Bittersweet Magic (6 page)

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.

Chapter Four

Roz hesitated outside the glass double doors of SA International.

The truth was she really didn’t want to go inside. The main part of her brain was telling her that this was a super-sized mistake and one she would regret forever. But deep inside, a little voice told her she had no choice.

First, there was Asmodai. For some strange reason known only to himself, he’d been acting “nicely” recently. She wasn’t expecting that to last. The sigil on her arm itched as she thought of the demon. She had no option but to obey him until the terms of her servitude had played out.

But the other factor was Jessica Thomas. Roz couldn’t live with herself if she had a chance of helping the girl and she did nothing.

Still, facing up to her own particular scary monster was hard.

The Order of the Shadow Accords.

The organization set up thousands of years ago to police the supernatural world, including ridding that world of undesirables. Like her.

It had occurred to her over the years that she was relying on Asmodai for all her information. And he could be telling her whatever he considered would be most useful for her to hear. Useful to
him
, that was. She had no clue why he had saved her all those years ago. Maybe just a whim. She’d done twelve tasks for him since, but nothing of any significance until the Key. She had a feeling that was important. Which made it all the weirder that he had taken her failure so well.

She’d called Ryan that morning, told him she believed Jessica Thomas was still alive—for now—and described every single detail she could come up with as to her whereabouts, and then warned him she was coming in. She wanted to give him a description of “Jack,” though she somehow doubted he would be on any police files. Well, not ordinary police files anyway.

But she was betting Piers Lamont would know exactly who “Jack” was and could maybe tell her something that would help her save Jessica. All she had to do was maintain her cover, and she would come out unscathed. Probably.

Asmodai’s words came back to her. Piers would try to mesmerize her? Why? To do what? Well, there was only one way to find out.

Catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she winced. She was back in the habit, actually sown into the thing, as she’d ripped off most of the buttons in her rush to get out of it last night. She took a moment to adjust the ugly headdress—rescued from the bin—and smooth down the black robes. Her fingers checked for the bug in her pocket. If Piers didn’t cooperate, she’d plant it in his office, providing she got as far as his office.

There was a woman at the reception desk this morning. She glanced up and smiled, the smile fixing on her face as she caught sight of Roz, hovering just inside the doorway.

Roz forced herself forward, settling her face into a nun-like expression. “I’m here to see Piers Lamont.”

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. Surprise maybe. “I’m afraid Mr. Lamont is unavailable this morning. Could I take your name and get back to you with an appointment?”

No.
If Roz left now, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back a third time.

“Please,” she murmured. “I’m doing God’s work. It’s important I see Mr. Lamont immediately. I was here last night—Mr. Lamont told me to return if I remembered anything, and I have…”

The woman bit her lip, but nodded. “I’ll try, but he might not be very… happy to be disturbed.”

Hard luck, Roz wanted to snap, but she kept her expression tranquil. He took ages to answer, and when he finally did, the receptionist winced.

“Mr. Lamont, there’s a… a nun here to see you.” She listened for a moment. “I’ll send her right down.”

As she replaced the phone on the desk, Roz noticed her fingers were trembling, but she managed to paste a bright smile on her face.

“You’re to go down. I’ll get someone to escort you, if you’ll wait just one moment.”

Roz waited, narrowly resisting the urge to tap her feet. Instead, she gripped her wrists and held them in front of her in a nun-like fashion. She kept her eyes downcast, only raising them as the elevator door across the way slid open revealing the young, red-haired man who’d been on reception the night before. Last night, he’d been immaculate. This morning, he looked as though he’d pulled on whatever clothes he could find the quickest. He was dressed in grey sweats and a T-shirt and his feet were bare. He smothered a yawn with his hand when he caught her watching.

His eyes widened slightly as he took her in. Then he gestured for her to join him in the elevator. “Hey, you’re back, Sister. Not sure that’s wise.”

Neither was she, but too late now; the doors were closing. “Really? Why is that, Mr.…?”

“Graham. Call me Graham. Well, shouldn’t you be in a convent or something?”

“I’m here to do God’s work.”

He shrugged. “Not a lot of that going on around here.”

I’ll bet.
But she kept the words to herself and smiled serenely.

“Piers isn’t always at his best in the morning. So…” he trailed off. Roz got the distinct impression he was attempting to warn her about something, but his loyalty lay first with his employer. Then it was too late. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Good luck,” Graham said.

“You’re not coming with me?” All of a sudden, she didn’t want to be alone with Piers Lamont and his mesmerizing ways.

“Hell, no.” He sounded positively alarmed at the idea. His lips twitched as if he realized he’d been less than diplomatic. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His brows drew together. “Hey, I’ve got to check—have you got a cross?”

“No.” She should have one, though, shouldn’t she? Who ever heard of a nun without a cross? “I lost it in the attack on the convent.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

She frowned, but he ushered her out of the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind her, leaving her alone in a bare corridor. She’d thought she was going to the same place as yesterday, but this was different. Had they come further down? She wished she’d paid attention—though did it really matter? She was deep underground, and she suspected she wasn’t going anywhere they didn’t want her to.

Slipping her hand in the pocket of her habit, she fingered the bug while she wondered what to do next. The place was deathly quiet. She glanced up and down the corridor and had almost persuaded herself to recall the elevator when the door opposite opened.

Holy mother of God.

Piers Lamont stood in the open doorway. He wore a pair of faded jeans. And that was all. They’d obviously just been pulled on, the button at his waist still unfastened. The denim looked supple and clung to his lean hips, hanging off the jut of his hipbones. The skin of his stomach was pale over ridged muscles and was dissected by a line of blond hair that disappeared into the loose waistband of his pants. She raised her eyes just a little and breathed in sharply.

His chest was broad and smooth, his shoulders massive. She peered a little higher, finally getting as far as his face. Blond hair hung loose to his shoulders, gold shading to silver. As she watched, he raked a hand through the strands, brushing them away from his face.

Asmodai had said he was handsome, but that didn’t do him justice. With his sharp cheekbones and sculpted mouth, he had the face of a fallen angel. A shiver ran through her; she didn’t believe in angels, fallen or otherwise.

His heavy-lidded eyes were watching her with an undefined expression in their dark depths. “You woke me up. I hope you have a good reason for that.”

She thought about pointing out that it was past ten in the morning and perhaps he should have been up anyway.

“What do you want, Sister Rosa?” His voice was like rough velvet.

What did she want? Right now—to stroke her hands all over that delectable body, to see if the skin was as silky as it appeared, to peel those jeans down his long, long legs and…

Whoa.

She dropped her gaze and shook herself. Was he mesmerizing her already? But she knew that wasn’t the case. No, it was just that she was a sad, frustrated woman who hadn’t had a man hold her in…well, longer than she could remember. Now she was paying the price.

A woman cannot live by vibrators alone.

She was just desperate, that was all. It had been too long. But she couldn’t allow her unruly libido to take control, however tempting this man might be. She was here to do a job.

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed and clasped her hands in front of her so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach out. She stared straight ahead, but that meant she was gazing directly at his chest, with those dusky, lickable male nipples—dark against his pale skin with little tufts of blond hair. She dropped her gaze. His feet were bare. He had long toes. Wasn’t that supposed to—

“Well?” He interrupted her wayward thoughts, and she shook herself again.

“I remembered something else.”

He studied her for a moment, head cocked, then stepped to one side and gestured to her to enter the room. “Come in.”

Roz peered into the shadowy room behind him; it was some sort of living room with large scarlet couches. She didn’t budge. She really needed to get to his office so she could place the bug.

“Could we not go to your office? I would feel more comfortable.”

“You don’t feel comfortable with me, Sister?”

She lowered her eyes, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I’m not used to the company of men,” she said demurely. Well, that was the goddamn truth. Sort of.

After studying her for a minute longer, he shrugged. “Give me a second.”

He disappeared and came back a minute later, tugging a T-shirt over his head. She sighed—it was a sin to cover that body but she supposed it was for the best. His feet were still bare and his hair still loose, but that was obviously all the concessions she was getting.

He didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, and once inside, he leaned against the back wall, arms folded across his chest, his gaze wandering over her body as though he could see beneath the heavy nun’s robes.

Not for the first time, it pissed her off that the robes made her appear overweight. She wasn’t; she was curvaceous. She liked that word. But in the long loose habit, she just looked straight up and down. It was probably for the best.

Once out of the lift, she followed him down another corridor, one she recognized. Finally, he led her into the office they’d been in the previous evening. This time, she took the time to study it, searching for a suitable place to plant the bug.

Piers Lamont perched on the edge of his desk. “So, Sister, what is it you remembered that was so important it brought you from the safety of the mother house?”

“I’m sure you are a man of God and I am equally safe here, Mr. Lamont.”

“Are you? How…trusting. And please, call me Piers. And I will call you…Sister. So?”

She cleared her throat. “The man at the convent. He said his name was Jack.”

“Did he now? And you forgot to mention that?”

“I didn’t know. It was Maria who remembered. She was exhausted last night.” She still was—Roz had left her sleeping. “Does it help?”

“It confirms something I suspected. Is that all—or did Maria remember anything else?”

“Not remembered, no, but there is something else.”