Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(27)

“Did you ask Gwen about it?”

“No—I kind of forgot. And I didn’t see faces. They were all wearing dark clothes or something.”

Grant turned to Mrs. Barnes. “Would you mind if we inspected your backyard? We may need to access the house next door quickly.”

“Of course.”

“And let’s keep this visit between us, no need to tell Mrs. Truesdale or the other neighbors. Not until we know what’s going on.”

Rafe and Grant went outside. “So is the old woman part of it or a victim?” Grant asked.

“I don’t know.” Moira would. She’d know if Mrs. Truesdale was practicing black magic or under a spell.

Grant sent his partner a message to look into Truesdale and any relatives who might have a connection to Simmons or Van Allen.

Rafe inspected the fence. There was indeed privacy on both sides—vines, trees, bushes. There was a wrought iron fence at the back to maximize the view. Two feet beyond that was a fairly steep drop into the canyon. Very difficult to scale without equipment.

“We should talk to the other neighbors,” Grant said.

“We’re running out of time!” It was nearly nine p.m. Tomorrow was the equinox. Was the ritual to be scheduled after midnight? Or after sunset tomorrow? Rafe felt Gwen would be acting sooner rather than later. She could move it up, knowing that they would be looking for Moira. She knew they were onto her. Would she change the location of the ritual? Could she? Was there a specific reason that it had to be here?

In Rafe’s experience, the location of the ritual was important, but not as important as the process. There would need to be a cleansing and purification ritual that could take hours. The victim had to be prepared as a sacrifice to appease the rules the demon and the magician agreed to. One screw up and the demon could call off the deal, and the magician would still lose his or her soul.

But the cleansing could take place elsewhere, and still the victim could be transported here.

That didn’t feel right. They had to bring several people into the process. A coven could be as small as three people or as large as thirteen. There were extended covens that could work together, simultaneously, in separate but connected rituals, strengthening their power, but the covens themselves weren’t large groups.

“I need to talk to Mrs. Truesdale,” Rafe said. “And search her house.”

“We can’t do that,” Grant said, but Rafe was already on his way.

Grant caught up with him outside her house and grabbed his arm. Rafe nearly hit him. The slow burning panic that started when Moira had been kidnapped was coming to a full boil, and he needed to do something. Mrs. Truesdale had the information he needed, he just had to get it from her. He needed to hypnotize her.

He frowned. He had never hypnotized anyone before.

It’s easy, for someone with the proper training.

Suddenly, a sharp pain burst in his head. He grabbed his skull with both his hands, as if holding his brains in.

“Rafe, what’s happening?” Grant reached for his gun, looking all around them.

Don’t look too closely. Don’t look for answers.

His head throbbed but he let go of trying to figure out where he’d learned how to hypnotize someone. The sharpest of the pain subsided.

“I’m okay,” he said, breathing rapidly. “Please trust me, Grant. I can find Tori and Moira. I need to talk to Mrs. Truesdale now.”

Grant hesitated, and Rafe took that as a yes. He practically ran up to the front door and rang the bell multiple times.

Get a grip on yourself, Raphael.

If he didn’t calm down, he wouldn’t be able to think clearly, he wouldn’t be able to do what had to be done.

Mrs. Truesdale opened the door with a concerned look on her face.

Rafe said slowly and clearly, “There is a blood moon tonight.”

Mrs. Truesdale smiled broadly. “Come in, please.”

Rafe hoped getting answers was as easy as getting into the house.





Chapter Eleven




Moira sat in the corner of the pitch-black cellar, her arms around her legs, her head between her knees. She’d lost all track of time. For hours she stared at the thin crack of sunlight coming from where the door opened. The light, however small, had kept her focused and sane. She could turn her back on it for a few minutes at a time to inspect her surroundings for a way out or a weapon.

The cellar was empty except for spiders. The dirt floor was packed hard, the stench of rot and mold and blood was so prominent she could taste it. But the worst was the dark magic that surrounded her. This house was evil. The ground she sat on had been defiled in the worst ways. She felt each spell that had been cast in this house as a punch to her gut. Even with all her shields up, it took every ounce of her will to not let the despair cloud her judgment. Not let the fear and darkness eat away at her soul until her sanity checked out.

While she could see the light, she could maintain the tight control. Focus on her training. Remember who she was and why she was here.

Moira O’Donnell, demon hunter, paranormal investigator.

Her strength and cunning and instincts that had kept her alive for twenty-nine years. She would not fail now because some vampire witch wanted immortality.

What was it with these people? Moira didn’t want to live forever. There had been days, weeks, years where all she wanted to do was die.