Chapter Three
His World Nature Camp spread across more than one hundred acres above Placerita Canyon. Early spring had brought forth new growth on the evergreens, but the Angeles National Forest was nothing like the Montana wilderness where Moira had trained as a demon hunter.
While Rafe drove from Westwood in the heart of L.A. toward the mountains, Moira sat in the passenger seat and surfed the Internet for information about the camp. It operated year-round with a small full-time staff and larger seasonal staff. The core purpose was to teach stewardship of the earth through learning about nature. Campers were encouraged to pursue their own spirituality, go on nature walks, learn about the ecosystem, and live, in part, off the land. While the bulk of the weeklong camping experiences were through small private schools and churches, any non-profit youth group could participate.
“On the surface it looks normal,” Moira said. “Though the gardening part sounds tedious.”
“You don’t have much patience,” Rafe said.
“To watch my food grow? No, I don’t.”
“I had a garden at the mission, before the attack.”
Moira reached for Rafe’s hand. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad. Maybe if you found a hobby you wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about demons and all that is wrong in the world.”
“Maybe. But not playing in dirt.”
Rafe brought her hand to his upturned lips. “I don’t really see you wearing a sun hat and tilling the soil.”
Moira thought back to their game plan, but she still had questions. “How did Amy’s killer know she was a virgin?” Moira glanced at Rafe. “And how did you know?”
He didn’t say anything. Moira sensed he was debating whether to lie, and she prayed he didn’t.
“She told me,” he said simply.
She couldn’t have heard right. “Told you.”
“At the morgue. I saw her ghost.”
“Seeing a ghost and having a friggin’ conversation with a ghost are two entirely different things.” Moira didn’t know what disturbed her more—that Rafe had a conversation with a ghost, or that he had waited hours before telling her. “Did you ask her who killed her? What ritual they used? What they did with her blood?”
Moira was shaking. Rafe didn’t answer her questions, and the silence made her angry. She’d much rather be mad than let the fear for Rafe’s soul consume her. She continued, her voice rising. “Do you know what happens when you start communicating with dead people? The line between the astral plane and our world thins. As if it wasn’t thin enough! It opens you up for possession. It’s because of Julie, isn’t it? Because you let her in! You’re risking your life, Rafe.”
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 six weeks 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.