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  “You know who did this?”

  Moira bit her lower lip. “I suspect.”

  “Who?”

  “You can’t confront her. She’ll have you running in circles until you drop dead.”

  Skye tilted her head. “Look, Ms. O’Donnell, I’m trying to understand your position, but don’t play me for the fool. Abby Weatherby is dead. I need to talk to everyone who might be responsible. It’s my job.”

  Moira said, “Abby was in the coven. You don’t think they haven’t protected themselves? I would have gotten the hell out of Dodge as soon as I smelled the sulphur if I hadn’t found her body. They want this body; they aren’t usually this messy.”

  “You lost me. What do you mean that they want her body? You mean to destroy evidence? To bury her, cover up the crime?”

  Of course she thought like a cop. “There’re two main reasons black-art covens don’t leave bodies lying around. One is because of people like you. You see a dead person, you start investigating. So yeah-evidence, I guess you could call it. Which is why magicians are so good at … disappearing the dead. Really, do you think all the missing people in the world are still alive?”

  The sheriff wanted to ask her more questions about it but changed gears and said, “You said you know who’s the leader of this coven.”

  “I haven’t any proof.”

  Skye said, “But I can interview them. Ask questions.”

  “No.”

  “You’re obstructing an investigation.”

  “I didn’t see anything. I don’t have firsthand knowledge of who was here. When I arrived, the only thing I saw was this body and the disturbance you saw on the ground.”

  “When did you arrive?”

  “Maybe ten minutes after the ritual was over. We-Jared Santos and I-saw a-” How could she explain what she’d seen in the distance? And make it sound sane? “We were still a couple of miles away and there was a fluttering, like thousands of bats all rose into the air at once. But it wasn’t bats. It was something dark and thick and alive, but nothing I’ve seen before.”

  That wasn’t the entire truth. She’d seen it before. She’d dreamed it, had nightmares about the dark overtaking the light, throwing humanity into a self-made prison, where people maimed and tortured and raped and killed without thought or remorse, where magic was the norm and evil ruled. Where pleasure was pain and pain pleasure, where there was no justice, no light, no hope …

  She said, “When we got here, there was chaos all around-see?” She gestured to the candles and the linen under Abby’s body. “They didn’t even gather up all their supplies. They didn’t erase the circle. And there was sulphur in the air, incense and poison.” Moira was unconsciously rubbing her scar. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  “Are you saying Abby was poisoned?”

  “No. Maybe. She might have been, but that’s not how she died.”

  “How did she die?”

  Moira took a deep breath and looked at Anthony. “Anthony knows.”

  Skye sounded irritated. “Can the woo-woo. Just tell me the truth or I’ll arrest you.”

  Moira bristled. “Abby was a sacrifice, necessary to bring forth the demon.”

  “Not just one demon,” Anthony interrupted.

  Moira and Skye turned to him.

  “How do you know?” Skye asked.

  He said, “The symbols. There are seven.”

  “I only saw three,” Moira said.

  “They were deliberately obscured.”

  “Seven?” she asked, incredulous. “At one time?”

  He addressed Moira with a subtle nod. “The ritual could easily have been Abby’s cause of death.”

  “Anthony, please-” the sheriff said wearily.

  “Skye,” he said softly, and for the first time Moira saw a tenderness she’d never before seen in the demonologist. “We have an extremely serious situation here. The Seven may have been released.”

  Moira blanched. Anthony was about to confirm her greatest fear.

  Anthony gestured with his flashlight to the triangles and symbols outside the circle. “I don’t know how they did it, how they found the spell. The book was supposed to have been destroyed hundreds of years ago, but this is the same as I’ve seen in two different sets of ruins, one in Ireland that is five hundred years old, and one in Italy that is nearly a thousand years old. There were more attempts, but we don’t know where or when. Every one has failed.”

  A chill ran down Moira’s arms. “They probably failed too,” she said. “Look around, it’s chaos.”

  “I don’t know,” Anthony said.

  “The Seven?” Skye asked.

  “The Seven Deadly Sins. If they’ve been freed, we have a supernatural war on our hands. And we are not prepared.”

  It was the Conoscenza. Only the Book of Knowledge had the proper spell to release the Seven Deadly Sins from Hell. Fiona had found it.

  Anthony stared at Moira. “Arrest her.”

  “What?” Moira and Skye said together.

  “Moira O’Donnell is a witch. She has the power to do this.”

  “Bullshit! You damn well know I had nothing to do with any of this!”

  “She’s here illegally,” he continued, facing Skye and ignoring Moira. “Olivet is a reclusive, all-male theological college similar to St. Michael’s, where I’m from. She couldn’t have legitimately gotten a student visa. I sent a friend of mine a message.” He glanced at Moira, triumphant, and Moira knew exactly what he was going to say. “They’ve been expecting her for months. She never showed.”

  Skye said, “That’s an Immigration issue, Anthony. I don’t have grounds to arrest her unless she committed a crime.”

  What Anthony said was true, she was supposed to return to Olivet after learning the deaths she’d investigated in upstate New York three months ago weren’t related to supernatural forces. But both Father Philip and Rico knew she was following her mother’s trail. They kept her involvement under wraps for a whole host of reasons, not least among them was the division she’d caused among the Order after Peter’s death.

  But she wasn’t going to prison over their secret. “Call Rico Cortese,” she told Anthony. “If he didn’t tell anyone about my trip to Santa Louisa, I’m sure he had good reason. Need to know and all that-oh, I get it, you’re just pissed off that you weren’t in the loop.”

  Anthony stepped forward and grabbed Moira’s wrists before she’d seen him move. Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bait him. “Rico picked the wrong witch to train,” he said under his breath, then added to Skye, “Left inside pocket. She has a knife.”

  Skye’s face darkened. She reached where Anthony told her and extracted the knife. It was a dagger with a double-edged blade, in iron. The handle was gold, inlaid with the relics of saints. It had been Peter’s. She always carried it with her. She had little else from Peter.

  “Any other weapons?” the sheriff asked angrily.

  “Nothing that can hurt a human being,” Moria snapped. She glared at Anthony. He was trying to keep his face impassive, but he recognized the knife as well. The fury simmered inside him; she felt it rippling through his body. Moira almost didn’t blame him. She was angry with herself, too.

  But she had never hated him more than she did right now. She couldn’t go to jail. If Fiona had failed, she’d try again. If she had Lily, she most certainly would restage the ritual as soon as physically possible-possibly as soon as tomorrow night. If she’d been successful, Moira had to undo the damage. How, she had no idea. But first, she needed to confirm exactly what happened here. If the Seven Deadly Sins were on earth, she had to figure out how to send them back to Hell and stop Fiona.

  Skye searched Moira and pulled out salt, several vials of holy water, and a long, thin iron chain.

  “A garrote?” Skye asked.

  “A devil’s cuff.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Anthony explained. “A means of restraining a possessed human. It prevents the demon fr
om escaping, and makes it easier to interrogate the beast without harm to the human.” He then added, “It doesn’t always work.”

  Moira glared at him; Anthony stared her down. She bit back a sarcastic remark.

  Skye looked torn. She asked Moira, “Why are you here?”

  “I told you. I found the gateway and I had to stop her.”

  “Who?”

  Moira squirmed.

  Anthony answered for her. “Fiona O’Donnell. Her mother.”

  Two cars pulled up behind the sheriff’s truck. “That’s the crime scene team and coroner,” Skye said. She pocketed Moira’s passport. “I think it would be best if you came down to the station so we can talk, until I find Jared and Lily to corroborate your story.”

  For a brief moment, Moira considered magic. She could find Fiona and hurt Anthony. Her urge to cause him pain for everything he’d said tonight and in the past scared her so deeply that her skin crawled and she felt physically ill.

  Magic was evil, even if her purposes were noble. That Anthony had been able to even get her to consider it, just for that moment, pained her. She was worse than a drunk, worse than a drug addict. Magic was the greatest power, the greatest high on earth, and resulted in the steepest fall.

  Anthony saw her internal battle and smiled cruelly.

  “I knew you’d never change. I warned Peter, but he trusted you. Now he’s dead.”

  She decked him.

  SEVEN

  Fiona strode through the secluded mansion on the outskirts of Santa Louisa, her footfalls echoing through the cavernous halls, a virtual electric storm in her wake. Serena had rarely seen her mother so furious. Though she’d been equally upset-and shocked-when Rafe Cooper walked into the middle of their ritual, she couldn’t help but feel a little gleeful that her mother’s lack of foresight had bit her in the ass.

  “Why didn’t you know?” Fiona turned on Dr. Richard Bertrand when they reached the towering library in the back of the house. The property was owned by Good Shepherd Church, and Serena was usually amused knowing that the contributions to Pastor Garrett Pennington’s ostensibly Christian church were used to allow her and her mother to live in luxury.

  “Richard!” Fiona shouted when he didn’t immediately answer her. She sent a pulse of energy toward the double doors, forcing them to slam shut, to emphasize her anger. Richard winced as if physically assaulted.

  The doctor groveled. Typical, Serena thought. Few people had the backbone to stand up to Fiona. But Rafe had been his resposibility. Richard had ensured everyone that Rafe Cooper would never awaken. Richard would be lucky if he was alive at dawn.

  “He shouldn’t have woken up,” Richard whined.

  “Shouldn’t have? Richard, since when have you reduced yourself to ridiculous understatements?” Fiona turned to Serena. “And you were supposed to kill him months ago!”

  Serena straightened her spine and kept her chin up. She wasn’t going to let her mother reinvent the past. “When Rafe Cooper went into the coma, you said he was more use to us alive than dead,” she retorted.

  “He should have been dead that night!”

  Fiona flung open the doors of her library with a flick of her wrist-a neat trick, but a parlor trick nonetheless. Serena had lived with her mother long enough to discern the difference between games and power. No doubt about it-Fiona controlled more otherworldly forces than any magician Serena had ever known, but she also enjoyed the bells and whistles that went along with power. There had been no need for half the games she’d played at the ruins. Had she forsaken the frills for expediency, they would have been done trapping the demons in the arca long before Rafe Cooper broke their circle.

  Fiona whirled around and glared at her as if Serena had verbalized her criticisms. Her mother couldn’t read minds, but she had a sixth sense that had kept Serena in line. “When I find Raphael Cooper I will make him suffer,” Fiona said, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would torture and kill him with great pleasure.

  “Serena, go! Check on the others. Make sure they understand the consequences of disobedience.”

  “Mother, I think-”

  Fiona stared at her daughter and raised her brow. “I didn’t ask you to think.” Serena knew better than to countermand Fiona’s orders, especially when others were present. When it was just the two of them, they often battled verbally, and sometimes with magic. Fiona always declared herself the victor.

  But someday, Fiona would learn who had the real power in the family.

  As she left the library, Serena whispered, “Your wish is my command.”

  Fiona watched her daughter walk out, considering whether her sarcasm should be punished. But when Richard opened his mouth, Serena’s slight was forgotten.

  “I don’t understand how Cooper could have walked out of the hospital,” Richard said, “not without help.”

  “Of course he had help,” Fiona snapped. “I want to know if it was human or other.”

  She paced the length of her expansive library, picking up the Conoscenza where Serena had placed it on the desk. She flipped pages rapidly, searching for answers. None came because she couldn’t read the damn book, only Serena could. Why was that? Why did her foolish daughter have the gift, and not she?

  And how had Raphael Cooper known the language? Impossibly enough, he had saved the arca and cost Fiona her prize.

  It was doubtful that Cooper even knew what he had done. She’d find him, put him in her own, special reverse devil’s trap, summoning spirits one by one to torture him. He would beg to die. He would kill himself and be dragged under, a special offering that would gain her much favor and more power.

  After tonight, she needed it.

  She almost threw the Conoscenza across the room, but as if the book itself lived, as if sensing her intent, the ancient text became hot. Fiona dropped it on the table.

  She picked up another thick tome, Twilight, and threw it instead. Its spine cracked when it hit the wall and dropped to the floor. She grabbed another, and this time threw it at Richard. He ducked, but the book hit him in the head, and she smiled.

  “How did Cooper awaken? Tonight of all nights?”

  “I swear, Fiona, medea, I do not know! I did everything I could to keep him in sleep. When I left he was the same as always.”

  “Zaccardi?”

  “Nowhere. He came by the hospital this morning, like every morning, but didn’t stay longer than usual. Cooper was in the same condition. No one even called me to report he’d awakened. I swear-”

  “Go. Get back there right now. Find out what happened, if anyone helped him. If your magic is so weak that you can’t give me the answers I need, I will send Serena.”

  “I will, but-”

  “Richard, I just gave you simple orders. Find out how Raphael Cooper woke up and left the hospital.” Her voice was suddenly eerily calm, which might have been even more frightening.

  He left briskly. When she was alone, Fiona turned back to the Conoscenza.

  “Why am I not given the gift?” She slammed her hand down on the book, challenging it. A puff of smoke escaped, her palm burned, and she jerked it away.

  “It’s not fair,” Fiona whispered.

  She was the daughter of a witch, the granddaughter of a witch, and the great-granddaughter of one of the greatest magicians in Ireland. In the world. Her lineage went back to the beginning of magic itself, she’d learned after years of meditation and study. While anyone could practice witchcraft, Fiona had a natural talent, a skill and finesse and inner strength that put her head and shoulders above even the strongest magicians in the world. Few could compete with her. When some tried, she always won.

  Fiona fought fiercely when challenged, so most of her competitors were dead. Those who were not dead became her subordinates, but she watched them closely. She quelled potential mutinies long before they became cancerous.

  With all her strength, her heritage, her talent, she hadn’t been given the ability to read the old language. If she ha
d the knowledge, she could have stopped Cooper. Serena had never been one to think on her feet; she was too rigid, too restrained. Fiona could have twisted the spells to battle Cooper. It was her destiny to unite the covens of the world, to stir the cauldron of human apathy and discontent into a frenzy. With her at the helm, they would quash St. Michael’s Order and the last remnants of the great witch hunt would die away.

  They would no longer need to practice in the dark of night, in the alleys and fields and hidden niches of the world. Fiona already had several high-placed witches in positions of power, elected officials and businessmen, the rich and the powerful, the leaders and the teachers. By controlling the Seven released at the cliffs, she would gather more support from the covens. Once she had them contained, once the covens united under her command, she would at long last be able to breach St. Michael’s sanctuary.

  The fools there did not know what they had. If they did, they would have destroyed it long ago.

  The library doors swung open and Fiona whirled around, furious that the intruder hadn’t knocked.

  It was Garrett, with Serena behind him.

  “We have a problem,” he said. “I had to leave her, there was-”

  “A problem? Where’s the vessel?” Fiona demanded. “You didn’t clean up?”

  “I began to, but the police came.”

  Fiona clenched her fists. Sparks of electricity snapped around her.

  “And Cooper?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

  “We searched at a distance after the police arrived, but we couldn’t pick up his path in the rocky soil. The police-”

  She put her hand up, not wanting another excuse from him. The electricity charges snapped on the ends of her fingers. She wanted to hurt him, but she was disciplined and caught herself. Instead, she flung her energy away from him and Serena, across the room, into the fish tank against the far wall. The water bubbled and boiled, steam rising as the fish floated to the top.

  “Fiona, we have a bigger problem,” Garrett said.

  Fiona’s eyes flashed. “There can be no bigger problem than the Seven out of my control!”