Bittersweet Magic (11 page)

Afterwards, she’d disappear. A momentary pang of regret hit her. She wasn’t sure what for, until an image of Piers Lamont rose up in her mind. Gorgeous and sexy and…probably wanting to kill her.

It was for the best.

She stood in the side road and watched as they led Jessica out and into the black van. It drove away, and she waited to see if anything else would go down, but the road remained quiet. She guessed Jack had picked up that something was wrong and changed his mind about coming home. Or whoever had been tailing him had finished him off. That would be nice, but way too convenient—things were never that tidy. But at least it meant that there would be a delay, hopefully a considerable one, before Jack discovered that his Key was missing. And by then, it would be safely in Asmodai’s hands, and she would be off somewhere warm and sunny with no demon to tell her what to do.

After half an hour, she decided the coast was probably clear, and she could head for home. She sauntered back toward the river. The streets were quiet, and she felt quite content as she strolled along. Jessica was safe, and she couldn’t believe what a weight that was off her mind. Just a little bit to offset all the bad things she’d done. Maybe she’d become a philanthropist, dedicate herself to doing good. Hey, she might even become a nun. She chuckled to herself, but the truth was she could become anything she desired. The world was her oyster, or her playground or…

She came out of her little daydream, to find herself confronted by two figures. For a second her heart stuttered; then she looked closer and realized they were nothing but young punks. Probably after her valuables, or her body.

They weren’t getting either.

One of them smirked at her. He couldn’t have been more that seventeen. What was the youth of today coming to?

She let her eyes drift down over them, very unimpressed. When she reached their faces, they were frowning as though she wasn’t behaving as anticipated. Well, what did they expect? She’d seen far worse than them already today—hell, she’d been bitten by a vampire only this morning. A couple of skinny punks weren’t going to spoil her mood.

“Hand us your cash,” the taller one said.

She smiled sweetly. “Just a moment.” Reaching behind her, she pulled the hunting knife from the sheath at the small of her back. It was a huge blade, the edge serrated, and she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and held it in front of her.

They took one look at the blade glinting in the streetlights and bolted.

Roz chuckled as she strolled on. The world was good.

Chapter Seven

Christian handed him a glass of scotch and sat in the seat behind the desk, sipping his own drink. “Isn’t it about time you told me what this thing he stole from the convent actually is?”

Piers rested his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling while he decided just how much of his murky beginnings to reveal. He’d never told anyone at the Order of his life before he was changed. He gulped his drink in one go and held out his glass, then changed his mind and put it down on the table in front of him. “Hand me the bottle, and I might.”

Christian raised an eyebrow, but leaned across and handed him the bottle of scotch. Piers unscrewed the top and took a long drag. He sighed. “It’s a key.”

“A key to what?”

“It opens portals between worlds.”

“Which portals?”

“All of them.”

Christian stood up abruptly and held out his hand for the bottle. Piers grinned and handed it to him.

“How come I’ve never heard of it?” Christian asked.

“Probably because it’s a relic from a long time ago—from before the Shadow Accords. It was supposed to have been destroyed when the Accords were drawn up—before you were even born.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Why?”

Piers shrugged. “I wasn’t involved in the Accords when they were set up—I wasn’t particularly interested in bringing order to the world back then.”

“Really? You surprise me.”

Piers ignored the sarcasm. “But I did hear that the Key was to be destroyed. Most people weren’t keen on the idea—the Key is one of the ancient artifacts of power—but the fae insisted. Have I mention how much I dislike the fae? Arrogant bastards said that while the Key existed, there was always the risk that their enemies could enter the Faelands.”

“So what happened?”

“At a guess, someone must have hidden it instead.”

He thought for a moment, remembering back—it was more than a thousand years ago and as he’d said, he hadn’t been particularly interested in the brand new Order of the Shadow Accords and whatever crap they decided. But he had known of the Key. Andarta had been negotiating for it before they had had their little falling out. The Key had been an integral part in her plot for world domination—the crazy bitch.

Demons varied in their powers. Andarta was strong, but she had a weak point—her inability to open portals with ease. The effort drained her. That had been the one thing that kept her in check, limited her movements. With the Key, she would be unstoppable.

Something occurred to him. Something he’d forgotten. All those years ago, she’d been negotiating with another demon. He shook his head. “Do you know who had the Key back then? You’re going to love this.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“None other than Tara’s father—your brand new father-in-law.”

“Asmodai?”

“Yeah. Shit, could he be involved in this?” Piers ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the separate threads.

Christian shrugged. “So Asmodai was in possession of the Key when the Shadow Accords were drawn up. He agreed to destroy it, but instead he hid it away.”

“No doubt, just in case he ever needed it.”

“And he hid it away in the convent that your friend Jack attacked a couple of nights ago.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

Christian had been pacing. Now he stopped in front of Piers and studied him. Piers stared back. “So what is Jack to you?” Christian asked. “There’s something that ties the two of you together.”

Piers considered not answering—it was no one’s business but his. Then he realized that was no longer the case, and maybe it was something Christian needed to know. “He’s my maker.”

Shock flared on Christian’s face. “So he’s even older than you are?”

“Yeah. But he’s been…sort of out of it for the last couple of thousand years, so I’m not sure how strong he is.”

There were strong vampires and weak ones, and their strength also tended to increase with age. But maybe that age didn’t count if you’d been locked in a tomb.

“What does ‘out of it’ mean?”

“Locked away, no doubt sleeping like an innocent babe for the majority of the time.”

“You did that?”

“Yeah. You could say that I wasn’t too pleased about the change in my circumstances. In fact, it pissed me off. And you might have noticed, when things piss me off I tend to react.”

“So you were stronger than him, which means he shouldn’t be a problem. Just get him out of the picture. You have enough justification with him bringing the police down on us.”

“Well, I could do that, but it’s not actually Jack we need worry about.”

Christian sighed. “Who is it?”

“Andarta.”

“Andarta?” The shock was back with a vengeance. Andarta hadn’t been around for two thousand years but obviously, Christian had heard of her. Why didn’t that surprise him?

“Andarta, the goddess of war and pestilence, the demon queen?”

Piers nodded, and Christian was silent for a minute while he digested the information. “The Andarta who’s been missing for the last two thousand years?”

“That’s the one. Tucked up with Jack.”

The Andarta he’d once believed he loved beyond life itself. The goddess he’d been willing to lay down that very life for. Until she had betrayed him, ordered Jack to turn him, and made that particular sacrifice impossible.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Christian asked.

“I pretended to be happy about the whole thing, lulled them into an entirely false sense of security, and drugged them both. They were locked up tight in their cozy little tomb, warded by Andarta’s own magic, by the time they woke up.”

“Clever,” Christian said.

“Maybe. But maybe it would have been cleverer to finish them off while I had the chance. I somehow doubt she’ll be accepting any more glasses of drugged wine from me.” He rubbed his scalp. He hated rehashing the past. But then it was no longer the past—enough to give anyone a headache.

“Enough of Andarta. Right now, I’m hungry.” He pressed the comm unit on his desk. “Graham, get me the London address of the mother house of the Sisters of…” Shit, he couldn’t remember. “Whatever it was they were sisters of.” He could hear the tap of Graham’s fingers on the keyboard.

“There is no mother house in London,” he said a few seconds later.

“What?”

“The mother house is in Devon.”

“Really?”

“What is it?” Christian asked.

“It appears our little nun was telling a few untruths.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? But I aim to find out. Graham—find her.”

…

By the time Roz reached home, it was after two in the morning. The apartment was quiet and in darkness, but Maria popped her head out of her bedroom as Roz collapsed on the sofa.

“Is everything okay?” Maria asked.

“Fine.” She grinned. “In fact, everything is great.” Though it occurred to her that she was going to have to break the news that she was leaving soon and it was time for Sister Maria to return to the convent. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.

“You look tired,” Maria said. “Would you like me to make some coffee?”

What she really craved was her bed, but she needed to contact Shera first—set things in motion. And also check the bug. See what was going down at the Order. Whether they had heard about Jessica being found, and whether it mattered to them. “Yeah, I’d love a coffee.”

Grabbing her laptop, she sat cross-legged on the sofa waiting for it to power up. After sending an email to Shera, she opened the program, and a whole load of conversation filled the screen.

She read it quickly, knowing she would go back and read more slowly, but right now, she was fascinated. In the last couple of days, she’d learned more about the supernatural world than in the previous five centuries. But when she got to the mention of Asmodai, she stopped and reread. She could feel her eyes going round in amazement.

Asmodai was Christian Roth’s father-in-law.

The idea was staggering. That meant Asmodai had a daughter? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine it. Did he love her? He had certainly never mentioned her in all the time Roz had known him.

She continued reading. Until she got to the end, and shock closed down her mind for long seconds.

“Holy shit. Bugger. Crap.”

Maria placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of her, and the movement brought Roz back to herself. She blinked and slammed the laptop closed.

“What is it?” Maria asked.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing…yet. But we have to leave. Now.”

A fist pounded on the door.

Too late.

Roz glanced from Maria to the door, her mind working furiously. What to do? Go hide under the bed and pretend they weren’t here? Or let them in and plead ignorance?

Much as she liked the hiding under the bed option, she wasn’t sure they would take the hint and go away. No, she’d have to call their bluff. She peered down at herself and for the first time ever, wished she were wearing the habit. Did she have time to put it on?

The knock came again, louder. More insistent.

“Just a minute,” she shouted toward the door. “Maria, get in your room and don’t come out unless I say.”

“What is it? Are they back? Is it the man from the convent?”

“No. I think it’s the people we met in London. They’ve probably just got a few more questions for us. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll deal with it.”

Christ, she was a good liar.

But Maria’s face cleared of the panic, and she nodded. As she disappeared into her bedroom, Roz ran for her own, stripping off her clothes as she went. She dragged the dreaded habit out of the bin—again—and tugged it on over her panties and bra—no time for nun-like underwear. They were banging at the door again—no time for the headdress either—but then she wasn’t likely to have been wearing that in bed anyway. This would have to do. She still had her heeled boots on as well, but as long as they didn’t peek under her habit, no one should notice. And no one was going to peek under her habit. Were they?

She ran a hand through her hair and gave herself a quick glance in the mirror on her way out. Shit, she was wearing makeup—what sort of nun wore make-up to bed? Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t know anything about nuns. Except Asmodai had said Piers had had a thing for nuns. The pervert.

Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, Piers had his hand raised to bang again.

She faked a yawn, covering her face with her hand. “Mr. Lamont? It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?”

He stared down at her. A long way down—why did he have to be so tall? Or rather, why did she have to be so short? His eyes narrowed as he examined her small, bristling figure.

“What?” she said belligerently. She took another deep breath—belligerence was not going to help right now. “How can I help you?” she said, her tone conciliatory.

“Sister Rosa, have we caught you at a bad time?” It wasn’t Piers, but the man behind him who spoke, his tone tinged with amusement. It was Christian Roth,
Asmodai’s son-in-law
. She hadn’t noticed him until that point. And behind him two more men, both huge, bursting with muscle, and dressed in black leather. They’d brought a goddamn army, for two little nuns.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I don’t suppose you’d consider going away. Perhaps you could come back in the morning.” Yeah right, like that was going to happen. The blood-suckers would be tucked up in their coffins by then.