Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

“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.