Bittersweet Magic (8 page)

He flicked through the file Graham had handed him. The identikit picture was on the top. He studied it for a moment—it was definitely Jack.

Had Jack been careless? Or was he sending another message?

He put the picture aside and read the notes. Jessica Thomas had vanished on her way home from school, two days ago. She was fifteen. There was a photo of a pretty, rather plump young girl. He wondered what she looked like now. Was she still pretty? Was she even alive?

It wasn’t the Order’s job to protect humans, at least not directly. But if the police had gotten close enough to get a picture of Jack, then they had to put a stop to this now, before the law got any closer.

He picked up his phone and started a search in motion. He wasn’t expecting it to be difficult—Jack had sent him the message because he wanted to be found.

The question was—why?

Chapter Five

“Get in,” Ryan said from the driver’s seat.

For a second, Roz considered ignoring him, but a quick glance behind her showed Graham still watching from just inside the glass doors. She couldn’t risk making a scene. Besides, there was that bottle of scotch. With a huge sigh, she picked it up, clambered into the passenger seat, and tossed him a filthy look.

“Are you following me?”

“Yes. Fasten your seat belt.”

She did as she was told, staring straight ahead as Ryan pulled out into traffic. She resisted the urge to put her hand up and check the wound at her throat. It was healing fast, but would still be clearly visible. At least the horrible headdress hid it from view. Ryan wasn’t stupid, and it would be difficult to persuade him that fang marks in her neck had nothing to do with his exsanguination murder case.

“Back in fancy dress, I see.” He broke the silence.

“I’m trying it out as an alternative lifestyle. I think I’d make a good nun.” She gave him her best guileless expression, added a serene nun smile, and then took a swig of scotch.

Ryan snorted.

“So why
are
you following me? I’ve made it clear that I’ll help you as long as you don’t bring attention to me. And this”—she waved a hand around the car—“is bringing attention to me.”

“Why? What are you hiding from? Maybe if you tell me, I can help make the problem go away.”

“Why would you do that?”

He cast her a quick sideways glance before turning his attention back to the road. “Because we’re friends. And friends look out for each other.”

Warmth stole over her as she realized that he actually cared. But she couldn’t allow that to matter, and she certainly couldn’t drag him any further into her fucked-up life.

“Thanks, but no thanks. My problems aren’t the sort you can make go away. I’ve just got to live with them.”

He shrugged but appeared resigned. “You heading home? I’ll drop you off.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s your business with SA International?”

She’d known he wouldn’t give up that easily. “None of yours.”

“Come on, Roz. You can’t not tell me—why the outfit? Why this company? I did a search on them—they’re as clean as they come. Too clean, I’d say if I had a suspicious nature.”

With a rush of relief, she realized that he hadn’t connected her visit to SA International with his missing person case. And why should he? He’d first picked her up here before he’d even told her about the case—he wouldn’t see a connection.

“You do have a suspicious nature.”

“Yeah, so I do. But I couldn’t find anything. So tell me, what’s your interest? And where did you get a real nun from? I’m taking it that Sister Maria is actually a nun.”

“Yeah, she’s the real thing.”

“How is she this morning, by the way?”

“Fast asleep when I left. She’s had a tiring couple of days and it’s been a bit of a culture shock.”

“I’ll bet. So you’re not going to tell me?”

“No. So is that all that brought you here—just pure nosiness?”

“Mainly, but I also thought you’d like to know—we’ve put out that picture and we’re already getting some feedback. We’re narrowing it down to an area on the Isle of Dogs close to the river—which ties in with your description. I just wanted to make sure you’d be available when we get a real lead.”

“I’ll be available.” Something occurred to her. “If you can, make sure you go in during daylight. This guy likes the dark so you’re likely to find her alone in the daytime. You can get her out without worrying about any hostage situation.”

“Okay. Then we can set a trap and pick up this perverted son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She gulped another slug of scotch and the warmth flowed through her body, mellowing her mind. She raised the bottle. “It’s good stuff.”

He shrugged. “I know your helping me puts you in some sort of danger. I don’t know what or how bad, because you won’t open up to me. But I wanted to say thanks.”

She squirmed in her seat. She wasn’t used to people thanking her. It sort of made her feel guilty. As though if they really knew her, knew some of the things she had done, they wouldn’t be thanking her. She remembered again the screams of the villagers that night.

Her mother’s death had not gone unavenged.

Do you want them to pay?
Asmodai had asked her. And she’d nodded her head then watched as he had unleashed chaos.

It hadn’t brought her mother back.

“You’re not very good at accepting thanks, are you?” Ryan’s wry query brought her back from the past.

“Scotch, yes. And maybe a box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers.”

“You like chocolates and flowers?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?” She was going to add that she was normal, wasn’t she, but that might have been straining the truth a little far.

They were silent the rest of the trip, and Ryan dropped her off outside her apartment building. Roz let herself in, but came to an abrupt standstill just inside the door. A woman stood, leaning against the wall as if she had every right to be there. She wore a skin-tight black leather cat-suit—very appropriate—and an expression of disdain on her face. They’d never gotten along.

“Make yourself at home,” Roz muttered. She hated the idea of the woman entering her apartment.

Shera pushed herself languidly away from the wall and stepped toward her. A good eight inches taller than Roz, even without the four-inch heels, she peered down, a superior smile curving her scarlet lips. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.”

“My Lord Asmodai instructed—”

“Tell me,” Roz interrupted. “Do you actually call him that to his face?” No wonder he had delusions of grandeur. Or maybe they weren’t delusions.

“Of course. My Lord—”

“And what does he call you?” She’d always wondered how close the two were. “Kitty? Fluffy?”

Shera gritted her teeth and thrust her hand out. Roz grabbed the proffered envelope. It contained a disk, presumably with the monitoring system for the bug she’d planted in Piers’ office. “Show yourself out,” she said to Shera. Not waiting for a response, she took her disc into the living room and closed the door behind her. She was eager to see if the bug was working and whether Piers was actually saying anything that might be of use finding Jessica.

The front door slammed. Good.

A big mirror hung on the wall. Roz tugged off the cumbersome headdress and twisted around so she could examine the side of her neck. Two neat fang marks marred the pale skin. But the wounds were closed and healing fast. A little shiver of pleasure ran through her as she remembered the feel of his big body wrapped around hers, his fangs lodged deep in her throat.

She shook her head to dispel the memory. A change of clothes was needed badly, but first, she wanted to get the disk set up. She powered on the laptop and was just slipping the disk into the drive when Maria appeared in the doorway to her bedroom. She was a mess, and Roz had to bite back a smile. Maria was wearing a pair of her sweats—way too big—and an equally too large T-shirt. Her short hair stood on end, as if she’d slept on it wet—which she probably had. She looked nothing like a nun. More like a homeless waif, the impression exacerbated by the lost expression on the woman’s face.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Have you contacted the mother house?”

“Not yet. I can do it now though—sort out a car to take you this afternoon.”

Maria bit her lip. “Would you wait?”

“Wait for what?”

“I’m not ready to go to the mother house. I won’t feel safe—I know I won’t.” She glanced at her bare feet and back to Roz. “I feel safe here, with you.”

Roz wondered how much she could tell the sister. The truth was she was probably safer here than most places, though Roz doubted Jack would follow her to the mother house. He had gone to the convent for a specific purpose—to get the Key. The Key Roz wanted.

Should she let Sister Maria stay? Usually she was happy on her own, but she found she quite liked the idea of company. For a while, at least. Soon she would leave this life forever—there would be time enough then to be alone.

“Okay, you can stay. For a while. But I’m going to call you Maria—none of this sister crap.”

Maria’s relief was almost palpable, and a smile flashed across her face, making her almost pretty.

“Thank you.”

Two “thank yous” in one day. That had to be a record. “Do you know how to make coffee?” she asked.

“I think I can remember.”

“Well, make yourself useful. There’s something I have to do—then we’ll have a chat.”

She loaded the disk and waited while the program installed. After setting it to type rather than audio, she watched as the dialogue printed out on the screen.

At first, it came up as man 1, man 2, but after a couple of lines, the program filled in the names. Man 1 was Piers Lamont, Man 2 was Graham, the receptionist. She checked the time—it was half an hour ago, just after she’d left.

P
IERS
L
AMONT:
G
ET
C
HRISTIAN ON THE PHONE FOR ME.

G
RAHAM:
H
E’LL BE SLEEPING.

P
IERS:
H
EY,
I
WAS SLEEPING AND
I
’M AWAKE.
G
ET HIM.

P
IERS:
I
JUST HAD A VISIT FROM A NUN.

C
HRISTIAN:
W
HAT DID SHE WANT?

P
IERS:
T
O GIVE ME SOME INFORMATION.

C
HRISTIAN:
A
ND ARE YOU GOING TO SHARE?

P
IERS:
T
HE INFORMATION OR THE NUN?
I
’M NOT SURE
T
ARA WOULD BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT.

C
HRISTIAN:
H
AH-HAH.
T
HE INFORMATION.

P
IERS:
S
HE GAVE ME A NAME, BUT ONE
I
’D ALREADY GUESSED.
A
ND THE POLICE ARE INVOLVED.
T
HERE’S A GIRL MISSING AND THE POLICE HAVE A PICTURE OF THE SUSPECT.
O
UR LITTLE NUN RECOGNIZED THE MAN WHO ATTACKED THE CONVENT.
A
ND IT SEEMS IT’S NOT THE FIRST MISSING GIRL.
T
HE POLICE HAVE TIED IT TO ANOTHER MURDER CASE WHERE THE VICTIM DIED BY EXSANGUINATION.

C
HRISTIAN:
T
HIS GUY’S A VAMP?

P
IERS:
D
IDN’T
I
MENTION THAT BIT?

C
HRISTIAN:
S
O WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

P
IERS:
I
’LL ARRANGE A MEETING.
T
HAT’S WHAT HE’S AFTER.
T
HAT’S WHAT THIS WHOLE THING IS ABOUT.

C
HRISTIAN:
Y
OU WANT ME IN?

P
IERS:
Y
EAH—YOU OKAY FOR TONIGHT?

C
HRISTIAN:
I
’LL MEET YOU OVER THERE.

[
A
MINUTE’S SILENCE.]

C
HRISTIAN:
S
O HOW WAS THE NUN?

P
IERS:
D
ELECTABLE.
S
WEET AS SIN.
T
HERE’S FAE BLOOD IN THERE AND A LOT OF IT.

C
HRISTIAN:
I
S SHE OKAY?

P
IERS:
W
HAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR—SOME SORT OF MONSTER?
S
HE WAS FINE, WALKED OUT ON HER OWN TWO FEET.
A
ND SHE WON’T REMEMBER A THING.

C
HRISTIAN:
G
OOD.

Nothing further came up on the screen, and Roz sat back in the chair and stared at the words. Fae blood? What did that mean? That she was some sort of fairy? No way! Asmodai had never mentioned the fae. But he was a secretive bastard, and she was on a need to know basis. Obviously, the demon hadn’t considered she needed to know the fact that she had fae blood. Or even that the fae existed.

She’d never known what she was. She had vague recollections of her father; he’d been around on and off up until she was about six years old. Then he had disappeared from their lives without trace. Her mother wasn’t the same after that, a shadow of the happy woman she’d been. She’d always sworn that he would never voluntarily leave them, and Roz had presumed he must be dead. He certainly hadn’t been around when the villagers had come for them.

Witch.

The word echoed through the years. Her mother had been a healer. The people had come to her for help and she had saved more than one wretched life. Only to be repaid with her death. Roz had inherited her mother’s healing skills and more, but what might she have inherited from her unknown father?

She sighed and sat back as Maria put a mug of coffee on the table beside her, and carried her own to the sofa.

“Okay,” Roz said, “we require a few ground rules, if you’re going to stay here.”

“I’m good at rules.”

“No habits—I find them depressing. No praying where I can see or hear—it upsets my digestion. Oh, and don’t contact anyone and tell them where you are. And no boys in your room,” she couldn’t resist adding.