Carnal Sin

Nina eyed Moira suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I’m an expert on cults.” Might as well go along with the party line, she thought. And it seemed to be working well.

Nina leaned forward. “Really? You’re a psychologist? Psychiatrist?”

“No. Former cult member.”

The attorney raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You certainly don’t seem the type to be easily manipulated.”

“My mother was the cult leader. I ran away years ago. But I don’t want other people to fall prey to her lies.”

Nina nodded, her face a mask of sympathy that Moira didn’t want. She averted her eyes and sipped her tea. Not as good as home-steeped, but tolerable.

Nina said quietly, “I was having an affair of the heart with George Erickson. Well, it had progressed beyond the of the heart part, but we fell in love long before he broke his marriage vows. Such as they were.”

Julie had said the open marriage was one-way, but Moira didn’t know what she could believe from the woman who had lied to her, so she commented, “Nelson said he had an open marriage.”

“Open for Pamela Erickson, but not for George. She wanted a possession; that’s how she treated George. He was wealthy, had genuine stature and respect in this town. And that is not easily achieved, let me tell you. Everyone liked George. He was a terrific attorney and advocate for his clients.”

“And his wife is …?”

“A bitch?” Nina leaned forward and whispered, “Or rather, a witch.”

Nina was feeling her out. Moira sipped her tea and said, “Do you mean that figuratively, or that she’s a spell-casting, broomstick-riding witch?”

“I don’t know about the broomsticks or spells, and I don’t know that I believe in witches per se, but she’s definitely into the occult, and I know some of the extremist types do some bad things- criminal things.”

Nina reached into her briefcase. “I made a complete copy of the file I gave to Grant, but that’s in a safe in case I end up dead before my time. This is what I’m talking about.”

She slid a photograph across the small round table.

In the photo, Wendy Donovan was watching two women having sex with a man in the middle of a spirit trap. Moira recognized the Luciferian symbols painted on the floor. The tea in her stomach turned acidic.

Moira also recognized the room from Wendy Donovan’s house-from which they’d barely got out alive last night.

“Who’s the man?” she asked, trying to hide her horror.

“Don’t know. Grant said he’d look into it, and I’m sure he will, but he’s overworked and I don’t know how much time he’ll devote to a case that he thinks is closed.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think George’s wife conspired with Nadine Anson to kill George. I know she was involved. She’s a whack job. I want justice-for George. Why should she get everything that was his? The house-his before they married. His money-he has a substantial financial portfolio, the majority earned before their marriage. She was involved; I don’t want her profiting from murder.”

Rafe walked in and sat down next to Moira. He was preoccupied, and Moira wondered what his conversation with Anthony had been about. “This is Rafe Cooper,” Moira said. She didn’t quite know how to introduce him- partner? Friend? Lover?

“What’s this?” Rafe picked up the photograph. “This is Wendy Donovan’s basement.”

Nina leaned back almost imperceptibly, but Moira sensed a shift in the woman from easy to restrained. Damn, Moira was trying to play her cards close to the vest, and now Nina had her antenna up.

“Who?” Nina asked.

Rafe glanced at Moira and looked sheepish.

Nina said, “Okay, don’t play me for a fool. Who exactly are you and how are you involved in this case?”

Moira glanced at Rafe. How much should she say? Most people didn’t believe in witches, or that witchcraft at its core was trouble. They liked their witches kind and good, like Glinda the Good Witch and Samantha Stevens. That most witches looked like Glinda but acted like the Wicked Witch of the West was generally unknown.

Nina grabbed the photo from Rafe and said, “I’ll take this with me.”

“Don’t go!” Moira frowned. She was torn.

Rafe leaned forward and took Nina’s hand. “Nina,” he said in a low voice, “we need your help. But what we have to tell you is difficult to understand.”

Moira shifted uncomfortably. Rafe caught her eye and raised his brows slightly. He wanted her to trust him. She leaned back and let him run with it.

Rafe said to Nina, “Moira is worried you won’t believe us, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“That you’re one of them. That you’re here to set us up or send us down a false path.”

Moira knew Nina wasn’t a witch, and she almost said as much to Rafe, except at the last minute she figured out what Rafe was doing. He was seducing Nina. Not sexually, but using his quietly commanding presence, his attractiveness, his overwhelming masculine appeal-which went far beyond simple sex appeal-to lull Nina into compliance. And while he didn’t act like he was consciously doing it, Moira knew he was being calculating.

She admired Rafe’s ability to use his charm and psychological background to open people. Moira was often too blunt and sharp-tongued, but Rafe was smooth and calm. He understood people far better than she did. While she recognized a witch on sight and could physically feel energy and emotions that no one else did, she didn’t understand the why. Why did Wendy’s coven want money, power, things so much that they were willing to not only kill men but subject them to eternal pain and suffering?

Maybe she didn’t want to know why. Nothing could justify their actions. Their victims didn’t deserve their horrid deaths, and Moira had no sympathy for those who hurt others for personal gain.

“I don’t know who you are,” Nina said. “When I came to the station today it was to talk to Grant about the investigation into George’s murder. And you’re the one who asked me to coffee,” she pointed to Moira. “I’m not here to set anyone up.”

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” Rafe said. “It’s hard to take, but I am not lying to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Nadine Anson was a witch. When I say witch, I mean someone who uses spells to draw on demonic forces for personal gain. Most witches are innocuous”-he put his hand on Moira’s leg to keep her from arguing that point-“because they don’t have access to or experience with ancient spells and rituals that summon demons into our world.”

Nina stared at Rafe. She wanted to believe, Moira saw it in her eyes, but her logical, lawyerly self doubted.

Rafe continued. “We don’t know exactly what happened with Nadine and her coven, but the manager of Velocity, Wendy Donovan, is the leader. The high priestess-the head magician, whatever you want to call her-is in charge. Most of the members of the coven worked at Velocity or were affiliated with it in some way.”

Nina leaned forward, hands splayed palms down on the table. “Pamela is a supplier. She works for a food and beverage service and handles alcohol supplies for local bars, including Velocity.”

Rafe nodded, though the information was news to both him and Moira.

“Though witches aren’t all women-hardly, as most magicians in ancient times were men-Wendy’s coven is all female. They are practicing a particularly vile form of sex magic.”

Nina frowned and leaned back in her chair. “Sex magic?”

Rafe continued. “I just spoke with Anthony Zaccardi, the preeminent scholar in ancient demons. He confirmed our fears, and more. Wendy, and her mother before her, and likely women in their family for generations, have been the protectors of a legion of demons known as succubi. They are female demons who steal the souls of