Bittersweet Magic

Prologue

The sharp tang of sulfur burned her nostrils as a portal opened, and Asmodai materialized right in front of her sofa.

Roz gave a squeak and a jump and spilled her drink.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” She licked scotch from her fingers then took a huge gulp while she gave him a quick once-over. After nearly thirty years, he still looked exactly the same.

Or maybe not.

She peered closer. He was smiling. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile before.

Tonight, he was in his human guise. Roz had seen him as both human and demon, and while neither was particularly comforting, at least in this form she could allow herself a small measure of self-delusion. Kid herself she wasn’t entertaining a demon from the Abyss in her living room.

He was tall, with midnight dark hair pulled into a ponytail and equally dark eyes, stunningly good-looking if you went for the total alpha male look—which strangely she did. Though this particular alpha male no longer had any effect on her hormones—thank God.

“What do you want, Ash?” she asked.

“No hello? No how are you?”

Her brows drew together, and she pursed her lips; he didn’t usually bother with social chit-chat. “What’s with the Mr. Nice Guy act?”

He chuckled. Another first. “Why, Rosamund, don’t you think I’m nice?”

“Hell, no.”

His smile broadened. “Let’s just say I discovered something recently, and it seems things are about to get interesting around here.” He cocked his head to one side and examined her as though she were some sort of specimen of scientific interest. The inspection made her want to squirm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

After a minute, he shrugged. “Okay, down to business. I want you to find something for me.”

A wave of excitement washed through her, though she kept her face blank.

Roz was a Seeker. She hadn’t known that when she first met Asmodai five hundred years ago. In fact, she’d known almost nothing. Only that an angry mob of villagers had just burned her mother at the stake and were piling up the wood, ready to do the same to her.

Asmodai had offered her a deal—her life in exchange for thirteen tasks. It had seemed an excellent idea at the time, but she’d never expected it to take so long. She glanced at the sigil that wrapped around her upper arm like an intricate tattoo—the mark of her debt to the demon.

Now, at last, this would be her final task and once completed, she’d be free of the dark contract she’d made all those years ago.

“What and where?” She didn’t ask why—some things were best not known. Besides, he probably wouldn’t tell her anyway.

“A Key. As to the where—if I knew that I wouldn’t require you to find it, would I?”

Sarcastic bastard.

“I gave it to someone to hide,” he continued. “And they inconveniently died before telling me where.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a small wooden box, and handed it to her. “Here. This once held the Key. It should help you pinpoint the exact location.”

Roz stroked her fingers over the smooth wood, and a pulse of magic ran along her nerves. “You must have some idea.”

“Of course. It’s hidden somewhere within the Convent of the Little Sisters of Mercy.” His lips curved into another smile. “Looks like you’re going undercover.”

For a moment, his words made no sense. Then she frowned. “Let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be a nun?”

“I think you would make an excellent Sister of Mercy, Rosamund.”

She swallowed the rest of the scotch and slammed the glass on the table. “Yeah, right. Of course I would.”

Not.