Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

Could she risk it? Asmodai’s warnings echoed in her mind. Don’t bring attention to yourself. But this was a necessity and nothing to do with the little mewling sounds of pain oozing from Maria’s clenched lips. It was just so that Maria wouldn’t be a total liability and could get around unaided.

Roz placed her palm against the bare skin of her back. Maria flinched again but then sagged under the touch as Roz sent the tiniest pulse of magic down through her hand.

“That feels so good,” Maria murmured. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. We have to get out of here.”

“Where will we go?” Maria asked.

“Can you remember what that man said to you?”

“That I’m to go to a Piers Lamont and give him a message. But shouldn’t we contact the Mother Superior, make for the convent in Ambersley?”

“Well, I for one am staying as far away from convents as possible for the foreseeable future. Besides, he said they’d come back for you if you don’t deliver the message.”

Maria shuddered. “Who were they? What did they want?”

“Maybe this Piers Lamont can tell us.”

The piece of paper lay on the floor, and Roz picked it up. It was an address in London, in the business district. “We need to go to London.”

“London?” Maria said as though the city was on another planet. Her shoulders slumped, but she gave a small nod. “Maybe this Piers Lamont is a man of God,” she murmured. “Maybe he can keep us safe.”

“Yeah, maybe he can.”

Or maybe he can tell me how to find my goddamn Key.





Chapter Two


“I am so fucking bored.”

Piers threw the sawed-off shotgun onto the desk and shrugged out of his long leather coat—a little incongruous in July, but necessary to hide the gun and a few other demon-blasting weapons he had concealed about his person.

“I take it you didn’t find anything.”

Piers glanced over to where Christian sprawled on the crimson sofa. He looked smug, but at least since coming back to the Order he’d lost the business suits and was dressed pretty much the same as Piers—black leather pants and a black T-shirt—just minus the weapons.

“Nothing. No sign. No smell. No dead bodies. The streets of London are clean.”

Christian grinned. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Anyway, Jonas was convinced something was going down.”

“Well, pity he couldn’t produce a few more details. What the hell do we pay him for anyway?”

Christian shrugged “I’m heading home. I just wanted to check in.”

“Yeah, go home. Piss-off back to your little love nest, and say hi to Tara for me.”

“She’ll like that.”

Piers was quite aware that Tara was not his greatest fan. But hey, he wasn’t out to make friends.

The shrill ring of a buzzer dragged him from his thoughts. He flung himself into the chair behind the desk. The light for reception was flashing and he pressed the button on his phone.

“Yeah.”

“There are two women wanting to see you,” Graham, his assistant, said.

“Good,” he replied. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, I’m thinking you might be staying that way.” Graham’s voice was tinged with amusement. Piers raised an eyebrow but reached over and switched on his monitor. He tapped a few keys and studied the reception area.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Christian asked, coming to stand behind him.

“There are two nuns in reception.”

“They’re probably strip-o-grams or something. One of your friends has a sense of humor.” Christian leaned closer to study the screen. “Or maybe not.”

“Definitely not,” Piers added.

Actually, he had never seen anything less like a couple of strippers. The two women were bedraggled. One was positively drooping. They both wore black habits with headdresses framing their faces. The droopy one appeared to be around thirty with a pale, thin face and scared eyes. The other looked younger, though she also seemed to be the one in charge, squaring up to Graham and speaking rapidly.

Slightly below medium height, she looked well filled out, though it was hard to tell whether she was straight up and down or there were curves beneath the shapeless robe. Piers focused in on her face—broad at the cheekbones, pointed at the chin—which had a dimple in the center. She had flawless creamy skin, big brown eyes, and a rosebud mouth held in a tight line.

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and waved it at Graham. Then she bit her lip and stepped back as Graham replied. Piers got the distinct impression of impatience—a mother superior in the making, no doubt. He’d gone through a nun phase once, but that was back in the Middle Ages. He’d found seducing them a challenge—it had been fun for a while.

Graham still held the phone to his ear. “What do you want me to do with them?” he asked. “They say they have a message for you.”

“Well, you’d better bring them down here then.”

He closed off the call and turned to Christian, who was now leaning against the wall, arms folded, a small frown playing across his face.

“I thought you were leaving,” Piers said.

“I’ll stick around.”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can handle two nuns?”

“Hell, I know you can handle them.”

“But?”