Carnal Sin

“I had to secure the demon first.”

“Of course.” The cardinal sounded impatient, but Rico wasn’t surprised. That the Seven Deadly Sins were on the earth threatened all of them. And with their recent losses … including Father Philip … Rico’s chest hitched. Philip had been their rock. The human cornerstone of St. Michael’s Order. Now the others looked to him for guidance, and he felt ill-prepared to be anything but the warrior that he was. Philip had been the leader; he’d been the one who led the counsel and who, in his silence, commanded the most respect.

If it weren’t for Father Philip, Moira would have been executed long ago.

“Anthony is on his way,” Rico said. “He’ll be landing in Italy just after noon, your time.” Which was only about nine hours from now. Which meant it was past midnight for the cardinal. “You’re up late, Cardinal.”

“I won’t be able to rest until I know the results.”

He sighed. “I’ll call you within the hour.”

He rose, retrieved a syringe from supplies, and drew out half the blood in the vial. He then stored the remainder in a refrigerator, capped the syringe, and left.

Tobias was dressed for the cold. Rico hadn’t asked him to join him in this assignment, but Tobias knew he was needed. “You had no choice, Rico,” Tobias said.

He nodded. “Let’s do it quickly.”

While Rico had been traveling today, Tobias had located a possessed human. The man was restrained in a demon trap in another building on the far side of the compound. Now they would see if Moira’s blood was what they suspected: poison to demons.

If they were right, then all the other research they’d discovered over the years would be validated. If her blood was poison, the words of the Unknown Martyr would be fulfilled: that only blood that could kill a demon could forever destroy the Conoscenza. Exactly as they had believed for so long.

They would have a powerful weapon in Moira against the demons that walked on earth; though the Seven could be sent back to Hell, there were others. The battle wouldn’t be over until Judgment Day. Moira’s blood would be in demand by everyone in the Order. They would bleed her to save the world, and Rico would be the one to force her to comply. He knew her well enough to know that she’d never agree to be locked here in Olivet for the rest of her life, a prisoner. But they couldn’t let her roam. If the covens knew the power of her blood they would kill her, or use her in far more painful and hideous ways to control the demons they summoned. Renegade groups-unaffiliated with St. Michael’s but whom they had worked with from time to time-would want her for their own plans, many of which went against the creed of St. Michael’s: Protect the innocent.

Many in St. Michael’s had died protecting the innocent lambs of God, but the men of St. Michael’s were preordained to this call. And others had joined them from the outside. Like Moira.

You’re in love with her.

Raphael’s accusation had contained more truth than Rico had known until the words were spoken.

But love didn’t matter when at stake was the fate of humanity.

TWELVE

Moira bit her thumbnail as Rafe turned into Moreno’s church, Grace Harvest, near the Warner Bros. studio. Four years and it hadn’t changed. The trees had grown a bit, and there was a new one growing near the main doors. Long ago, GH had been a Catholic church and it still had the simple Spanish mission facade with tile roofs and mission-style arches, but the stained glass had long ago been replaced by clear windows, and the crucifix replaced with three empty crosses.

GH was an independent church and while Moreno, with his charisma and personal wealth, could have grown the ministry into a powerhouse, he’d chosen to keep it of modest size and scope.

“Are you going to tell me what your problem is with Moreno?” Rafe asked her as he parked in the empty lot near the main church entrance.

She supposed she didn’t really have a choice. “Do you know him?” she asked

“Only by reputation. He’s an authority on witchcraft and has been tracking the dark magic covens, particularly in the western United States. Anthony and Father Philip worked with him many times over the years.”

“You know his oldest daughter disappeared with a coven four years ago.”

Rafe nodded. “It’s what prompted him to devote so much of his time to St. Michael’s and give sanctuary to those who wanted to leave covens.”

“I’m responsible for Courtney’s fall.”

“You.” He stared at her, his dark blue eyes black with anger. “And Courtney had nothing to do with it? You have an inflated ego. You, alone, chased her into practicing black magic.”

“No, but-” She clenched her fists. “I know what you’re doing, and you weren’t there!”

“You’re always so damn hard on yourself, Moira!” Rafe snapped, running a hand through his dark hair. It fell back over his left eye. He reminded her of an Irish barkeep-hair a little too long, eyes a little too bright, and sex appeal far too potent for her to resist.

But she would resist.

Just think of all the people you hurt over the years, Moira. Do you want Rafe to be one of them?

That was enough to throw a wet blanket on her libido.

“I fucked up, Rafe.”

“You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, taking the blame for all the bad choices that other people make. Dammit, why not just take the blame for Eve? After all, she took a bite of the damn apple in the first place. But that was probably your fault, too-I’m sure you could figure out a way to feel guilty about the fall of man.”

Moira grabbed the vehicle’s door handle and opened it. Taking her arm, Rafe pulled her back inside the truck. She glared at him, pulling her arm free.

Rafe gently touched the side of her face. His hands shook just enough that Moira realized he was still upset with her. But the look on his face had softened as he ran the back of his hand up and down her cheek.

The silence between them unnerved her. She swallowed.

“There’s no use holding off the inevitable,” she muttered, glancing at Moreno’s church.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Let’s go.”

The church was unlocked, but empty. They walked around the building to Jackson Moreno’s small, well-kept home. A twenty-year-old Mercedes was parked in the driveway. Jackson had the same car four years ago.

Rafe knocked on the door and Jackson answered at once. “I saw you approach,” he said with a glance at Rafe, his eyes focused on Moira.

She couldn’t read his expression. Jackson Moreno was conservatively handsome, in his mid-forties, with light brown hair graying at the temples. He was as tall as Rafe, trim, and wore pressed beige slacks and a crisp button- down light-blue business shirt without a tie, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Moira bit the inside of her cheek, remembering that she’d seen this man cry when his daughter disappeared.

“Moira.” He was surprised to see them, his gray eyes inquisitive.

“Hello, Pastor Moreno. I-we’re sorry to just drop in.” She cleared her throat. “This is Rafe Cooper, he’s with St. Michael’s.”

“Cooper-Raphael Cooper.” He nodded in recognition. “I’ve heard of you, of course. Please, come in.” He opened the screen door. “And call me Jackson. I am so sorry about Father Philip. He was truly a good man.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said, stepping inside. Moira hesitated.

“I can’t imagine that this is a social call, however. Let’s go to my study.”

Rafe took Moira’s hand and forced her to follow Jackson through the house to his study in the back.

Nothing had changed, Moira realized. The church, the house, even Jackson Moreno himself. Time seemed to stand still, and she felt just like she had that last day four years ago before she went back to Olivet, after telling Jackson that his daughter had left for good: miserable, unworthy, and a failure.

Jackson’s study was small, dark, and masculine. A modest desk seemed to disappear among three walls of