The Order Boxed Set (34 page)

No. Goddamn it. She wouldn’t give up when she was so close.

Asmodai didn’t need to know she had failed—yet. Maybe this man, Piers Lamont, could lead her to the Key. Who could he be? What was his involvement in this world? At the least, she could snoop around. See if there was any way she could redeem this mess. She would go and deliver the message to Piers Lamont, and afterwards, decide where to go from there.

“Please, Sister Rosa.” Maria broke into her thoughts, her soft voice laced with pain.

Roz crouched down and examined the sister. The pattern cut into the skin of her back was a circle with a diagonal cross through it. Blood welled up in the cuts, blurring the lines, and she reached out a finger and touched the clammy flesh. Sister Maria flinched.

Roz contemplated the wounds for a few seconds. They were angry, puffy at the edges, and seeping blood. This was going to make traveling difficult.

Could she risk it? Asmodai’s warnings echoed in her mind.
Don’t bring attention to yourself
. But this was a necessity and nothing to do with the little mewling sounds of pain oozing from Maria’s clenched lips. It was just so that Maria wouldn’t be a total liability and could get around unaided.

Roz placed her palm against the bare skin of her back. Maria flinched again but then sagged under the touch as Roz sent the tiniest pulse of magic down through her hand.

“That feels so good,” Maria murmured. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. We have to get out of here.”

“Where will we go?” Maria asked.

“Can you remember what that man said to you?”

“That I’m to go to a Piers Lamont and give him a message. But shouldn’t we contact the Mother Superior, make for the convent in Ambersley?”

“Well, I for one am staying as far away from convents as possible for the foreseeable future. Besides, he said they’d come back for you if you don’t deliver the message.”

Maria shuddered. “Who were they? What did they want?”

“Maybe this Piers Lamont can tell us.”

The piece of paper lay on the floor, and Roz picked it up. It was an address in London, in the business district. “We need to go to London.”

“London?” Maria said as though the city was on another planet. Her shoulders slumped, but she gave a small nod. “Maybe this Piers Lamont is a man of God,” she murmured. “Maybe he can keep us safe.”

“Yeah, maybe he can.”

Or maybe he can tell me how to find my goddamn Key.

Chapter Two

“I am so fucking bored.”

Piers threw the sawed-off shotgun onto the desk and shrugged out of his long leather coat—a little incongruous in July, but necessary to hide the gun and a few other demon-blasting weapons he had concealed about his person.

“I take it you didn’t find anything.”

Piers glanced over to where Christian sprawled on the crimson sofa. He looked smug, but at least since coming back to the Order he’d lost the business suits and was dressed pretty much the same as Piers—black leather pants and a black T-shirt—just minus the weapons.

“Nothing. No sign. No smell. No dead bodies. The streets of London are clean.”

Christian grinned. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Anyway, Jonas was convinced something was going down.”

“Well, pity he couldn’t produce a few more details. What the hell do we pay him for anyway?”

Christian shrugged “I’m heading home. I just wanted to check in.”

“Yeah, go home. Piss-off back to your little love nest, and say hi to Tara for me.”

“She’ll like that.”

Piers was quite aware that Tara was not his greatest fan. But hey, he wasn’t out to make friends.

The shrill ring of a buzzer dragged him from his thoughts. He flung himself into the chair behind the desk. The light for reception was flashing and he pressed the button on his phone.

“Yeah.”

“There are two women wanting to see you,” Graham, his assistant, said.

“Good,” he replied. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, I’m thinking you might be staying that way.” Graham’s voice was tinged with amusement. Piers raised an eyebrow but reached over and switched on his monitor. He tapped a few keys and studied the reception area.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Christian asked, coming to stand behind him.

“There are two nuns in reception.”

“They’re probably strip-o-grams or something. One of your friends has a sense of humor.” Christian leaned closer to study the screen. “Or maybe not.”

“Definitely not,” Piers added.

Actually, he had never seen anything less like a couple of strippers. The two women were bedraggled. One was positively drooping. They both wore black habits with headdresses framing their faces. The droopy one appeared to be around thirty with a pale, thin face and scared eyes. The other looked younger, though she also seemed to be the one in charge, squaring up to Graham and speaking rapidly.

Slightly below medium height, she looked well filled out, though it was hard to tell whether she was straight up and down or there were curves beneath the shapeless robe. Piers focused in on her face—broad at the cheekbones, pointed at the chin—which had a dimple in the center. She had flawless creamy skin, big brown eyes, and a rosebud mouth held in a tight line.

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and waved it at Graham. Then she bit her lip and stepped back as Graham replied. Piers got the distinct impression of impatience—a mother superior in the making, no doubt. He’d gone through a nun phase once, but that was back in the Middle Ages. He’d found seducing them a challenge—it had been fun for a while.

Graham still held the phone to his ear. “What do you want me to do with them?” he asked. “They say they have a message for you.”

“Well, you’d better bring them down here then.”

He closed off the call and turned to Christian, who was now leaning against the wall, arms folded, a small frown playing across his face.

“I thought you were leaving,” Piers said.

“I’ll stick around.”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can handle two nuns?”

“Hell, I know you can
handle
them.”

“But?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be handling nuns.”

Piers frowned. “Don’t worry. I’ll wipe their memories afterwards. They won’t remember a thing.”

“There are enough willing volunteers about. You don’t need unwilling ones. They’re nuns, for Christ’s sake.”

Piers narrowed his eyes on the other man. “Has anyone told you that you’re absolutely no fun anymore? Not that you ever were much fun.”

“Yeah. You.”

Finally, Piers shrugged. “Okay, I’ll be good. But I have to admit that I’m a little intrigued as to what brings a couple of nuns here.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s find out then.”

There was a light tap on the door and Graham poked his head around. “Your visitors.” Stepping to the side, he gestured for the two women to enter. “This is Sister Maria and Sister Rosa from the Little Sisters of Mercy.”

As the younger nun came through the door, a faint waft of sweet air followed her into the room.

Fae?

He glanced at Christian, whose brows were drawn together as though he sensed it as well. He must have become familiar with the scent after living with Tara for six months.

The fae liked to believe they’d wiped out all humans with mixed blood, but the truth was there were many who still held a trace. Some more than a trace, like Jonas, their resident warlock. And strangely, or maybe not so strangely, those humans with fae blood often turned to the church and became priests and nuns. As though they could somehow sense there was more to the world than what was immediately obvious, and God was the answer.

He studied her for a moment, but other than that faint, sweet perfume, she appeared wholly human. The scent filled his nostrils, and the hunger rose inside him. He licked his lips.

“Piers,” Christian said softly.

He turned his head so the others wouldn’t hear. “I’m good,” he murmured. “But you have to admit she smells delicious.”

Christian shook his head and stepped forward. “Sister Maria, Sister Rosa, I’m Christian Roth.”

The older one hung back. Up close, Piers could see the signs of exhaustion mixed with pain. The younger nun stepped forward. She wasn’t beautiful—Piers had known a lot of beautiful woman—but she was pretty. Even through the obvious fatigue, she was full of life, her face holding an innocence he seldom encountered. He ran his eyes over her figure, wishing he could see beneath those all-encompassing black robes. She was a good foot shorter than he was and peering down, he could make out the definite form of a pair of full, womanly breasts. All at once, it wasn’t only his hunger that was rising. He shifted, his leather pants suddenly way too tight, and Christian flashed him a dirty glance. Piers grinned; Christian wasn’t in charge here. He was.

“Good evening, Mr. Roth. But we’re here to see a Piers Lamont.” She had a low, sweet voice as well, that caressed his ears and sent prickles down his spine.

Her gaze had been downcast, but now she gave them both a swift glance, revealing eyes like dark chocolate. Her gaze shifted warily from Christian to him and widened slightly.

Great, she liked him. Well, she’d noticed him, anyway.

Piers elbowed his friend out of the way. “Welcome to the Order of the Shadow Accords. I’m Piers Lamont—how can I help you?”

…

Roz quickly lowered her lashes so no one would see her shock.

Holy crap
.

Asmodai had told her that his mark would hide what she was. All the same, she had to fight the urge to turn around and run. Not that it would do much good. There was nowhere to run to; they were deep underground, and there had been armed guards at the elevator.

When she’d seen them, she’d had an inkling that this wasn’t a wise move, but it had been too late by that point. Even so, she’d never imagined things could be this bad.

The Order of the fucking Shadow Accords.

Asmodai had told her all about them as well. They were the ones who kept order in the supernatural world. They were also the ones who would kill her without a flicker if they found out what she was. Apparently, they considered her kind abominations. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor while she fought for control. The perfect end to a crappy twenty-four hours.

How many times during the long day had she considered whipping out her cell phone and calling up a taxi? But that would have given her away to Sister Maria, and she’d wanted to keep her cover in place while she worked out her next move.

So she’d tramped across country. It was sodding July, but up in the north where the convent was situated, it might as well have been winter. It had poured down for the entire walk from the convent to the nearest town, until her stupid habit felt like a ton weight and the rough material chaffed with every step. Three quarters of the way, Sister Maria had just about collapsed, and Roz had had to half drag, half carry her to the train station. It had taken more than four hours to make the sixteen-mile journey.

The convent obviously hadn’t been situated with convenience in mind—probably the opposite—and it had taken three changes of trains, countless delays, and fifteen hours before they finally arrived in London. Standing on the platform at Liverpool Street Station, the time close to midnight, she’d eyed up the bedraggled Sister Maria and decided that they were getting a cab the rest of the way.

She gave the address to the driver and settled back into the seat of the black cab as the city drifted past her. It was good to be back in London. She’d lived in many places over the centuries, always having to move on before the fact that she wasn’t aging started to strike people as odd. But she came back to the city whenever she could.

Between bouts of comforting Maria, who was close to breaking, Roz had been trying to work out what could be going on. Who had Asmodai’s Key and why? And how did this man Piers Lamont fit into the picture?

The trouble was, she had no clue about how the supernatural world worked. Asmodai had told her that her only hope of survival was staying under the radar, keeping to herself, not using her powers—except of course when
he
needed her to. Obviously, then her safety took the backseat. God, she’d been so hopeful this job would be the last and she’d finally be free of the bastard. Now it appeared she might fail, and who knew what he would ask of her instead.

When the cabbie had dropped them off, she’d been reassured by the tall office building, which appeared eminently respectable. She’d tried the door, but the place was locked up for the night. Eventually a security guard had noticed her, come over, and let them in. The nun thing had its uses.

A young man with dark red hair, pale skin, and a perfect smile sat behind the reception desk. It had been obvious that he knew Piers Lamont. His eyebrows had risen as she spoke the name. So here she was.

Someone coughed, bringing her back to the present. She’d been staring at the wooden floor for an age, but she didn’t want to look up. She’d seen some scary things in her time, but these two men sent shivers running through her. Still, she forced her gaze back to them.

The tall dark one was obviously making some attempt at hospitality. But Piers Lamont just appeared amused.