Bittersweet Magic to-2

by Nina Croft

  Bittersweet Magic

  ( The Order - 2 )

  Nina Croft

  Roz has been indebted to the demon Asmodai for five hundred years, and her freedom is just around the corner. All she has to do is complete one last task for him—obtain a key that had been hidden in a church centuries ago.

  Piers, the Head of the Order and an ancient vampire, is intrigued by the woman who comes to him for help. She’s beautiful and seemingly kind, but she’s hiding something. And he’ll find out who she is and what she really wants once he uses his power to get inside her head. But Piers has no idea that Roz is immune to his mind-control...or that he is simply a pawn in her dangerous mission for freedom.

  Bittersweet Magic

  The Order - 2

  by

  Nina Croft

  For Rob, who doesn’t mind sharing the house with my imaginary characters

  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.

  Chapter One

  Roz had been right; she made a crap nun. But a deal was a deal.

  Or way more appropriate in her present circumstances—she’d made her bed, and now she had to lie on the bloody uncomfortable thing.

  She shifted on the thin mattress. What the fuck was in it? Straw, she was guessing. What was it about these people that had made them decide suffering was good for you?

  She’d researched the place before she’d set up the job: the sisters lived by a creed she would never understand, devoting themselves to a life that was poor, chaste, obedient, and wholly dedicated to prayer.

  Well, good for them. But not good for her.

  This place was seriously doing her head in. She hadn’t had a cell phone signal since she arrived, she’d drunk the last of her stash of scotch last night, and now she’d even run out of batteries for her vibrator. And to top it all, the effort of pretending to be nice was rapidly eroding her will to live.

  She’d better find this Key thing tonight, or she’d go completely insane. There was only one more area left to search—deep under the church in the catacombs.

  Excitement rose inside her. The ten o’clock bell had chimed a while back. The sisters would all be in their cells, settling for the night. No doubt they’d be down on their knees, praying to a god who couldn’t be bothered to answer.

  Roz glanced around her own cell. Ten feet by ten feet, bare stone walls, a flagged floor, and a small window, too high up to look through, with no glass, just bars. Now, in the height of the summer, it let in warm, lavender scented air. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like in the winter. A shiver ran through her just thinking about it.

  Staring up at the ceiling, she forced herself to wait another hour, going over in her mind what she would do when she was free. In more than five hundred years, she’d seen Asmodai maybe a hundred times, but still he controlled her life totally. Told her what to do, where to go, when to disappear and give up her old life. In his own way, he’d kept her safe, taught her how to hide in plain sight, and warned her of the potential dangers.

  Apparently, it wasn’t only humans who would hunt her down, but also other things. He hadn’t gone into details, just told her that under the Shadow Accords, the laws that bound the supernatural races, she was considered an abomination that could—and would—be killed.

  Abomination.

  Yeah, that was her.

  Fuck them all.

  She’d do this last task and she’d vanish, make a life for herself somewhere warm and sunny, away from the darkness.

  When she was sure everyone was sleeping, she rose to her feet, brushing down the heavy habit and adjusting the headdress. She would be so happy when she could toss it in the bin. The sun had gone down, and she lit a candle—she’d pinched the batteries from the flashlight the first time her vibrator had run out—and quietly opened the door. The light flickered off the walls of the corridor, throwing strange shadows, never quite lighting the dark corners.

  She understood better than anyone what lived in the dark places, but surely, this hallowed ground would keep the night creatures at
bay.

  After making her way through the convent, she headed toward the church, hesitating before the huge double doors. Placing her palm on the wood, she pushed. The door eased open a mere sliver, and she slipped through. For a minute, she stood just inside, breathing in the scent of beeswax and gazing around her. Candles were always kept alight in the church, and she could see clearly. The steps to the catacombs were at the far side of the nave, past the altar, but again she hesitated.

  Something wasn’t right. There was a chill to the summer air. This was her tenth night here, and the atmosphere felt different. She told herself she hated this place, but in fact, the calm ambiance soothed her. Usually. But not tonight.

  Swallowing down her unease, she hurried along the aisle between the wooden pews. At the far end, a locked oak door led down into the catacombs—she’d stolen the key from the Mother Superior’s office earlier that evening. The wood creaked as she pushed it open. Raising the candle, she breathed in deeply, filling her nostrils with stale, musty air. At the same time, a sense of excitement gripped her, because far below her, she could sense the presence of the Key. The stairs seemed to go on forever; she’d counted to fifty when a shrill scream cut the silence. Roz tripped and dropped the candle. It rolled down a few steps and sputtered out, leaving her in complete darkness.

  Then the night filled with screams, transporting Roz back to that long ago time. Once again, she was in that stinking cell, the stench of smoke and charred flesh heavy in the air. Grief, fear, and rage all mingling in her mind.

  She whirled around and ran up the stone steps, hands held out in front of her. Almost falling through the door, she stood for a moment. The screams were louder here, and coming from the living quarters of the convent. What the hell was going on?

  She was halfway down the aisle, headed for the double doors, when the sound was cut off. Skidding to a halt, she raised her head, listening. She was about to move when the door swung open from outside. Some instinct made her dive for cover behind one of the broad stone pillars.

  The faint stench of rotten eggs wafted in through the open doors. Roz peered around the edge of the pillar as a mass of hunched shapes surged into the church. They lumbered down the aisle, some upright, some shuffling on all fours. Half-hound, half-human, with crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. There must have been ten or fifteen of the beasts, and at their center strode a tall man. The creatures flowed around him like water.

  Roz drew back. Hugging the cool stone, she breathed in the hot sulfur smell. A smell she recognized so well.

  Demons.

  She held herself very still as she waited for them to pass her hiding place, then edged around the pillar so she could watch. As the seething mass parted for a second, Roz caught a glimpse of one of the sisters clasped in a crooked, claw-like grip—Sister Maria, the youngest of the nuns. She was dressed in her habit, but the headdress was missing so her short hair stuck up in angry spikes. Her pretty face was blank, unseeing, as though she had zoned out of the horror going on all around her.

  The group came to a halt at the front of the church by the altar, but then split up, most of them heading toward the catacombs.

  Shit. Shit. Double shit.

  It looked like they were after the same thing she was. And unfortunately, it also appeared like they had a hell of a better idea of where it was than she did.

  Just three figures remained in view, plus Sister Maria, who was hanging almost unconscious from the arms of two demons. The man—at least he looked like a man—had dark hair, pale skin, and full lips. His eyes, green as emeralds, glittered as he paced the aisle.

  Should she try to rescue the sister? But if she did, they would both die—Roz had no doubts about that. They had kept Maria alive for a reason. Roz could only hope it wasn’t to provide entertainment later.

  At that moment, a loud yip of triumph filled the air. The man turned as the demons swarmed around him. One of them handed him a small package. Roz tried to make out what he held, but they were too far away. Anyway, she could guess—her key.

  A slow smile curled the man’s lips. He shoved whatever it was in the pocket of his pants and strode toward where Sister Maria still hung between the demons. He tore her habit down the front, baring her to the waist. “Pretty,” he murmured, stroking his finger down over one small breast. “Unfortunately, I have no time tonight. Maybe if we meet again.” He spun her around, and at the same time drew a knife. Did he mean to kill the sister after all? Instead, he used the blade to cut a pattern in the skin of her back. Luckily, Sister Maria fainted at the first touch of the knife and hung lifeless.

  When he’d finished, the demons released their grip, and she dropped to the floor. The man crouched beside her and slapped her face until she groaned and her lashes flickered open. “That’s a message. For Piers Lamont. And here’s the address. Make sure he gets it or I’ll be back to finish our business.” He dropped a piece of paper in front of her, and it fluttered to the stone floor.

  “Is the place clean?” he asked his minions. The response must have been positive because he nodded. “Good.”

  He waved a hand in the air and a portal opened in front of him. The demons swarmed through, vanishing from sight. He paused. “Oh, and tell Piers that Jack said hello. Tell him I’ll be in touch.”

  Then he was gone.

  Roz waited long minutes after the portal had vanished, before edging toward the fallen nun. Small whimpering sounds were coming from the woman—so she was alive, at least.

  “They killed them all.” Sister Maria’s low voice was laced with despair. “They didn’t ask for anything, just killed them.” Pushing herself up, Maria winced in pain.

  A flicker of regret washed through Roz at the thought of the nuns. But they were dead and beyond help. It was the living who mattered. “Lay still for a minute,” she said. “I’ll go check and see if everything’s quiet.”

  “Sister Rosa? Please don’t leave me.”

  Roz hesitated. It was dawning on her that she had failed. That someone else had snatched her prize from right beneath her nose. How many more years of servitude would she have to endure?

  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.