after the first ring.
“Father, it’s Moira.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. But it’s bad, Father. I think—I don’t know what to think. Something happened at the cliffs. There are signs of violence, a spirit trap, obscure symbols I’ve never seen before. And no one is here, except”—she glanced at Abby’s naked corpse—“a dead teenager.”
“Holy Mother of God.”
She smiled; otherwise she would cry at Father’s version of cussing.
“I’m worried about Anthony,” Father continued. “He’s not answering his phone.”
Bright lights shot out at her from the road and approached quickly. As soon as the spotlight hit her body, the red and blue rotating spheres clicked on.
Fuck .
“Father, I need to go.”
“Moira, wait—what’s wrong?”
“Keep trying Anthony, and hope that he has a get-out-of-jail-free card in his pocket. I think I’m going to need it.”
She hung up and pocketed her cell phone.
A voice said over a speaker: “This is the Santa Louisa County Sheriff’s Department. Stay where you are with your hands visible.”
Moira kept her hands in front of her, plainly in sight, and fought the urge to bolt.
FIVE
Moira had to come up with a plausible story as to why she was here in the middle of the night with a dead girl. Maybe … she’d been walking in the area and … right . Like anyone would believe she’d walked the ten miles from her motel to the cliffs. At two in the morning . And she was in the middle of friggin’ nowhere with three abandoned, boarded-up houses on an unpaved road next to a cursed lot. She got lost? Sure . She’d wandered aimlessly near the edge of dangerous cliffs in the fog, just happening to stumble across a corpse.
But she certainly couldn’t say anything about what had happened—what she thought had happened. Moira had to carefully maneuver a tightrope. She wasn’t an American citizen. She could be deported, her student visa revoked. Father Philip had arranged with Rico to “enroll” her in Olivet, and no one in the States had yet questioned that Olivet was an all-male theology seminary. Yet . And she didn’t want to shine a light on them, because they weren’t really a seminary. Olivet was the western hemisphere university for demon hunters and not officially recognized by the Vatican or any quasi-legitimate authority, as opposed to St. Michael’s, which had some protection from the powers that be. If people sniffed around, they might discover that no priests actually graduated from Olivet.
Fortunately, she’d wisely left her gun back at the motel, but the dagger wouldn’t go over too well with the sheriff. And who would believe her that there had been an occult ritual here? Exactly —no one.
An officer shined a light in her face. Moira couldn’t see beyond the brightness, could barely make out the two shadowy figures when she squinted. Suddenly the idea that Fiona’s coven was bigger than her mother traditionally maintained—Fiona plus twelve in the inner court, and a few strays used for muscle and eyes and grunt work—terrified her. What if someone in the police department was part of it? What if Fiona controlled the town? This had happened before in small towns, and Santa Louisa had only thirty thousand residents. Moira should have put her own pride aside and contacted Anthony when she’d first discovered he was in town. At least she’d then have someone on her side who understood what they were up against, and maybe he’d know whom to trust.
“Always have backup,” Rico had said during their training. “Never go blind into a situation, even if you think there’s nothing going on.”
“I don’t have a partner,” she’d said. “And I don’t want one.”
“What are you doing out here?” a female voice asked, jolting Moira from her memory.
“Are you the sheriff?”
“Sheriff Skye McPherson. And you are?”
“Moira O’Donnell. I was with Jared Santos, but he ran off after—”
A man in plainclothes
“Father, it’s Moira.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. But it’s bad, Father. I think—I don’t know what to think. Something happened at the cliffs. There are signs of violence, a spirit trap, obscure symbols I’ve never seen before. And no one is here, except”—she glanced at Abby’s naked corpse—“a dead teenager.”
“Holy Mother of God.”
She smiled; otherwise she would cry at Father’s version of cussing.
“I’m worried about Anthony,” Father continued. “He’s not answering his phone.”
Bright lights shot out at her from the road and approached quickly. As soon as the spotlight hit her body, the red and blue rotating spheres clicked on.
Fuck .
“Father, I need to go.”
“Moira, wait—what’s wrong?”
“Keep trying Anthony, and hope that he has a get-out-of-jail-free card in his pocket. I think I’m going to need it.”
She hung up and pocketed her cell phone.
A voice said over a speaker: “This is the Santa Louisa County Sheriff’s Department. Stay where you are with your hands visible.”
Moira kept her hands in front of her, plainly in sight, and fought the urge to bolt.
FIVE
Moira had to come up with a plausible story as to why she was here in the middle of the night with a dead girl. Maybe … she’d been walking in the area and … right . Like anyone would believe she’d walked the ten miles from her motel to the cliffs. At two in the morning . And she was in the middle of friggin’ nowhere with three abandoned, boarded-up houses on an unpaved road next to a cursed lot. She got lost? Sure . She’d wandered aimlessly near the edge of dangerous cliffs in the fog, just happening to stumble across a corpse.
But she certainly couldn’t say anything about what had happened—what she thought had happened. Moira had to carefully maneuver a tightrope. She wasn’t an American citizen. She could be deported, her student visa revoked. Father Philip had arranged with Rico to “enroll” her in Olivet, and no one in the States had yet questioned that Olivet was an all-male theology seminary. Yet . And she didn’t want to shine a light on them, because they weren’t really a seminary. Olivet was the western hemisphere university for demon hunters and not officially recognized by the Vatican or any quasi-legitimate authority, as opposed to St. Michael’s, which had some protection from the powers that be. If people sniffed around, they might discover that no priests actually graduated from Olivet.
Fortunately, she’d wisely left her gun back at the motel, but the dagger wouldn’t go over too well with the sheriff. And who would believe her that there had been an occult ritual here? Exactly —no one.
An officer shined a light in her face. Moira couldn’t see beyond the brightness, could barely make out the two shadowy figures when she squinted. Suddenly the idea that Fiona’s coven was bigger than her mother traditionally maintained—Fiona plus twelve in the inner court, and a few strays used for muscle and eyes and grunt work—terrified her. What if someone in the police department was part of it? What if Fiona controlled the town? This had happened before in small towns, and Santa Louisa had only thirty thousand residents. Moira should have put her own pride aside and contacted Anthony when she’d first discovered he was in town. At least she’d then have someone on her side who understood what they were up against, and maybe he’d know whom to trust.
“Always have backup,” Rico had said during their training. “Never go blind into a situation, even if you think there’s nothing going on.”
“I don’t have a partner,” she’d said. “And I don’t want one.”
“What are you doing out here?” a female voice asked, jolting Moira from her memory.
“Are you the sheriff?”
“Sheriff Skye McPherson. And you are?”
“Moira O’Donnell. I was with Jared Santos, but he ran off after—”
A man in plainclothes
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