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.
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. New spells were 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.
She continued, “Hallowed be thy name!”
The chanting stopped. Footsteps running. She kept it up, pleased that she’d screwed up their plans in some small way.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done!”
It sounded like two people ran across the porch.
“Forgive us our trespasses! As we forgive those who trespass against us!”
Moira would forgive them as soon as she stopped them, she reasoned. All she wanted was to stop the Baphomet ritual and seal that portal from Hell. The fools playing with demons were to be pitied, stopped, and if possible tossed in jail. Let people like Grant deal with them, she had bigger fish to fry.
Someone was unlocking the cellar door. There was a flashlight, and Moira didn’t want to get be temporarily blinded, so she kept her back against the wall parallel the door, kept her mouth shut, the handcuffs ready.
The door swung open and a flashlight shined into the cellar.
“You’re a dead woman!” Rex shouted.
He had a gun in his hand. He first shined his light to the right, and Moira took the opportunity to use her arm to hit him on the backside of his knee. The force pushed him down the stairs. His gun and flashlight fell from his grasp.
Another man was coming down, but Moira went first for the gun. Rex reached it at the same time, and Moira took the handcuff hook and slammed the pointed end on his hand. He cried out in pain and she grabbed the gun.
It was her gun! She aimed at the man coming down the stairs and shot him in the calf. He fell forward.
Rex had no death wish—he lay prone on the ground. Moira didn’t trust him, however. She backed up the stairs and pulled the cellar door shut. They’d left the lock conveniently in the hook, so she locked them in and breathed in the fresh air while she looked around and gathered her bearings.
The chanting had resumed. Did they think she was dead?
She saw movement in her peripheral vision. She turned and aimed her gun at her would be attacker.
Rafe.
He grabbed her and held her tight. “Thank God, thank God,” he repeated.
“Perfect timing.”
“What just happened? I heard a gunshot.”
“I was locked in the cellar; now Rex and the bouncer are. Based on the sound of footsteps, there are four or five more in that house. I heard a girl scream—it must be Tori. They’ve already started.”
Grant ran up to them. He looked at Moira’s gun, but didn’t say anything.
“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 fucked 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.
“Help me!” Grant called. He’d pulled out the needle and had put pressure on Tori’s arm, but she was already going into shock. Her skin was deathly pale and her eyes unfocused, but she was awake and breathing.
The curtains were now completely engulfed in fire, and the couch on the far side of the room was burning fiercely.
Moira helped Rafe up. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, still unable to speak. As Gwen died, his voice returned and he gasped for breath. “Out. Now.”
“We need to get Tori out.”
She turned back to Grant and saw why he hadn’t removed her.
A heavy chain bolted her to the altar around her waist.
“Grant, take her blood out. She’ll need it.”
“I’m not leaving you in here.”
“Do it!” Moira ordered. She was used to people doing exactly what she said. She looked under the altar and inspected the chain. “Rafe, I’m going to lift the chain up; you pull her body out.”
The ceiling above them was beginning to cave with the pressure of the fast-burning fire. The flames themselves felt alive, at first caused by magic, then physics took over.
The chain was not only heavy, it was drenched in dark magic, making if feel infinitely heavier. Moira took the bottle of holy water and poured the rest over the chain. It sizzled under the water and Tori cried out, then fainted. At least Moira hoped she simply fainted and wasn’t in active shock. They had to get her to a hospital immediately or she would die. She didn’t know how much blood had been removed, but it was substantial.
Coughing from the smoke, Moira lifted the chain up and Rafe dragged Tori’s body out as quickly as possible. He then picked her up in both arms and carried her from the burning room. Moira followed, and as she stumbled down the porch, remembered the men in the cellar.
She ran to the door and was faced with a combination lock. She had no idea what the code was! She pulled at it, but it was locked tight. Smoke poured from the cracks, and the house above looked like it was going to cave on itself. Sirens and lights from emergency vehicles filled the sky with sound and illumination.
She pounded on the wood, hoping it would splinter, but it had been reinforced.
A firefighter rushed over with Rafe. “There’re two people trapped in there!” Moira told him.
He had an axe and broke down the door. Two men went inside.
Rafe said, “We have to go.”
“But what about—”
“Now. Grant understands.”
Moira didn’t know what story Grant was going to concoct to explain what had happened here, or what Tori would remember and tell the police. But like last time, Moira couldn’t risk being detained by the police.
Rafe took her hand and they disappeared into the night.