Original Sin

feeding on the sins inside human beings. The sins that came from Adam and Eve. The stronger they become, the harder they are to trap.”

“I understand this, from what Franz Lieber has written, but what can we do?”

“I don’t know how to send them back, but I believe I know how to trap them.” Father Philip pulled a small journal from his breast pocket. It was stained, and very old.

Anthony recognized the tattered book as The Journal of the Unknown Martyr. The stains were blood, the book hundreds of years old, written in Aramaic, the language of Jesus Himself, but virtually unused in the thirteenth century when the Unknown Martyr penned it. The fact that the book had survived nearly one thousand years was testament to its importance. That Father Philip had taken it from St. Michael’s vault was against everything they believed.

Father Philip carefully, reverently, opened it to a page near the end. He translated as he read:

“Your humble servant begs you, O Lord, to end our suffering. I have seen the Seven Sins, with my own eyes, in their True Being, and I fear great for mankind. They come for me, I beg You for deliverance. When the last was interned, they broke the traps we set. Now we pray and hide, hide from their collective Wrath, and pray to You, O Lord, for Mercy. Virtue conquers Sin. Give me a sign, O Lord, we who battle the demons in Your Name, Your most Humble Servant, I.”

He put the book down. “That is the last entry.”

The pain in the words was not lost on Anthony. “Yet the Seven were sent back, so there must be a way.”

“Not without loss.” He stared at the book stained with blood.

“What does it mean, Father? I see that together they are stronger, yet Lieber said that when released they disband.”

Father nodded. “Yes. Because they are drawn to their nature. Lust to lust, sloth to sloth. They can be trapped, but the journal ends and we don’t know how the Unknown Martyr and his fellow soldiers did it. We only know that they succeeded, and then they died.”

Anthony was solemn. “We have no choice.”

“You can find another way. It will take time to find all Seven. But first we trap the Sin that is in Santa Louisa. It is imperative we know which of them we are dealing with.”

“Why?”

“Virtue traps Sin.”

Anthony frowned, then realized what Father was saying. “We can trap them with a vessel that negates them.”

“Yes. I believe that is what this means. I’ve read the entire journal. The language is archaic, but based on the facts I believe the Martyrs trapped them one by one in different pure vessels. It is with the last that they encountered death.”

“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” Anthony mumbled. “For lust, chastity would keep it inert. For pride, humility.”

“Yes. What sin is out there now? What are we fighting?”

Anthony paced again, this time in contemplation.

“The bodies I saw in the morgue. The ones with the demon’s mark. A woman who couldn’t have children pushed a pregnant woman down a flight of stairs. A man who had been passed over for a promotion killed the woman who was promoted in his place. But what of the basketball player who died of an aneurysm? He had the same mark, yet he hurt no one.”

“Perhaps he was battling the Sin internally.” Anthony stopped pacing. “So we either kill or die?”

“When touched by one of the Seven Deadly Sins, our own conscience becomes twisted. We act on our impulses, we take what we want, do what we want; we have no barrier, no standard of right and wrong. If someone covets his neighbor’s ox, he takes the ox.”

“Covets-envy.” Anthony knew it as soon as he said it. “Envy is in town. How do we trap it?”

“Envy is the first sin, the original sin. The serpent lured Eve to taste the forbidden fruit, to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He was envious of God’s newest creation, human beings. Humans who had free will. Humans who were favored. He couldn’t have what they had, so he took Paradise away from them.” Anthony frowned. “What object can contain Envy?”

“A tabernacle,” Father responded solemnly. “But how do we trap Envy inside it? We can’t summon it without drawing on the evil we are trying to stop.” Then the solution came to Anthony. “So we have to find where Envy is most likely to be lured, and set the trap there.”

Fiona watched the demon walk around Raphael Cooper on its six clawed hooves, its psychic leash but a fine line. Cooper mumbled a prayer, invoking God, and the demon hissed and yelped.

She gave the demon room and it attacked Cooper.

Fiona called back her pet and Cooper cried out in pain for the first time that day. Finally! The man was human after all.

“I am weary of your silence, Raphael,” Fiona said. “Who taught you the ritual? Who else knows the Conoscenza? Raphael, speak to me!”

“Your black magic. Does not work.” He bit back a scream as the demon clawed him. “On. Me.”

Serena walked into the room. She stared at Raphael. She tried to keep her face impassive, but Fiona knew the truth.

“Would you like to play with your lover?” Fiona asked her. “Go ahead. He can’t get away this time.”

Serena turned her back on Raphael and said, “It’s nearly time.”

“You’re not going to offer a sacrifice for his life? I’m surprised, daughter; I thought your love was eternal,” she mocked.

Serena said, “He chose the wrong side.”

She walked over to him. Fiona watched her daughter with interest shielded under a veil of boredom. She had worried a bit that Serena’s lust for Raphael Cooper would blind her to what needed to be done.

Rafe drew in an unsteady breath and watched as the young woman approached him. Calling herself Lisa, she’d played him, used him, seduced him, in order to torture and kill the priests for her evil sacrifice.

Now, Lisa-or Serena, or whatever her name was-took a long look at him. Her eyes, green and catlike, filled with pain and rage, but her voice was well-modulated when she told Rafe, “Every death after the moment on the cliffs when you broke our circle is on your conscience. If you had left us alone, all those people would still be alive.”

She touched his head and chanted something familiar. He recognized the sounds, the language, but not what it meant. It was the language he’d spoken the other night, but even at the time he hadn’t known what it was he was saying.

Suddenly he was on his knees. Images of violence, bloody and vile, played in his head.

She’d drawn out the memories of that night when the mission priests died. The memories he desperately wanted to forget, and now they played over and over and he could do nothing to stop it.

“Stop!” he begged, holding his head as he curled into the fetal position.

Fiona turned to her daughter, proud. “Impressive, Serena.”

“It’s time,” she said and walked out.

Fiona told her pet to guard the prisoner, then she followed her daughter. She was impressed, and not a little bit surprised.

Fiona would need to keep a watchful eye on Serena.

THIRTY-FOUR

Late Friday afternoon and no one was in or around the vicinity of Good Shepherd Church. Lucky for her, Moira thought, as she picked the lock to the back door of the church. At the last moment she considered that there might be an alarm-half-worried, she looked around for a panel, motion sensors, or anything to indicate there was an