Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(13)

“Carmen? The other staff member?”

“I thought she might be the wannabe vamp, so I pulled her files. She wrote under her religious affiliation Wiccan. She has a room in the main house, so I checked it out. No black magic, but a lot of protective spells. She was spooked by something, but I don’t think she knew specifically what because she was covering all her bases.”

“What about the flowers?”

“Bluebells and St. John’s Wort are used in truth spells. I suspect that whoever is responsible cast a powerful truth spell over the camp, one that summoned Astaroth’s legion. Astaroth is the demon of spies, and the spell brought in invisible demons, creating a paper-thin line between our world and the underworld. The magician became a human truth detector, relying on these demon spies. The spell centered in the cabin shared by Amy and Beth, then spread throughout the camp. But it was cloaked. That’s why I couldn’t feel the specific spell at first.”

“So we’re dealing with an experienced, connected witch. She wanted the truth because she needed to be one-hundred percent certain the girls she targeted were virgins.”

“With that spell, she would know with certainty.”

“I still don’t understand where the flowers come in. Did she plant them?”

“No,” Moira said. “When Carmen felt the black magic, she didn’t know what it was—that’s why she cast every protective spell she could think of. In a truth ritual, the witch would need seeds from the flowers. They were everywhere, but only those east of the willow tree grew when Carmen cast the growth spell.”

“Why?”

Moira shrugged. “She either faced that way or the magician used that clearing for the original spell or that was the way the wind blew.”

“We’ll talk to Grant, give him the list I made, talk to the girls—make sure they stick close to home.”

Moira opened the folder on her lap. She’d copied the names and addresses of everyone in the cabin, but she’d also grabbed a picture from the files. “This is the photo of everyone in the cabin. Beth. Amy.” She pointed to the girls. “That leaves eight more girls plus the counselor.”

Rafe glanced at the photograph as he turned onto the main highway headed back to Los Angeles. He immediately recognized Amy. Her smile had been carefree. She’d been happy.

Her soul deserved to have peace. She needed justice. Rafe felt a fire he hadn’t experienced in a long time.





Chapter Five




At ten o’clock that night, Rafe and Moira met Grant in the parking lot of their hotel. It wasn’t raining, but the night had turned cold and a damp mist clouded all the streetlights, casting a gloomy glow across the parking lot. Perfect for Rafe’s current mood.

He glanced at Moira as she slid into the cramped backseat of Grant’s sports car. He wished he’d convinced her to tone it down. She’d told him that they’d stand out more if they went in subtle, and she was probably right, but he didn’t like the way every man in the hotel lobby had turned and stared at her as she crossed the room. She was stunning and sexy.

As if reading his mind, Carter turned in the passenger seat to assess her. He grinned broadly. “Perfect.”

Rafe slammed the door shut and glared at him.

Moira smiled, her lips painted shiny blood red. “I know.”

After leaving the camp and sending Grant the information they’d uncovered, they’d shopped at vintage clothing stores so they could dress appropriately for a club like Defiance. Rafe wore all-black: slacks, a button-down shirt over a T-shirt and trench coat. He reluctantly agreed to let Moira put dark eye make-up around his eyes, which was popular in nocturnal clubs.

Moira wore a red and black lace bodice that pushed her breasts both together and out, a long full black skirt with a slit so high up one side that her garter was visible. Her fishnet stockings ended in boots that went up to her knee. Rafe knew she had her knife concealed but readily accessible in her right boot.

She’d left her long, dark hair down her bare back, concealing her scars. It was naturally wavy, but she’d spent time putting even more curls in. It was her make-up that was the biggest surprise since she rarely wore any—the foundation, the smoky eyes, the dark red lipstick, the long eyelashes. He preferred the natural Moira. He understood why it was important they play the roles, and Moira was already acting the part, making him feel as if she were an imposter.

A black choker adorned with a cameo wrapped around her neck. The cameo was a blessed artifact they’d picked up from a friend of St. Michael’s Order. Inside was a relic of a saint. It wouldn’t protect them completely, but if there was a demon at Defiance, it would reveal itself in some way if close to Moira.

“This plan won’t work,” Rafe said as Grant drove.

“You want in, this is the way to get in,” Carter said. “You’re both perfect. Keep that brooding expression on your face and you’re a shoo-in.” He laughed, and even the sullen Grant cracked a smile, but Rafe didn’t see the humor in the situation.

Rafe considered that he might be jealous, but it wasn’t that—it was that he didn’t like what other people were thinking about Moira. He couldn’t read their minds, but he didn’t have to—the lust was on each man’s face when they looked at her. And Rafe saw how Carter couldn’t take his eyes off Moira. Grant, fortunately, was all business.