ENTANGLED (47 page)

Rafe pulled the truck over to the side of the mountain road, on a narrow turn-out. She opened the door, needing to walk it off. Her whole body was shaking.

Rafe grabbed her arm and pulled her back in. “What are—” then she saw that they were stopped on the edge of a drop-off. It wouldn’t kill her if she rolled down the hill, but it would be nearly impossible to get back up.

She closed the door. “Drive.”

“No.”

She faced him. His face was unreadable, and that bothered her, too. She was an open book, and he was keeping everything close to the vest. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Moira, can I please explain?”

“Talk.” She crossed her arms and stared at him.

Don’t lie to me, Rafe. Just don’t lie to me
.

Rafe knew that Moira was more scared about his safety than angry. He didn’t know how to make her understand, but he had to try.

He took her hands in his, even though she tried to pull back. Her muscles were tense, her fear and worries simmering. Communicating with spirits was extremely dangerous, and while not expressly forbidden if the person didn’t intentionally seek out the ghost, it was certainly frowned on.

He didn’t want to lie to her, but how could he lie if he didn’t even know what the truth was? He didn’t know why he could have a conversation with Amy Carney, or why Moira hadn’t been able to see her at all. Ever since he woke up from his coma nearly a month ago, he knew things he shouldn’t know. But he didn’t want to talk about that with Moira, not until he had more information about what exactly he
did
know and what happened to him while he was comatose.

But he didn’t have to tell her
everything
. He could be honest insofar as what had happened when they’d battled the demon Lust.

“I don’t know
why
I could talk to Amy’s ghost,” Rafe began. Moira tried to pull her hands back, but he held tight. “But I think I know when it started. Do you remember when Lust threw all the trapped souls at me?”

“Like I could forget,” she said. Her attempt at sarcasm was weak and her anger was fading. Rafe pushed on.

“What is a ghost except for a lost soul?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a vengeful spirit or a cursed soul or even a demon—”

“Or simply wandering. Confused. Not all spirits are out to destroy living souls.”

She turned her head and pulled her hands sharply away. “I can’t believe what you’re saying.”

He grabbed her face and turned her back to face him. Now she was mad. “The world isn’t black and white, Moira. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

“We’re talking about risking your soul and your life!”

“They are at risk every day.” He ran his thumbs over her cheeks, his fingers entwined in her hair. “I sent those souls in the direction they were supposed to go. But they all spoke to me, dumping their memories, confessing their sins. I couldn’t control it. I had to open myself up, I had to let them—”

“Stop!” Moira hit him squarely on his chest. “You nearly
died
. Lust planned to kill you with that attack.”

He grabbed her wrists. “But it didn’t kill me.”

“It could have! It
should
have. Anyone else would have died or lost their mind.” She looked down.

Rafe understood what Moira feared. He feared it himself. Was he to be trusted? Were his new abilities at the command of Heaven or Hell? Was he unwittingly using magic on a deep, subconscious level that would ultimately put them both in even more danger? Already there were whispers about him at St. Michael’s. His former trainer had wanted to send him back to Italy for observation. But it would have been prison, and he would not be a prisoner.

“I don’t know how I knew what to do when Lust turned the souls toward me, but I did,” Rafe said. “I managed it. And that’s why I thought Amy Carney could talk with me. I didn’t seek her out. I didn’t go looking for her. She was there. She wants answers—her soul needs us to help her.”

“We did. Or, rather, Grant did. He identified her. She’ll be buried properly.”

“Someone has to help her find the way to where she’s supposed to be now.”

“Not you. Geez, Rafe, people have been dying for millennia, it can’t be that hard to see the light!”

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.

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.”

“Are you in danger?”

Because she sensed magic so strongly, she ran a greater risk of exposure to spells when she lowered her shields, especially since she couldn’t fight back using magic itself.

“No. I need to find the source of the cleansing spell—that’ll tell me where the dark magic started. It’s still there, just being suppressed.”

“Are others at risk?”

“I won’t know until I find it.” She glanced back at Rafe. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. There’s nothing active, only residual magic.”

He nodded, but his face was clouded and Moira wished she knew what he was really thinking. Sometimes, he could be so open and want to talk about everything—sometimes to the point of making her want to shut him up with a kiss—and other times he shut down and getting anything out of him was impossible.

They walked across the clearing and as they approached the wooden stairs to the natural wood two-story cabin, a gray-haired woman opened the door. Her smooth skin suggested someone in her thirties, but her hair was completely gray, and pulled back into a loose bun. Fifty, plus or minus. She had black-rimmed reading glasses on a chain around her neck next to a small, simple gold crucifix. Moira relaxed—just because she wore a crucifix didn’t mean she was one of the good guys, but chances that she was dabbling in the dark arts diminished greatly.

“I heard you drive up. Lost?”

“No, ma’am,” Rafe responded. “I’m Raphael Cooper. This is my wife, Moira.” He lied so smoothly—something that was easy for Moira, but she didn’t like how much easier it was becoming for Rafe since she’d met him two months ago. “We’re visiting friends in Los Angeles and heard about your camp. We thought it was a nice day for a drive—before the rain starts—and wanted to see the place.”

“We primarily serve the teen community.”

“We’re thinking about my younger sister, Lily,” Moira said. Another lie, but Moira was well-versed in lying.

“Wonderful. I’m Evelyn Masters. I’ve been the director of His World for seventeen years. I used to teach at an all-girls high school. Loved my job, but when I was diagnosed with Stage Two breast cancer at the age of thirty-four, everything changed.”

As she spoke, she started walking away from the administrative building. Moira and Rafe walked beside her. “I went through surgery and chemotherapy and if it wasn’t for my faith and my husband, I wouldn’t have survived. I was so angry at everyone, but it’s no one’s fault.” She sighed, but smiled. “The experience made me realize that even though I loved my job, I wanted to fulfill my dream of being a naturalist. I wanted to teach young people to love God’s creations and be good stewards. A woman I met through a support group knew all about His World and one thing led to another. They needed a director and caretaker. Kenny and I knew it was our calling. We’ve been here ever since.”

She stopped in a clearing with a large willow tree in the center. “We have one other full-time staff member, Carmen, who supervises the counselors and helps run individual programs. She also travels to high schools and churches to talk about the camp and what we offer. She came on eight years ago.”

It was the willow tree that was the source of the Wiccan spell. There was a strong sense of peace surrounding it. And it was a repeated ritual. Someone was fearful of something, but Moira couldn’t get a sense of what dark energy was being suppressed.

“This is lovely,” Moira said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Evelyn smiled. “This is our main gathering spot.”