Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

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.”