Bittersweet Magic

Chapter Three

Piers flung himself full-length on the sofa, arms clasped behind his head, as he considered the meeting. Sexy nuns aside, this was actually bad news. Really fucking bad.

“So, did you recognize the sign?” Christian asked.

The question interrupted his less than happy thoughts. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I take it the message meant something?”

“It did.”

“And are you going to share?” Christian’s voice held an edge of impatience.

“No.” Piers didn’t want to talk about this until he’d had a chance to decide what he wanted to say and what he really wanted to keep quiet about. “It’s nothing to do with the Order. It’s personal.”

Christian didn’t appear convinced. “Do you think you should have let the sisters go?”

“Hell, yeah—they didn’t know anything else.” Besides, they wouldn’t be hard to find—the Little Sisters of Mercy. Piers was planning a visit real soon.

“You’ve got that gleam in your eye,” Christian said. “Nuns are off-limits.”

“Since when? She was hot, and I think she liked me.”

Christian shook his head but dropped the subject. “I’m heading home.” He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Well, at least you don’t look bored anymore.”

No, he definitely wasn’t bored.

…

Roz dialed the number quickly from memory. Ryan had been trying to contact her for the last twenty-four hours. He could give her a lift home and explain why he had been filling up her cell phone with increasingly urgent messages. It was well after midnight, but she reckoned Ryan wasn’t much of a sleeper.

The red-haired receptionist, Graham, was observing her closely, an amused expression on his face. Roz resisted the urge to tell him to piss-off. That would hardly be nun-like. Instead, she turned away to give herself some semblance of privacy and spoke quietly.

“Can you pick me up? I’m in the city—SA International—you know it?”

“I know it.” Ryan sounded sleepy. Maybe she’d woken him up after all.

“Good, I’ll be waiting outside.” She put the phone down.

“You’re welcome to wait in here until your ride comes.” Graham said.

“No, thank you. I think we could both do with some fresh air.”

He let them out through the big glass double doors and stood watching. It occurred to her that she should perhaps have told Ryan to pick them up somewhere else. Did she want this man to see who she was going with? But she was almost one hundred percent sure they’d bought her story. Otherwise, why would they have let them go? Hopefully, she’d seen the last of The Order of the Shadow Accords, and of Piers Lamont.

The night was warm and the streets deserted. They were in the business district and just about everywhere was closed down for the night. Some of the tension drained from her and she breathed in deeply; she loved the scents of London—car fumes and hot city streets—and the river, which wasn’t far from here. Leaning back against the glass wall, she wondered what she should do first when she got home, a hot, bubbly bath or a big glass of scotch. Maybe a big glass of scotch while in a big, bubbly bath. She’d give herself this evening off, and tomorrow she supposed she was going to have to contact Asmodai and tell him she’d failed. If he didn’t already know. She’d only failed once before, and the consequences hadn’t been pleasant.

“You lied.” Sister Maria spoke from beside her. “We have no mother house in London.”

Roz had almost forgotten the nun was there. She was such a quiet little thing. Though she had seen everybody she knew slaughtered only hours earlier; perhaps an element of quietness was understandable.

Roz cast her a sideways glance. Sister Maria seemed to be coming around a little, a bit of color returning to her cheeks.

“I know,” she replied, “but I didn’t want to stay there. What do we know about them really? Except that they’re somehow connected with the people who broke into the convent last night.”

“I didn’t like them. They felt somehow wrong. I don’t think they were men of God.”

Roz had a brief image of those sinfully wicked blue eyes. “No, I think you might be right.”

“So where are we going?”

Roz pursed her lips. The way she saw it, she had three options. She could leave Maria on the side of the road and drive off with Ryan, she could drop her off somewhere along the way, or she could take her home with her. Her mind baulked at the last option—she never took anyone home; her apartment was her sanctuary. But she couldn’t really leave her here. For one thing, through the glass walls, she could still see Graham watching them both from the reception desk. It would appear odd if she just left Maria. Why the hell hadn’t she arranged for Ryan to pick her up somewhere else?

She knew why, of course. She’d been rattled and not thinking straight. That she’d walked right into the lair of the dreaded Order of the Shadow Accords had totally shaken her. And then to have to confront the first serious case of the hots she’d had for over fifty years had shaken her further. She shifted as a wave of remembered heat washed over her.

“Well?” Maria asked.

“Sorry,” Roz muttered. “I was thinking of something else.” Yeah, six-foot-four inches of stunningly gorgeous man all wrapped up in black leather and totally out of bounds. “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I can drop you off?”

She felt like a complete heel as fear flashed across Maria’s face. The sister reached out a trembling hand and rested it on Roz’s arm. “Don’t leave me. I don’t know why, but I feel safe with you. Tomorrow, I’ll think about getting word to the Mother Superior, but tonight I just want to forget.”

Oh well. She could share her scotch—there was enough for two—and tomorrow she could arrange transport for Maria to the mother house. It was actually situated in Devon. She’d hire a car and driver, make sure Maria got there safely. And that would be that. Way above and beyond the call of duty as far as she was concerned.

“You can come home with me tonight,” she said.

Maria frowned. “Home? Wasn’t the convent your home?”

“Well—” Luckily, at that moment Ryan drove up in a black SUV and pulled up beside them, saving her from any further explanations. “Our ride’s here. Look, Maria, it’s probably better you don’t mention what happened until you’ve talked to the Mother Superior.”

Maria bit her lip but nodded.

Ryan leaned across, pushed open the passenger door, and grinned. “Shit, Roz, what the fuck fancy dress are you wearing?”

Beside her, Maria flinched.

“Don’t say anything, Ryan. For once, just keep your smart mouth shut. And open the back door—Sister Maria is coming with us.”

“Don’t tell me she’s a real nun.”

Roz smirked. “I bet you never had one of them in your car before, did you, Ryan?”

“That’s the goddamned truth.”

Roz tugged open the back passenger door, ushered Maria inside, and climbed in beside Ryan. Leaning back in the seat, she closed her eyes only to open them when the car didn’t immediately move. Ryan was half turned in his seat, staring at her.

Christ, had he never seen a nun before?

He looked his usual scruffy self; his thick dark hair mussed from running his hands through it—something he claimed aided his thought processes. His long, lanky frame was dressed in jeans and a battered leather jacket. He had a lean, handsome face and a slightly crooked smile that gave him an endearing quality. He was a good-looking guy, but she’d never allowed herself to think about Ryan that way. They used each other, and in doing so Roz had exposed more of herself to Ryan than she had to anyone else in five centuries. She couldn’t allow him even closer.

“Are we waiting for something?” she asked pointedly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“So I gathered from the twenty messages on my cell.”

“You could have answered one of them.”

She shrugged. “I was a little indisposed.”

He peered over his shoulder at the nun in the back. “I’ll bet.”

“Just get us away from here, and you can talk.” She sighed inwardly. So much for her nice relaxing night. Ryan only came to her with the nasty cases. The ones where he had no clue.

Her unique talents enabled her to find things, including people. The first time that had happened, it had been by accident. She’d been watching a newsflash about a kidnapped girl, and all of a sudden, she’d had a vision, seen where the girl was being held, and known she was about to die. Roz had phoned the police but was met with disbelief, so she’d gone to the station and eventually managed to get an interview with Ryan, the lead officer on the case.

He hadn’t wanted to believe her either, but something must have made him take the chance.

After that first time, she’d promised to help with other cases, but only if he agreed to keep her input a secret, and only in life and death situations. Because if certain people became aware of what she was, her own life would be forfeit. Asmodai had told her that much.

She understood it was her way of payback. You didn’t become indebted to a demon and expect to live a decent, honest life. She’d done some bad things in her time. Nothing she couldn’t live with; Asmodai had always seemed to know what lines she wouldn’t cross, and if she didn’t always ask why he wanted the things she “found” for him, then she thought she could be excused a little self-deception.

The truth was, five hundred years ago, she hadn’t wanted to die, certainly not on top of some peasant villagers’ bonfire, and she didn’t want to die now. What she did crave was her freedom.

Ryan drove out onto the road and opened his mouth, but she butted in first.

“Not here. You can come to my place and tell me.” He knew where she lived—he’d dropped her off before—but he’d never been inside. Her home was private, but tonight she would share it with Sister Maria. Besides, she reckoned she was nearly done with this life; it was almost time to move on and set up a new identity for herself. It would have to be away from London, at least for a while.

After fifteen minutes, Ryan pulled up in the underground parking beneath her building.

“You’re really letting me in?” he asked as he grabbed a file from the side-pocket of the vehicle and climbed out.

She shrugged. “Well, we do have a chaperone.” She waved at Sister Maria, who half-clambered, half-fell out of the back of the SUV.

“You are going to tell me what this is all about, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

They were silent as she led them to the elevator and pressed the button to the top floor. When the doors slid open, she fished her keys out of her bag and let them in.

Ryan whistled. “Nice.”

She strolled across the floor toward the sofa, tugging the headdress off then tossing it in the nearest bin.

“Jesus, that’s a relief.” She fluffed up her short hair with her fingers. “If I’d had to wear that thing one more day, I swear I might have gone seriously insane.” She glanced back to see the shock on Maria’s face. “Feel free to do the same,” she said. “Plenty of room in the bin.” Maria didn’t respond, just sidled around the edge of the room and watched her as though Roz had suddenly morphed into the antichrist.

“Make yourselves at home,” Roz said. “I’ll be right back.”

She strolled into the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Not bothering to unfasten the tiny buttons, she ripped the hated robe open to the waist and dragged it down over her hips.

Her shoes went next, then the scratchy cotton underwear followed them onto the growing pile, until finally, she stood naked in the middle of the room. She scowled as she glared at the sigil circling her right arm. The mark of her bondage. And here for the foreseeable future—who knew when she would be rid of it now her supposedly last job had gone so badly wrong.

After pulling some clothes out of the wardrobe—panties, jeans, a black T-shirt—she dressed quickly, ran a hand through her hair, and headed back into the living room. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving the nun and the detective alone together.

She needn’t have worried. Ryan was at the bookcase scanning the titles, no doubt trying to fill in the gaps he didn’t know about her, as though her reading material would do that. Maria was still standing exactly where she’d been, just inside the door. Her eyes widened as she took in Roz’s changed appearance.

“Sister Rosa?”

Roz shrugged. “No one by that name here. I’m Roz. Why don’t you sit down and make yourself at home.” She waved toward the cream sofa, and Maria hesitantly shuffled across and collapsed, hands clenched on her lap. The woman was so uptight.

“And you, Ryan. Stop nosing about—you won’t find anything.”

He picked up a book. “Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft. Interesting reading.”

“It is. Feel free to borrow it. Now sit down—you’re making the place look messy.”

Ryan glanced at the sofa but obviously thought better of seating himself too close to Maria and sank down onto the chair opposite, the file clutched in his hand.

Roz got a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and three glasses then sat beside Maria. She poured drinks, pushed one across the coffee table toward Ryan and handed a second to Maria, who peered at the amber liquid as though it were poison.

“Go on,” Roz said. “I won’t tell, and it will make you feel better.”

She swallowed her own in a single gulp and poured another. Sister Maria watched her then copied her, swallowed the drink in one go, and held out her glass for more.

Roz raised an eyebrow but topped up the drink and turned to Ryan. “Okay, what do you want?”

He glanced toward Sister Maria. “Is she okay to hear this?”

“She’s fine.” Besides, she didn’t think Sister Maria was taking much in. Even before the scotch, she’d been developing a glazed expression in her eyes. Now she was resting back against the sofa, her eyes closed.

Ryan placed the file on the coffee table and slid it toward her. “We have a missing girl, Jessica Thomas. Fifteen years old, disappeared about twenty-four hours ago as far as we can tell.”

Dread filled her. So many times, Ryan came to her too late, and the victim was found dead. She hoped that wasn’t the case this time, but twenty-four hours was quick for him to involve Roz, and she knew there must be something else. No doubt, Ryan would tell her when he was ready.

The file was light and when she opened it, she found a single photograph and a sheet of paper. She scanned it quickly; just bare details. The photo showed a pretty girl, slightly plump with dark hair and a sweet smile.

“There’s something else,” Ryan said. “She’s not the first girl to go missing. There was another last week.”

Roz glanced at his face. His expression was grim, and she knew this wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

“She was found dead less than forty-eight hours after she went missing.”

“How did she die?”

“Well, that’s the odd thing. Exsanguination. She’d been drained of blood. Real weird shit. Some of the guys think we’re dealing with a cult. Ritual sacrifice—witches or something.”

He gave her an odd glance, and a flash of anger tore through her. Ryan knew her better than anyone did. He was the first person she had opened up to in fifteen years of being Rosamund Fairfax. Then something like this happened, and he was looking at her as if she were some sort of monster.

It was fire-wielding fucking peasants all over again. No clue what they faced, so they just presumed it was evil. She gritted her teeth. “I’ve never actually sacrificed anyone,” she ground out.

“Hey, I never said you had.”

“You were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

A black cat weaved its way in from the kitchen, distracting her attention from Ryan. “Shit,” she muttered. Just what she needed. Her night off was turning out real great.

“Hey, nice cat,” Ryan said. “I didn’t know you had any pets.”

“It’s not a nice cat, and I don’t. It’s a nasty, mangy stray, and it can get the hell out of my house.” And perhaps it wasn’t the right time to mention that the cat wasn’t always a cat. She got up, stalked across the room, and opened the door to the hallway. “Out.”

It stared up at her with cunning green eyes then tiptoed out of the door. She slammed it behind the animal and took a deep breath. And another. Finally, she sat back down, picked up her drink, and sipped.

“Sorry,” Ryan said.

She glared. “What for?”

He grinned, showing slightly crooked white teeth. “Actually, I really have no clue.”

Roz sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Okay, maybe she’d overreacted. She refilled his glass as a peace sign and turned her attention to the photograph.

Resting her fingertips against the smooth paper, she willed herself to “see.” Nothing came to her. After a minute, she shook her head.

She was exhausted, and that never helped. There were also certain things she could do that would assist—but she’d only resort to those if all else failed. And certainly not in front of Ryan or he’d be back to thinking she was some sort of monster.

“You’ll keep trying?” Ryan asked.

“Of course.”

“I have a feeling we’re running out of time on this one.”

So did she. Exsanguination. She’d heard rumors over the centuries but never felt the urge to chase up answers. She wanted no part of that world. Or at least as little to do with it as possible.

“I’ll leave you then,” Ryan said. “I have to get back to work.”

“Okay. I’ll call if I find anything.”

Ryan stood up and placed his glass down on the table. He nodded to the sofa. “I think your other visitor has gone to sleep on you.”

Roz glanced at where Sister Maria was slumped in the corner against the cushions, her eyes closed, dark lashes shadowing her pale cheeks.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Roz said.

“I bet, and sometime you’re going to tell me about it, right?”

“Wrong.”

Briefly, she wished she could open up to Ryan. But how could she mix anyone up in her fucked-up existence?

After showing Ryan out, she went back to the sofa, touching Maria lightly on the shoulder. The sister let out a squeak then blinked. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.”

“No problem. Why don’t you take a shower and get some rest?”

She nodded but stayed where she was. “Who are you?”

“I told you—Roz. That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re a good person, Roz.”

“Yeah, of course I am. I’m a positive angel. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

Once she’d gotten Maria settled, Roz puttered about the apartment, putting off the moment she went to bed. She was quite aware of why she was reluctant; the dream hovered on the edge of her consciousness. It didn’t come to her often now, only when she was tired or stressed. She blamed the damn cat—she’d known as soon as she’d seen Asmodai’s sidekick, Shera, in her kitty-cat form tonight that the demon wouldn’t be far behind. Ample cause to give anyone nightmares. Sure enough, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was dragged back to that long ago night…

Her mind refused to function. This wasn’t real. Her mother couldn’t be dead. But outside, the screams of agony had died to nothing. Through the high window, Rosamund could see the flicker of the flames against the darkness, hear their crackle over the mob’s cries. The sickly-sweet stench of roasting flesh drifted through the air. She gagged then rolled onto her hands and knees on the bare earth floor and retched. Her stomach was empty and the foul taste of bile burned the back of her throat.

Her strength was almost gone, eroded over the days of torture and the never-ending questions. But she dragged herself to her feet, leaning against the rough wall. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Though why would God answer her prayers now? Had he listened as her mother screamed for mercy?

Gathering the last of her willpower, Rosamund pulled herself up on the bars so she could see out of the small window. It framed the village green lit by flames. She averted her gaze from where her mother’s body appeared to dance in the flickering firelight. Instead, it was drawn to the second stake. The villagers were piling brushwood around the base, pouring oil over the dry wood.

People she’d known her whole life had just murdered her mother. Now they were preparing to do the same to Rosamund. Soon they would come and lead her out, tie her to that stake, and watch her burn.

Since the arrest, she’d clung to the hope that this wouldn’t happen, that someone would save them, that the people would see they were mistaken and her sweet mother was innocent. That hope perished amid her mother’s screams as the flesh roasted from her body. Now hatred replaced hope, and she allowed it to saturate her mind.

Releasing her grip on the bars, she dropped to the floor, her legs giving way so she collapsed to her knees. Her breaths were coming short and fast, panic threatening to overtake her. She slowed her breathing, clearing her mind of the fear and grief.

She’d done nothing wrong. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Her mother was innocent of everything they had accused her of. Her only crime: loving the wrong man, and she’d paid for that with her life.

But while her mother had been innocent of the accusations against her, Rosamund wasn’t. She didn’t know what she was. She wasn’t even sure what the word “witch” meant. Not what the ignorant villagers believed, that was for sure. Now, as she knelt in the filthy cell and waited for them to come for her—to punish her for a crime they understood no more than she did—the hunger for revenge rose inside her. Someone must pay for her mother’s death.

Something slumbered in the dark recesses of her soul, something she had always shied away from. Now she closed her eyes and focused her mind. She visualized a door, locked and bolted.

Under her breath, she began to recite the prayer that came to her mind.

“Lucifer, aid me in my hour of need...”

She woke with a start.

Stumbling to her feet, she crossed the room to where she’d left the file, needing something to distract her from the memories. She carried it back to bed with her, pulled out the photograph, and slid her fingertip over the young girl’s face, the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. Fear filled her mind. For a moment, she fought the sensation, then she closed her eyes and let it take her.

Terror saturated her every cell.

She was naked, but hot as though in a fever. Her throat ached where the monster had bitten her. Now he was back and panic clawed at her insides.

Frantically, she tried to scramble back. His harsh laughter filled the room as a hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her toward him.

A whimper escaped her throat, and her heart fluttered as though trying to break free.

He licked up her leg almost as she’d imagine a lover would caress her. Then teeth sank into the flesh of her inner thigh, and she felt the spurt of her lifeblood. He drank greedily, sucking, swallowing, and for a brief while, her panic and fear faded. No pain. Just a tugging that pulled at places deep within her body, and the vague sadness that her life was draining away.

When he’d finished, he raised his head. Her vision was fading to blackness as she stared into his handsome face…

She recognized that face—the man from the convent. Jack.

A touch on her arm dragged her back to her own body. Roz sat up abruptly. The lamp was on, casting a crimson pool of light, illuminating the man who sat in the chair beside her bed. Although “man” was hardly the right word to describe him. Lucifer might not have answered her call all those years ago, but she’d gotten the next best thing.

“Shit,” she muttered, pulling herself up, tugging the sheet with her. She was naked and while she’d been naked in front of him before, that was a side of their relationship that had ended more than four hundred years ago, and one she had no wish to resurrect. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the pleasure and the pain. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Your house is my house.”

Yeah, that was the goddamn truth. Bastard. He was smiling again. Why did that make her nervous? “You’re looking very cheerful,” she said. That wasn’t going to last.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

She supposed she’d better get this over with. Her body braced itself for the pain. Asmodai had never been one to smile in the face of failure.

“I didn’t get your Key thingy.”

“I know.”

“You know?” She frowned. “So how come you’re so happy?”

“The Key can wait. Tell me what happened at the convent.”

She gave herself a mental shake and started to go over what had occurred the night before. The tension was seeping out of her limbs as she realized that he wasn’t going to exact some terrible retribution. He really had mellowed, and she wondered what had changed. The love of a good woman? She almost snorted at the idea. What use would Asmodai have for a good woman? She shoved the idea aside and concentrated on telling her story. Occasionally, he’d stop her and ask a question. And just once, she asked one of her own.

“The man, Jack—do you know him?”

“No.”

“But did you know someone else was after this Key?”

“Maybe.”

Roz glowered at him. “And you didn’t think it would be useful for me to know that? That the information might just possibly have kept me alive?”

“I had no real worries on that score—you’re a born survivor. Besides, while I was aware someone was looking, I didn’t expect he would find it.”

“So how did he?”

Asmodai considered her for a moment. “The Key’s exact hiding place was passed down to each Mother Superior, though they didn’t know the significance. Shortly before I approached you, I found out that the current holder of that position had died without passing on the information.”

She remembered now. He’d told her the person who knew the whereabouts of the Key had died. However, he’d failed to mention it was the Mother Superior of the convent. “Some more information might have helped me if you’d told me a little earlier. I would have been on my guard.” Might have even taken that gun—not that it would have helped much against a hoard of demons.

He shrugged. “The death was sudden and the timing unfortunate, but the circumstances weren’t suspicious.”

She had no clue whether he believed that, so she continued with her story.

“You went to the Order?” he asked when she got to the part about coming to London.

“Well, I didn’t know it was the Order at the time. And I got out of there as quickly as possible.”

Finally, she sat back, exhausted.

Asmodai got up and wandered out of the room. He came back a minute later, carrying her scotch and two glasses. He poured them both a drink and handed her one. She took it with a frown.

“Have you been taking classes?” she asked.

“Classes?”

“How to overcome your demon tendencies and become Mr. Affability—or something similar.”

He laughed. Which was weird in itself.

“So what did you think of Piers Lamont?” he asked.

“That he was an arrogant asshole.”

His lips curled up in a slow smile. “An accurate assessment. But a handsome arrogant asshole, perhaps?”

“You think so? Well, you’re welcome to him. Enjoy.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think he’d have me. We haven’t always agreed in the past, though I helped the Order out recently, and you could say we now have family ties.” He smiled almost reminiscently. “You say Christian Roth was there?”

“He was.”

“Did he appear…well?”

She didn’t understand the question, so she shrugged. “I suppose.”

He sipped his drink and stared at the ceiling. Roz held her breath while she waited.

“You’re going to have to go back,” he said eventually.

“Go back where?” She was being purposefully slow, but she didn’t want to go back. Or maybe she did, but she knew she shouldn’t. An image of Piers Lamont in all his black leather gorgeousness flashed in her mind, and the muscles low down in her belly clenched.

“Why, Rosamund, I do believe you’re excited at the prospect of seeing Mr. Lamont again.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied automatically. She hated, really hated, that he could read her so well. “And I don’t want to go back. You said they would kill me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not straight away.”

“Hah-hah.” She swallowed the last of her drink and held out the glass for more. “Well, that’s comforting. Not.”

But even as she argued, she realized she was going back. She remembered her vision. Jack was the key to finding the missing girl, and she was running out of time. Piers Lamont knew who Jack was; she would bet her last drop of scotch on that.

“Do you know what they are?” Asmodai’s question broke into her thoughts.

“Who?”

“Piers Lamont and Christian Roth.”

“I have no idea.” But excitement uncurled inside her. It was so very rare that Asmodai would tell her anything about the world he inhabited, the one she lived on the fringes of.

“Well, chances are you’ll discover that for yourself.”

Damn! He was one irritating demon. And he knew it. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to calm down. “You could always tell me. It would be nice to know what I was confronting…this time.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. Piers was never one for personal restraint.”

She sighed loudly. He wouldn’t tell her, however much she asked, and she wouldn’t waste her time playing that game, so she satisfied herself with glaring at him. Unfortunately, looks couldn’t kill. At least not this particular demon—or he’d have been dead long ago.

Asmodai got to his feet and put his glass on the bedside table. He pulled something small out of his pocket and placed it next to the glass. “I doubt he’ll tell you anything. So that’s a bug. Hide it somewhere in Lamont’s office. I’ll get Shera to drop off the software. Find out what he knows and where my Key is.”

“No problem,” she muttered. “I’ll just stroll right in there and ask him. Maybe he’ll let me give you a call before he kills me.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “You’ll find a way. I’ve never met anyone quite so resourceful.” He turned to go but paused at the door. “One thing. He’ll believe he can mesmerize you with his eyes. Don’t disabuse him of that fact.”

Mesmerize?

“I have to look mesmerized? Just how do I do that?”

He shrugged. “Blink a lot, appear dazed, and agree to anything he tells you to do.”

Roz didn’t like the sound of that. Her eyes narrowed on the demon. “And is he likely to tell me to do something I might not actually want to do?”

Amusement flashed across his face. “I doubt it. But if I remember rightly, Piers had quite a thing for nuns at one point.”

“What sort of person has a thing for nuns? And what sort of ‘thing’?”

“I suspect you’re about to find out.”

“Have I told you recently how much I dislike your inability to answer questions?” He merely grinned. Something occurred to her. “Hey, how do you know he won’t be able to really mesmerize me? I don’t want to be mesmerized.”

“I don’t know for sure. But I suspect. Anyway, we’ll no doubt soon find out.”

“Great, just great,” she muttered. “And how—” She broke off the question. It was pointless anyway. The faint stench of sulfur lingered in the air. He was gone.

Afterward, she sat in her bed, gazing at the space where he’d vanished.

All her long life, she’d lived on the outside, trying to act human and to fit in. Sometimes, she’d succeed for a while, but always something changed, forcing her to move on. Start again.

And she was tired of it. And lonely. The truth was, she’d been lonely since her mother died. Five hundred years.

Would that change when she got free of Asmodai? Unlikely. She would probably lose the one person who really understood her. He might not have always been kind. Hell, he had never been kind, but at least she didn’t have to pretend with him.

Maybe it was time to face up to what she was. Or at least find out what she was and try and face up to it. Or run away from it. Or die from it. So she would go back to the Order of the Shadow Accords. Yeah, maybe they would try and kill her. But others had tried and failed. Her death wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

As she accepted that she would return, excitement flashed through her. She relaxed back against the wall and sipped her scotch as a vision of the ravishing Piers Lamont rose up in her mind.

If she was going to die, well, there were probably worse ways to go.