.
He looked around. A few other students were talking outside, but most were in the cafeteria, where it was warm and dry.
Where was Ari?
Chris walked slowly around campus looking for her. When he walked out into the parking lot, he saw the sheriff getting into a cruiser. He hesitated, not wanting to get Ari in trouble, but she’d been shaking this morning. She couldn’t fake being that scared.
He walked over to Sheriff McPherson. “Sheriff? Do you have a minute?”
The cop nodded. “Why don’t you get in and stay dry?” She motioned to the passenger side.
Chris did, and began. “I’m worried about my girlfriend.”
Skye McPherson took notes as Chris told her everything Ari had said.
Anthony locked his books and papers in his small office—one of the two rooms still standing at the mission—and drove as fast as he dared in the thickening drizzle. It was as if the air had expanded; every breath he took was cold and wet, filling him. The twenty-minute drive down the winding mountain road became thirty minutes, as the slick pavement prevented him from reaching the posted limit.
He absolutely had to find Rafe before the police did. To prepare him for the inevitable questions, the accusations. Skye was only doing her job, and she would be fair, but Anthony had no idea what condition Rafe was in.
His cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number showing. “Hello,” he answered curtly, keeping his eyes on the slick road.
“It’s Moira. I’m heading out to the cliffs right now to find Raphael Cooper.”
“What?” He slowed down, his attention now divided. “What do you know about Rafe?”
“When I got back to my motel room, Lily filled me in. Everything we suspected about her adventures on the cliffs was true, except for one surprising fact. A guy in hospital scrubs walked up and created chaos during the ritual. Told Lily to get the hell out of Dodge, then disappeared. Lily identified him as Cooper when I showed her his picture.”
Anthony said, “Rafe walked out of the hospital at midnight last night. No one has seen him, yet he was way out at the ruins last night?”
“No doubt it was him. I don’t know how he got there, but he saved Lily’s life. I’m going to try to retrace his steps.”
“Maybe the coven kidnapped him,” Anthony said. Or killed him. He pressed the gas pedal harder.
“I don’t think so.”
“You can’t possibly know!”
“Something Fiona said this morning made me think he got away. Did your girlfriend tell you about how Fiona tried to kill me?”
He sighed. “What did Fiona say?”
“It was more the subtext of what she said. She implied that someone had stopped her from completing the ritual. Lily confirmed that demons were released, and that Rafe was trying to stop them.”
“I’ll meet you at the cliffs.”
“I’m practically there.”
“Wait for me.”
“No, I can’t stay here. There’re … things still going on. The electric charge is high; I smell Hell. It’s right here. No way I’m staying. I’ll call you when I find him.”
“But—”
“I wanted to tell you what Lily told me, and because she said something else and I don’t know what it means. Fiona called her the arca. What the hell does that mean?”
“Is Lily still at the motel? I need to send Lily away, to protect her. She’s in grave danger.”
“She’s not there. Jared’s father, a cop, tracked them to my room and took them away. He said he was taking Lily home.”
“And you let him?”
“I wasn’t going to jail again, not that it matters to you.”
Anthony asked, “Where does Lily live?”
“Foxglove—1300. What does arca mean?”
“She’s a spirit trap.”
“What the fuck? Humans can’t trap demons.”
“Can you speak without swearing every other sentence?”
“Fuck, no,” she snapped.
Anthony supposed he’d walked into that one, and said, “She was dedicated for the purpose at her conception. You know something about that, don’t you?” He didn’t mean to be cruel, and almost took it back. But didn’t.
“Her mother … Anthony, Jared’s father took her home more than an hour ago. Her mother must be part of it.”
“I’ll get her,” Anthony said. “You find Rafe.” His stomach churned. He didn’t want to leave Rafe in Moira’s hands, but he didn’t see what choice he had. If the coven got hold of Lily, they might be able to re-create the ritual to reunite the Seven.
“I need a place for Rafe and me to stay. My motel room is no longer safe. What about your girlfriend’s place? Is there a friendly church around here?”
Anthony considered it but knew neither idea would work. “There’s a hotel on the coast, the Santa Louisa Coastal Inn. The owner is a friend of mine. I’ll call him and register a room. I’ll
put the room under your name, and I’ll let him know you’ll be coming.”
“Why can’t—”
He knew what she was going to ask. “I want to talk to Rafe before the police.”
After hanging up with Moira, Anthony put Lily’s address into Skye’s GPS system, then called Father Philip, not caring how late it was in Italy. He was surprised that the Father had already left.
“When did Father leave for Olivet?” he asked.
“One moment,” the monk said. Moments later, Bishop Pietro Aretino came on the phone.
“Anthony,” Bishop Aretino said, “Philip isn’t going to Olivet. He’s on his way to Santa Louisa.”
“Why? He told me—”
The bishop interrupted. “He has his reasons. But he left before dawn, without his assigned escort.”
“What?” Dread filled Anthony. That Father Philip was leaving the sanctuary for Olivet was dangerous in itself, but that he would come here without a bodyguard was foolhardy. Both he and Father Philip knew that his life was in grave danger. He was on the inner council, was privy to information that few had. Information that the covens would love to have, and would be pleased to torture out of the old priest.
“We don’t know exactly when he left, and John is leaving now. We hope he can catch up with Philip before …”
“That’s not soon enough! We have a crisis here,” Anthony said. “The Seven Deadly Sins have been released.”
“You think Santa Louisa is the only major problem we’re facing?” Pietro admonished him. “Our ranks are thinner than ever. I’d send Rico, but he has to protect his people or we have no hope. You have more people in Santa Louisa to help than any of our other hot spots. Be careful, Anthony. God bless you.”
He needed all the blessings he could get. But the motto of St. Michael’s was God helps those who help themselves.
He had his work cut out for him. Finally off the treacherous mountain, Anthony sped up, and hoped that he wasn’t too late to save Lily Ellis, the arca.
FIFTEEN
within my envy, within my envy, within my envy grows
—CALM, “Envy”
Chris couldn’t find Ari after school, and several of her friends said she hadn’t come back after lunch. He tried her cell phone, but there was no answer. He wanted to explain that he’d talked to the sheriff because he was worried about Ari, not because he wanted to get her into any trouble.
“Hey, Kidd, you’re late,” his friend Travis said when Chris walked into the locker room.
He jerked his chin up. “Sec,” he said. He left another message for Ari, then grabbed his gym bag from his locker and jogged to where Travis was waiting by the door. They were the last two players to leave for the bus.
Travis Ehrlich was one of the few black guys at the central coast high school and they’d been friends since day one, when Travis moved to Santa Louisa in the seventh grade. Travis made varsity his freshman year, almost unheard of. He had NBA scouts watching him and a full ride to UCLA—a PAC-10 school—where he’d probably be a starter his freshman year.
Today all Chris could think about was how Travis had everything Chris wanted—and at the assembly, hadn’t Travis had been sniffing around Ari? Was that why Ari had left early?
He shook his head as the headache he’d had all day worsened.
“What’s up?” Travis asked. “You got your game on?”
“It’s on.”
“You look sick.”
Chris hit him good-naturedly in the arm. “Freak.”
Chris had a scholarship, just like Travis. Why was he beating himself up because Travis was going into PAC-10? Chris was happy with his deal.
Travis had a better deal. Prick.
“Chris?” Travis prompted.
He grinned. “Fooled ya.”
“Coach is pissed. Look at his face—it’s beet red.”
“Hot tamale, get a move on.” Chris slapped Travis on the back, and they ran toward the bus that would take them to the away game.
“Watch out!” Travis grabbed Chris by the shirt and pulled him out of the path of a classic bright-red Mustang speeding through the parking lot. It came within inches of running over his toes.
“What the fuck?” Chris said. “That’s Mr. Ayers’s car.”
“That wasn’t Mr. Ayers driving. It looked like Ms. Peterson.”
“Ms. Peterson? The librarian?” Chris stared after the Mustang as it took a corner too fast and too sharp, clipping a stop sign it didn’t even slow down for. “Shit.”
Travis shook his head as they boarded the bus. “I swear, everyone has been acting weird today.”
The Ellis house was at a crossroads—three roads coming together—signifying a place where deals were made. If that were the only sign, Anthony might not have given it a second thought. But there were more. Subtle, understood only by those familiar with magic.
Moira would know.
He pushed the vixen from his mind. He’d regretted his decision not to join Moira O’Donnell on the cliffs to search for Rafe. By his actions, he’d given her implicit sanction to take Rafe under her protective wing, and he feared her “protection” would get his brother killed.
Or worse.
Anthony walked up the Ellises’ front path of limestone edged with moss. The garden was full of herbs, plants, and flowers used in witchcraft, but more than that, they were arranged in specific ways to protect the house and its occupants from evil spirits. Some relatively innocent witches—those dabbling in witchcraft without evil intent—might protect their homes against accidents. But a supposed churchgoing Christian didn’t go to such elaborate lengths, preferring the traditional and effective crucifix.
Anthony had no choice but to continue up the walk, his apprehension growing. More than Lily Ellis’s life was in danger. If the coven possessed the arca, they could re-create the ritual, bringing the demons under their control to use at will.
He hesitated. If he had the arca he could trap the Seven, giving him more time to find the prayer that would send them back to Hell.
It might kill Lily.
It would kill her.
Yet it might be his only recourse. He pushed the thought aside. Father Philip had instilled in him the supremacy of the individual, that human sacrifice even for a good reason was still murder.
“It’s one thing to nobly give up your life to save your brothers,” Father had said, “but quite another to sacrifice an innocent even if it appears to be for the greater good. Appearances are deceiving.”
Anthony had to keep Lily out of the coven’s hands; then he could research further, find an answer that didn’t involve using Lily Ellis to trap the demons.
Anthony stuffed his hands in the deep pockets of his trenchcoat, the handle of his blessed dagger-cross comforting in his grip. He was already damp from the fog as he walked up the wooden steps to the wide porch of the restored Victorian. The roof sheltered him from the rain, but the hair on his skin rose. He knocked on the door, stepped back, and glanced around. Something gave him an itchy feeling.
Anthony looked up. The wood was slightly different, a fraction lighter, directly above him. He glanced at the large doormat beneath his feet, stepped back, and lifted up the corner.
A demon trap had been etched into the wood. Most assuredly beneath the new wood above him was a similar trap. They were used to protect a house against evil spirits. Traps—barriers—had been placed near each entrance. He dropped the mat and straightened. Anthony wasn’t as well versed in witchcraft, but there were other reasons for the traps as well. He almost called Moira to ask her, but he heard someone approaching the door.
The door opened. Through the thick screen, Anthony couldn’t see much of anything, only the outline of a woman much shorter than he. Older than a teenager, she had blond hair tied up on her head and wore a long dress.
She said, “You’re not with the Sheriff’s Department.”
Anthony glanced behind him, almost forgetting that he’d been driving Skye’s tru
ck all day.
“Ma’am, my name is Anthony Zaccardi and I—”
“I know who you are. You’re not welcome here.”
“Excuse me, I’m just—”
“Don’t play dumb. There’s just one reason you’d come here, and that’s to take my daughter.”
Anthony stepped forward, grim and determined. In a low voice, he told the witch, “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
Laughter, light and airy, rang out. “It’s you who don’t know what you’re up against. Leave now, or you’ll regret it.”
She slammed the door in his face.
Anger simmering, Anthony walked off the porch, through the paths of myrrh and lavender and henbane, back to the truck. Elizabeth Ellis was part of Fiona’s coven, and extremely dangerous. She had a solid standing in the town. No one would believe she’d be party to having her daughter sacrificed.
SIXTEEN
The only sound was the fierce wind as it whipped around Moira, slapping her face with moisture as the soggy fog turned to drizzle and the drizzle to a cold, stinging rain. If she listened carefully enough, though, she could hear the Pacific Ocean crashing on the rocks beneath the cliffs. However, if she listened that carefully, she also heard the screams. She didn’t know if the panicked pleas were real or in her imagination, on the surface of the earth or beneath it.
She stood several feet from the ritual circle and stared. Though broken, there was still some residual magic. Residual evil. A rotten, cloying scent of sulphur mixed with mold and dirt. It wasn’t mist that skimmed the ground; it was steam. Heat rose from the earth.
As she stared, a river of bloodred fire bubbled beneath the surface.
She turned away from the image, heart racing, the electricity in the air unnatural and almost unreal, unsure whether what she saw was real or her imagination, a vision or insanity.
She ran back to Jared’s truck, slapping her hands on the still-warm hood, taking deep breaths and gathering her wits.
Original Sin: The Seven Deadly Sins Page 15
