Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

“At a guess, someone must have hidden it instead.”


He thought for a moment, remembering back—it was more than a thousand years ago and as he’d said, he hadn’t been particularly interested in the brand new Order of the Shadow Accords and whatever crap they decided. But he had known of the Key. Andarta had been negotiating for it before they had had their little falling out. The Key had been an integral part in her plot for world domination—the crazy bitch.

Demons varied in their powers. Andarta was strong, but she had a weak point—her inability to open portals with ease. The effort drained her. That had been the one thing that kept her in check, limited her movements. With the Key, she would be unstoppable.

Something occurred to him. Something he’d forgotten. All those years ago, she’d been negotiating with another demon. He shook his head. “Do you know who had the Key back then? You’re going to love this.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“None other than Tara’s father—your brand new father-in-law.”

“Asmodai?”

“Yeah. Shit, could he be involved in this?” Piers ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the separate threads.

Christian shrugged. “So Asmodai was in possession of the Key when the Shadow Accords were drawn up. He agreed to destroy it, but instead he hid it away.”

“No doubt, just in case he ever needed it.”

“And he hid it away in the convent that your friend Jack attacked a couple of nights ago.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

Christian had been pacing. Now he stopped in front of Piers and studied him. Piers stared back. “So what is Jack to you?” Christian asked. “There’s something that ties the two of you together.”

Piers considered not answering—it was no one’s business but his. Then he realized that was no longer the case, and maybe it was something Christian needed to know. “He’s my maker.”

Shock flared on Christian’s face. “So he’s even older than you are?”

“Yeah. But he’s been…sort of out of it for the last couple of thousand years, so I’m not sure how strong he is.”

There were strong vampires and weak ones, and their strength also tended to increase with age. But maybe that age didn’t count if you’d been locked in a tomb.

“What does ‘out of it’ mean?”

“Locked away, no doubt sleeping like an innocent babe for the majority of the time.”

“You did that?”

“Yeah. You could say that I wasn’t too pleased about the change in my circumstances. In fact, it pissed me off. And you might have noticed, when things piss me off I tend to react.”

“So you were stronger than him, which means he shouldn’t be a problem. Just get him out of the picture. You have enough justification with him bringing the police down on us.”

“Well, I could do that, but it’s not actually Jack we need worry about.”

Christian sighed. “Who is it?”

“Andarta.”

“Andarta?” The shock was back with a vengeance. Andarta hadn’t been around for two thousand years but obviously, Christian had heard of her. Why didn’t that surprise him?

“Andarta, the goddess of war and pestilence, the demon queen?”

Piers nodded, and Christian was silent for a minute while he digested the information. “The Andarta who’s been missing for the last two thousand years?”

“That’s the one. Tucked up with Jack.”

The Andarta he’d once believed he loved beyond life itself. The goddess he’d been willing to lay down that very life for. Until she had betrayed him, ordered Jack to turn him, and made that particular sacrifice impossible.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Christian asked.

“I pretended to be happy about the whole thing, lulled them into an entirely false sense of security, and drugged them both. They were locked up tight in their cozy little tomb, warded by Andarta’s own magic, by the time they woke up.”

“Clever,” Christian said.

“Maybe. But maybe it would have been cleverer to finish them off while I had the chance. I somehow doubt she’ll be accepting any more glasses of drugged wine from me.” He rubbed his scalp. He hated rehashing the past. But then it was no longer the past—enough to give anyone a headache.

“Enough of Andarta. Right now, I’m hungry.” He pressed the comm unit on his desk. “Graham, get me the London address of the mother house of the Sisters of…” Shit, he couldn’t remember. “Whatever it was they were sisters of.” He could hear the tap of Graham’s fingers on the keyboard.

“There is no mother house in London,” he said a few seconds later.

“What?”

“The mother house is in Devon.”

“Really?”

“What is it?” Christian asked.

“It appears our little nun was telling a few untruths.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? But I aim to find out. Graham—find her.”

…