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.
“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
Travis shook his head as they boarded the bus. “I swear,
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.
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
He hesitated. If he had the
It might kill Lily.
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.
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 truck 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
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
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.
Fear could be a healthy response, but uncontrolled fear was deadly.
She tilted her head up and faced the gray afternoon, knowing the sky was there but unable to see anything
