Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(10)

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if when she was laid to rest if she would be able to do it on her own.

“Dammit!” Moira pounded the dashboard. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Moira—”

“Don’t you realize that you’re now vulnerable on a whole other level? If your enemies get wind of this, they can attack you from the astral plane and I won’t be able to stop it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. We need to turn off this...thing.”

Her lips quivered, her vibrant blue eyes were bright with emotion. She opened her mouth to continue the argument, but he kissed her instead. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him as close to her as possible, practically climbing over the center console of the truck. He had started the kiss, but she took over, her tongue moving with his, her hands twisting his hair where it curled as it touched his collar.

Rafe wanted to assure Moira that he was okay, that this new development wasn’t going to jeopardize their lives, but she didn’t let him speak, and she wouldn’t have believed him, anyway. He didn’t really believe it either, but every breath was a risk while the Seven Deadly Sins were still at large.

“Don’t,” Moira said between kisses.

“Don’t what?” he asked, barely able to speak.

“Don’t die on me.”

She blinked as she moved away from him. “I’m not,” he said. Then he realized she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

He knew what had happened to Peter, Moira’s lover, seven years ago at St. Michael’s. Peter was another orphan raised at the monastery. Rafe hadn’t been there when a demon possessed Moira and killed Peter through her. He hadn’t been there when she’d been sent to Olivet for training to be a demon hunter. The Order had used Moira’s anguish and skills to manipulate her into joining the battle St. Michael’s had been fighting for hundreds of years. And she was one of the best. But at what cost?

“We need to get to the camp,” Moira said.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Rafe said.

Moira stared at him, not believing what he was saying. She wasn’t a liar. She hadn’t kept anything from Rafe.

“Lie?” But her tone faltered, she couldn’t muster up any more anger. Her fears were so intense sometimes she wanted to scream—worry for Rafe’s life, that he could die, that they both would be killed before this battle was over. But it wasn’t just their physical safety. Rafe was holding back something, she’d felt it from the minute they returned from Los Angeles last month. She’d talked around it, trying to get him to share, and now they were closer than ever before to him admitting there was something going on with him. And she was willing to drop it. Why? Because she was afraid of the truth?

Maybe. Maybe she was. She didn’t want to lose Rafe to Fiona’s coven—either his life or his soul. When they returned to Santa Louisa they’d have to address it. But not now.

She said, “We really need to get up to the camp. We’ll talk when this is over—I promise.”

He kissed her again, and for a moment she embraced the impossible dream. That they could turn around and leave. Run away and live on an island where no one could find them.

She sighed, touched her forehead to Rafe’s, savored the quiet minute. Peace.

Give up the dream. Peace isn’t in the cards for you.

Maybe not. But for a moment, she could lie to herself. The lie gave her hope, and without hope she had nothing.





Chapter Four




Ten minutes later, after driving up an old winding, patched road, Rafe drove into a clearing. In the center was a man-made stack of boulders with a sign on top:

His World Nature Camp

Discovering spirituality through stewardship

Grant had told them not to talk to anyone, but Moira and Rafe had already decided that the fastest way to get answers was to ask questions. After reading about the camp on the Internet, and making a quick call to people at St. Michael’s who kept tabs on havens for the occult, they determined that the camp itself was legit. That meant any dark influence had been temporary. Maybe a summer counselor, specifically one who was here at the same time as Amy and Beth.

“Ready?” he asked.

Moira gave him a quick kiss. “Let’s do it.”

They stepped out of the car. It was chilly this high up in the mountains and Moira was glad she’d worn a sweater, though she loved the cool, overcast day. The newscaster had predicted rain by tonight, but right now it was perfect.

She breathed in the clean, fresh air, the scent of pine and redwood and moss and damp earth filling her nose. She didn’t want to leave. She lowered her inner shields so she could feel any magical energy. That’s when she felt it.

“Wiccans.”

“This is a Wiccan camp?”

“No—but someone here is a Wicca. There’s been a casting of basic spells—harmony, growth, stuff like that. No dark magic but—” She frowned.

“What’s wrong, Moira?” He sounded worried.

“There’s a protection spell—no, a cleansing spell. Someone has been here recently and tried to dissipate negative energy.”