“Right away. I’ll prep her, then begin at eight a.m. You coming?”

“Absolutely.” She looked over at Anthony, who was still deep in conversation and worried. He caught her eye, then turned his back to her. Something was up, Skye thought as she went to help catalogue the rest of the crime scene.

Anthony listened intently to Father Philip, disliking the direction of the conversation.

“You need to help her,” Father said after telling Anthony that he’d known all along that Moira O’Donnell was in the States-even before Anthony had left the island for Santa Louisa last November.

“You knew that witch was here?”

“Now is not the time for this argument.”

“She is a Jezebel, she has deceived you.” Anthony’s stomach turned. He and the Father had had this argument many times, and neither could convince the other of the rightness of his position. There was nothing Father Philip, or Rico, or any of the others who held Moira blameless could say to convince Anthony that she was not a threat to St. Michael’s Order, and nothing he said nor the facts he presented about her culpability in Peter’s death swayed them either. She had brought the demon into St. Michael’s. She was responsible for its crimes.

Father Philip ignored his comment and said, “She called me tonight when she found out about the ritual on the cliffs. I told her to call you, but as there has been considerable animosity between you two, I’m not surprised she didn’t. But you knew-”

He didn’t want to discuss his strange connection to the ruins, so he interrupted. “I check the cliffs every night because of the darkness that surrounds the place.” It was like a black hole, with mass and depth, as if the laws of physics didn’t apply. Not now, not tonight-whatever the coven did here changed the place. “There have been some signs of occult activity over the last two months, but nothing like what I found tonight.”

“What happened? I’ve been trying to reach Moira, but she’s not answering her phone.”

“According to the signs, the Seven have been released. A teenager died in the process-possibly a sacrifice. Moira O’Donnell was in the middle of it. She claims she found the body, but I don’t buy it. Why can’t you see that she’s the problem? She’s been part of the underworld uprising from the beginning-she started with her mother, and while she may not be working with Fiona anymore, she had her own brand of magic, and it got Peter killed. I called Olivet tonight and learned that she was supposed to arrive there months ago but never showed. She’s a loose cannon-and I honestly don’t care what her motives are. You-”

“Anthony,” Father snapped, interrupting him. “You’re wrong about Moira, and while she was supposed to return to Olivet, Rico knew her plans. But we haven’t time for this discussion now. Are you certain about the Seven?”

Anthony hesitated, feeling like an admonished child. “Yes,” he replied. “I’m certain that’s who they were summoning, but I can’t say whether it worked, or why they need the Seven, or who specifically is behind it. This is bigger than anything I’ve dealt with. I need my books, I need to research.” He felt far more confident poring over ancient texts than battling demons face-to-face. He’d done it once to save Skye-he didn’t want to go through that horrible experience again.

“Good, I’ll send you anything you need. But please, let Moira do her job.”

“Job? What job?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone.”

Anthony froze. Father Philip was his mentor, had been since he was a small boy. They shared the same last name, because that was the way it was at the monastery with the orphans-one of the priests or monks “adopted” the child and was his primary caregiver. Father Philip had taken him … and Peter. Which was why Anthony didn’t understand Father’s acceptance of that witch, Moira O’Donnell.

“Has this job been going on while she was supposed to be at Olivet?”

“Longer. Anthony-I will explain when we are face-to-face. Or you can ask Moira herself.”

“Neither will happen soon.”

“It may be time for a council at Olivet.”

Anthony couldn’t control the hurt he felt deep inside that Father had kept something as important as this from him for so long. But he said, “I understand.”

“Anthony, I need to talk to Moira, where is she?”

“Jail.”

“You need to get her out as soon as possible! Anthony, she needs your protection.”

“Protection?” He rubbed his jaw. “Hardly.”

“Fiona will find her in jail! The police wouldn’t allow her to have any of her protective gear. You know that!”

For a moment, Anthony felt a twinge of guilt.

Father said quietly, “You and Peter were close. I understand. I loved Peter deeply. What happened was a grave mistake; it was hard on all of us. But you must forgive Moira. Both she and Peter were culpable, but in the end, it was Fiona and her demon who killed Peter, not Moira, and not Peter himself.” Father Philip’s voice deepened. “Anthony, you are very special. Exceptional and gifted by God. You are vital to our calling. But your weakness will be your destruction. If the Seven have been released, your anger will be used against you. You must pray for the strength to forgive.”

Anthony felt the reprimand from thousands of miles away, even though Father hadn’t raised his voice. “Now, tell me, how long has she been unprotected?”

Anthony swallowed a retort and said, “An hour.”

“Don’t let Fiona find Moira. I will leave for Olivet tomorrow.”

“You’re coming to America?”

“I must. Promise me you will get Moira out of jail.”

Anthony struggled, not wanting to obey. “Yes, Father, I will.”

EIGHT

Philip Zaccardi packed light-he didn’t need much.

The priest despised travel. He rarely left St. Michael’s. His fellow monks, the young men he trained, thought it was because he was fearful of flying. They were right about one thing: he was afraid. But it had nothing to do with airplanes.

If Anthony knew the private revelation Philip had been entrusted with years ago, the young demonologist would insist he never leave the island. But Philip had told no one; it was a revelation meant only for him.

The time had come. If he was right-and he believed he was-people would die. If his interpretation was wrong? He’d set into motion a chain of events where far more would suffer and die, including those he deeply cared for. But inaction, doing nothing in the face of evil, was a sin, and to many-including himself-inaction was an even greater sin than being wrong. No one could sit on the fence in the battle of good versus evil. The line had been drawn eons ago, when the serpent first lied to Eve. Sides were still being chosen. Only God knew the outcome, and He wasn’t sharing.

Philip sought out Bishop Pietro Aretino, the elderly vicar who handled the day-to-day spiritual needs of the priests and monks. It was time for confession.

One might think the sins of a devout priest were few, but Philip’s mind was a maze of conflict and doubt. Doubt showed lack of faith, which increased fear, endangering him and others both physically and spiritually.

Philip’s entire life had been filled with doubt and questions. And yet, he persevered. Still, he stood against evil.

After he received dispensation, the bishop took him on a walk through the garden. The garden that he’d at one time cherished was going the way of weeds. Such was the reality of the twenty-first century: fewer young priests with strong backs, more elderly priests with weak bones. At one time, decades in the past, when Philip had been new to St. Michael’s, it was common to have three, four, or even five infants left on the island each year. These young ones were to be raised and trained in the battle against evil. Now? Four in the last twenty years. Did that mean the final battle was near? Would ten-year-old James Parisi be the last warrior

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