ENTANGLED (54 page)

“Jeff is running the images of the bouncer and the driver, I’ll let you know what pops. But we can’t stay here. Maybe what you thought you saw was wrong.”

“It wasn’t.”

A car drove up and pulled into the garage of the house next to the widow. A mother with two teenagers got out of the car and went into the house. “They might know something,” Rafe said and crossed the street.

“Rafe—” Grant began. Rafe didn’t care if Grant came or not, he wasn’t leaving. If Moira wasn’t here, Tori would be when Gwen tried to kill her. And Rafe would then find out where Moira was. He would do whatever it took to locate her.

Rafe rang the bell of the small mansion. The houses on this stretch of Alonzo Drive were set back from the road, with wide parcels allowing privacy. This side of the road they backed up to a cliff, so no one was behind them. Now that it was dark, the only thing Rafe could see beyond the houses was black, and a cluster of lights on the buildings that serviced the Reservoir.

One of the teenagers, a boy, answered the door. He was as tall as Rafe, but pencil-thin. Before Rafe could speak, Grant flashed his badge. “Detective Grant Nelson. This is Rafe Cooper. Is your mother home?”

“Mom! There’re cops at the door!”

His mother came quickly. “Is something wrong?”

Grant learned that the mother was Kris Barnes, and said, “No, ma’am, but we have some questions about your neighbor’s house. May we come in?”

Mrs. Barnes led them to the den off the foyer. “Is Mrs. Truesdale all right?”

“We believe so, but we’re following up on a report. A minor reported that she’d been kept in that house against her will. She redacted her report, but I’m compelled to follow up on it.”

Rafe was impressed at the lie Grant came up with so quickly.

“I can’t imagine— Mrs. Truesdale is seventy-two years old.”

“Does she have relatives who live with her? When I spoke to her, she wanted to help, but seemed a bit confused.”

“She has visitors, of course. But I haven’t heard of any trouble. She’s getting a bit forgetful—Jason—my son—takes her garbage cans to the curb when she forgets, which is more often these last few months.”

Rafe showed Mrs. Barnes the picture of Gwen Simmons, both the camp picture and her Oregon driver’s license. “Have you seen this woman with Mrs. Barnes or at her house?”

Jason spoke up. “That’s Tessa, Mrs. Truesdale’s granddaughter.”

“She doesn’t have any grandchildren,” Mrs. Barnes said.

“I met her a couple times. She’s hot—um, nice.”

Mrs. Barnes looked sternly at her son.

Rafe forced a smile on his face. “Yes, she’s hot. What did you talk about?”

He now looked sheepish. “Stuff.”

“Jason!”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Barnes.” Grant turned to Jason. “You’re not in trouble. But I’ll be honest with you, if you’ll tell me the truth.”

“Uh, sure.”

“This woman isn’t Tessa. Her name is Gwen Simmons and she’s dangerous. She confessed to murdering her boyfriend, then she disappeared. I need to know when you last saw her.”

“Sunday night. I saw her drive off with her boyfriend.”

Grant showed a picture of Rex Van Allen. “Is this the man you saw?”

“Yeah, that’s him. I’ve only met him once, but seen him with Tessa—um, Gwen several times.”

Grant showed pictures of Amy, Beth and Tori. “Have you seen any of these girls in the neighborhood?”

Neither of them had.

Rafe asked, “Have you seen anything unusual at the house next door? Particularly in the backyard.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mrs. Barnes said. “Why all these questions?”

Jason said, “Like really weird stuff?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, yeah. Over Christmas break there was this party over there. It’s pretty quiet up here at night, and my buddy Seth dropped me off late after the movies. I heard this chanting and thought it was weird music for an old lady. I noticed a couple cars in the driveway and was thinking she’s having a party? Bizarre. From my room I can see part of her backyard through the trees. There was a flickering, like candles. I went in the backyard and looked through a knothole in the fence. I couldn’t see much, except that there some people standing in a circle and they were the ones chanting. It kind of freaked me out a bit, I don’t know why,” he added sheepishly.

“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.

“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.

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.

Until Rafe.

Remembering she had something to live
for,
not just something to fight
against
, she focused on the narrow light and exercised. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretches. Lunges. Repeat.

She was desperately thirsty, but they hadn’t left her any water. The thirst made her stop exercising, though every five minutes—she counted them to keep her sanity in check—she stretched for a full minute. Then counted again.

She’d rather face a demon than the dark underground. It was a passive attack, and she couldn’t even fight back. She’d picked the locks of her handcuffs early on—they’d taken most of her tools, but had missed a few things including a safety pin in her pocket. That small victory was short lived as she listened to the people walk upstairs. As she felt new spells cast as Gwen’s dark vampire coven prepared the house and the grounds for another sacrifice. Each spell Moira repelled away from her body, but the malevolence surrounding her wore her down as the sun disappeared. When there was no light, she pretended. She prayed. She swore.

She grew weaker as the dark forces around her increased. Without the thin ray of hope, despair spread.

Rafe would never find her. She’d walked right into the trap. Why had she answered the phone? Had they brainwashed her to do so? If she was so weak and stupid as to be brainwashed by an idiot cad like Rex Van Allen, then why was she even here? What could she offer to anyone? Sure, she could battle demons, but when she was defeated by a weak magician using common brainwashing techniques, what did her other skills matter?

She rocked in the corner and tried to pray, because there was nothing else she could do. But she’d never been on good terms with the Big Guy. He could stop this all if He wanted to. Oh, she’d heard all the reasons why he wouldn’t, but when people were dying, when innocent people were suffering...

A scream pierced her mind. At first, she thought she’d screamed, but it wasn’t her, it was coming from the house above.

The scream startled her out of her dark gloom and for a moment, her head was clear. It was as if she’d mentally flexed when she heard the girl suffer and sent all the negative energy that circled around her away.

She stood up and her muscles ached. How long had she been sitting in the corner feeling sorry for herself? Her body told her hours. She had no idea what time it was, but it was dark outside. Not quite complete dark. A very dim light showed her where the cellar door was, at an angle in the ground. She walked over and tripped over the bottom step. The light was from the full moon that was nearly directly above them.

The chanting began.

Tori Schaffer was going to die if Moira didn’t do something
now.

At the top of her lungs, she began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. If anything, it would disrupt them enough that they would come down here to silence her.

She reached into her pocket for the solid metal handcuffs. The end that clasped closed was pointed enough to use as an effective weapon. If that failed, she could swing it with enough force to do some harm.