Bittersweet Magic

She did as she was told, staring straight ahead as Ryan pulled out into traffic. She resisted the urge to put her hand up and check the wound at her throat. It was healing fast, but would still be clearly visible. At least the horrible headdress hid it from view. Ryan wasn’t stupid, and it would be difficult to persuade him that fang marks in her neck had nothing to do with his exsanguination murder case.

“Back in fancy dress, I see.” He broke the silence.

“I’m trying it out as an alternative lifestyle. I think I’d make a good nun.” She gave him her best guileless expression, added a serene nun smile, and then took a swig of scotch.

Ryan snorted.

“So why are you following me? I’ve made it clear that I’ll help you as long as you don’t bring attention to me. And this”—she waved a hand around the car—“is bringing attention to me.”

“Why? What are you hiding from? Maybe if you tell me, I can help make the problem go away.”

“Why would you do that?”

He cast her a quick sideways glance before turning his attention back to the road. “Because we’re friends. And friends look out for each other.”

Warmth stole over her as she realized that he actually cared. But she couldn’t allow that to matter, and she certainly couldn’t drag him any further into her fucked-up life.

“Thanks, but no thanks. My problems aren’t the sort you can make go away. I’ve just got to live with them.”

He shrugged but appeared resigned. “You heading home? I’ll drop you off.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s your business with SA International?”

She’d known he wouldn’t give up that easily. “None of yours.”

“Come on, Roz. You can’t not tell me—why the outfit? Why this company? I did a search on them—they’re as clean as they come. Too clean, I’d say if I had a suspicious nature.”

With a rush of relief, she realized that he hadn’t connected her visit to SA International with his missing person case. And why should he? He’d first picked her up here before he’d even told her about the case—he wouldn’t see a connection.

“You do have a suspicious nature.”

“Yeah, so I do. But I couldn’t find anything. So tell me, what’s your interest? And where did you get a real nun from? I’m taking it that Sister Maria is actually a nun.”

“Yeah, she’s the real thing.”

“How is she this morning, by the way?”

“Fast asleep when I left. She’s had a tiring couple of days and it’s been a bit of a culture shock.”

“I’ll bet. So you’re not going to tell me?”

“No. So is that all that brought you here—just pure nosiness?”

“Mainly, but I also thought you’d like to know—we’ve put out that picture and we’re already getting some feedback. We’re narrowing it down to an area on the Isle of Dogs close to the river—which ties in with your description. I just wanted to make sure you’d be available when we get a real lead.”

“I’ll be available.” Something occurred to her. “If you can, make sure you go in during daylight. This guy likes the dark so you’re likely to find her alone in the daytime. You can get her out without worrying about any hostage situation.”

“Okay. Then we can set a trap and pick up this perverted son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She gulped another slug of scotch and the warmth flowed through her body, mellowing her mind. She raised the bottle. “It’s good stuff.”

He shrugged. “I know your helping me puts you in some sort of danger. I don’t know what or how bad, because you won’t open up to me. But I wanted to say thanks.”

She squirmed in her seat. She wasn’t used to people thanking her. It sort of made her feel guilty. As though if they really knew her, knew some of the things she had done, they wouldn’t be thanking her. She remembered again the screams of the villagers that night.

Her mother’s death had not gone unavenged.

Do you want them to pay? Asmodai had asked her. And she’d nodded her head then watched as he had unleashed chaos.

It hadn’t brought her mother back.

“You’re not very good at accepting thanks, are you?” Ryan’s wry query brought her back from the past.

“Scotch, yes. And maybe a box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers.”

“You like chocolates and flowers?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?” She was going to add that she was normal, wasn’t she, but that might have been straining the truth a little far.

They were silent the rest of the trip, and Ryan dropped her off outside her apartment building. Roz let herself in, but came to an abrupt standstill just inside the door. A woman stood, leaning against the wall as if she had every right to be there. She wore a skin-tight black leather cat-suit—very appropriate—and an expression of disdain on her face. They’d never gotten along.

“Make yourself at home,” Roz muttered. She hated the idea of the woman entering her apartment.

Shera pushed herself languidly away from the wall and stepped toward her. A good eight inches taller than Roz, even without the four-inch heels, she peered down, a superior smile curving her scarlet lips. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.”

“My Lord Asmodai instructed—”

“Tell me,” Roz interrupted. “Do you actually call him that to his face?” No wonder he had delusions of grandeur. Or maybe they weren’t delusions.

“Of course. My Lord—”

“And what does he call you?” She’d always wondered how close the two were. “Kitty? Fluffy?”

Shera gritted her teeth and thrust her hand out. Roz grabbed the proffered envelope. It contained a disk, presumably with the monitoring system for the bug she’d planted in Piers’ office. “Show yourself out,” she said to Shera. Not waiting for a response, she took her disc into the living room and closed the door behind her. She was eager to see if the bug was working and whether Piers was actually saying anything that might be of use finding Jessica.

The front door slammed. Good.

A big mirror hung on the wall. Roz tugged off the cumbersome headdress and twisted around so she could examine the side of her neck. Two neat fang marks marred the pale skin. But the wounds were closed and healing fast. A little shiver of pleasure ran through her as she remembered the feel of his big body wrapped around hers, his fangs lodged deep in her throat.

She shook her head to dispel the memory. A change of clothes was needed badly, but first, she wanted to get the disk set up. She powered on the laptop and was just slipping the disk into the drive when Maria appeared in the doorway to her bedroom. She was a mess, and Roz had to bite back a smile. Maria was wearing a pair of her sweats—way too big—and an equally too large T-shirt. Her short hair stood on end, as if she’d slept on it wet—which she probably had. She looked nothing like a nun. More like a homeless waif, the impression exacerbated by the lost expression on the woman’s face.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Have you contacted the mother house?”

“Not yet. I can do it now though—sort out a car to take you this afternoon.”

Maria bit her lip. “Would you wait?”

“Wait for what?”

“I’m not ready to go to the mother house. I won’t feel safe—I know I won’t.” She glanced at her bare feet and back to Roz. “I feel safe here, with you.”

Roz wondered how much she could tell the sister. The truth was she was probably safer here than most places, though Roz doubted Jack would follow her to the mother house. He had gone to the convent for a specific purpose—to get the Key. The Key Roz wanted.

Should she let Sister Maria stay? Usually she was happy on her own, but she found she quite liked the idea of company. For a while, at least. Soon she would leave this life forever—there would be time enough then to be