Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(29)

“I shot him in the calf,” she explained, though no one asked. “He’ll live. We have to go inside.”

“It’s midnight,” Rafe said.

She’d been in the cellar for twelve hours. It felt like weeks and at the same time she could barely remember being trapped. Some protective instinct had kicked in and blocked the memory.

Moira told Grant, “Call an ambulance. If they’ve started draining her blood, we don’t have much time. She’s already weak from the purification rituals.”

Rex and the bouncer were making noise from the cellar.

“She knows we’re coming,” Moira said. “Let’s get this party stopped.” She turned to Rafe. “They took my knives and holy water.”

He handed her his back up knife and she put the gun in her pocket. The special knives she and Rafe used repelled magic, turning either their spell against the creator, dispersing it, or weakening the power. She also took his extra bottle of holy water. It wouldn’t do much against a powerful demon like Baphomet, but it would help protect them and dissipate weak spells.

They ran up the porch stairs. Grant went to the right and around the back; Moira and Rafe burst in through the front.

Three women and one man all dressed in black gowns with gold symbols Moira recognized as symbols of the dark arts were chanting around the elevated body of Tori Schaffer. Tori had a panicked look on her face, but wasn’t moving—whether from fear or drugs, Moira didn’t know. They’d already put the needle in her arm and blood was draining into a large plastic medical pouch below her body.

Tori had a bite mark on her neck. Both punctures were still dripping blood.

Gwen wasn’t there.

“This is over now,” Moira said. She made a move toward Tori to stop the blood loss. The lone male stepped in front of her and took out his asthame, the double-edged witches knife used for commanding and controlling power—and murder, if necessary.

She stepped back and said, “Your ritual is already f*cked up, so you might as well let her go.”

He smiled and said, “You know nothing about this ritual. It is already done.”

Grant stepped in from the rear. The four witches didn’t see him, and Moira gave him a nod.

“Grant Nelson, Los Angeles Police Department. Put down the knife and step away from the girl.”

Grant’s arrival surprised the four, and they turned toward him and backed away at the same time. Moira knocked the knife out of the guy’s hand. It fell to the hardwood floor and Moira kicked it far away, not wanting to touch it.

Suddenly, Grant’s gun flew across the room, barely missing Rafe’s head.

Gwen stood in a doorway. There was something different about her. She practically glowed. “I’ve tasted the virgin,” she said. “You can’t defeat me.”

Five against three. Not great odds, but Moira had faced worse. She made a move on Gwen, primarily to distract her from using her powers against Grant and Rafe. Tori didn’t have much time left, judging from the bag filling with her blood on the floor next to the altar.

Gwen raised her hands, palms out, and murmured a spell Moira couldn’t hear. She didn’t give the bitch time to complete it, she went on the offensive. Knife in one hand, she flipped the spout on the bottle of holy water and used it to put out the black candles that burned around the room. She squirted one out and was shocked when they all went out simultaneously.

That was a new one.

Gwen screamed and turned her palms toward Moira. Waves of dark energy pulsed forward. No one could see it except her, not even Gwen. Moira turned her knife, moving it rapidly to deflect the spell.

But Gwen was powerful, and the energy started building around them, a potent blanket that would suffocate them if Moira couldn’t figure out a way to stop her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Rafe had already taken out the lone male—he was on the ground, unconscious. Grant was trying to get to Tori, but Gwen’s three minions, which included April, had circled around her and used jolts of electricity to force Grant back.

Moira shouted to Rafe, “Watch her,” and he knew who she meant. He walked around to distract Gwen, while Moira turned and jumped in front of Grant. She could see the electric sparks coming from April’s asthame. She deflected them with her knife. Her arm burned, but she continued her defensive assault, sending sparks everywhere. To her great surprise, when April’s magical energy hit her knife, everyone could see the sparks. They were no longer magic, but real flames.

“How did you do that?” April cried as a flame hit her black gown and began to smoke.

“I didn’t,” Moira said, but she couldn’t explain what was happening. April ran from the room. The other two witches didn’t have a fraction of the power, and they backed off.

One of them yelled, “The curtains are on fire!”

Moira ordered Grant to get Tori, and she turned to help Rafe.

He was on his knees, a fierce and angry Gwen over him with a knife raised above her head.

Moira threw her knife at Gwen and it hit her in the chest. Darkness soaked the black gown and blood dripped—flowed—from her mouth. She dropped her asthame and staggered backward, reaching for the knife in her chest. She grabbed the hilt, but her hand jerked away, as if burned. Her mouth worked rapidly, but no sound came out as she fell to her knees, then to the floor. All the candles lit at once, high and burning hot, scorching the ceiling, which began to smoke.