No. Goddamn it. She wouldn’t give up when she was so close.
Asmodai didn’t need to know she had failed—yet. Maybe this man, Piers Lamont, could lead her to the Key. Who could he be? What was his involvement in this world? At the least, she could snoop around. See if there was any way she could redeem this mess. She would go and deliver the message to Piers Lamont, and afterwards, decide where to go from there.
“Please, Sister Rosa.” Maria broke into her thoughts, her soft voice laced with pain.
Roz crouched down and examined the sister. The pattern cut into the skin of her back was a circle with a diagonal cross through it. Blood welled up in the cuts, blurring the lines, and she reached out a finger and touched the clammy flesh. Sister Maria flinched.
Roz contemplated the wounds for a few seconds. They were angry, puffy at the edges, and seeping blood. This was going to make traveling difficult.
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.