Did he still believe her story? She glanced down at herself. The habit was ripped to the waist.
“Did he hurt you?” Maria’s question broke into her thoughts. She glanced up to see the sister’s gaze on the ripped habit.
“No,” she said. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Maybe she could find out at least some of what he was thinking. She switched the laptop to the monitoring system. While there was no internet signal down here, perhaps the bug would still work. After all, if it was capable of sending a signal out of the building, presumably it could also do so within the walls.
She held her breath waiting. Then it flashed up. “Hurray,” she muttered.
Piers: Graham. There are two nuns in the cells downstairs. I think they might appreciate some coffee. And send Carl in here.
Aw, what a sweetie. Not such a monster after all. I could almost love him for that.
Piers: Okay, so tell me what happened.
Carclass="underline" I followed him like you said. He went to a residential area on the Isle of Dogs, but when we got close, it was obvious that the police had beaten us there.
Piers: You saw no sign of the missing girl.
Carclass="underline" No. I didn’t go inside the house, but I’m guessing they got her out, either dead or alive, before we arrived.
Piers: And the police are still watching the place?
Carclass="underline" Yeah. They left a couple of guys outside. I can go back and try and get around them. Or take them out.
Piers: No, we’ll leave it for now. See if you can find anything about the girl, but otherwise, we’ll wait until Jack contacts us, as I’m sure he will. I’m heading downstairs—I’ll be at my place, but let me know if you hear anything.
Roz stared at the screen for a minute longer, but it remained blank. She slammed the lid down on the laptop. Hopefully, Graham would appear any moment with that coffee. She’d rather he didn’t see what she was up to. Besides, if Piers was heading to his quarters, there was unlikely to be any more activity.
Five minutes later, the door opened and Graham hovered in the entrance. “Sisters?”
He searched for somewhere to put the tray he carried. There was nowhere but the floor and in the end, he bent down and placed it beside the cot.
The scent of fresh coffee drifted up, comforting. There was also a plate of cookies, and she almost smiled at the incongruity of coffee and biscuits in the grim setting.
Graham appeared a little embarrassed. Roz didn’t see why she should attempt to put him at his ease, despite the cookies, and after a minute shuffling from foot to foot, he shrugged apologetically and backed out.
He hesitated in the doorway. “I’ll leave orders you’re to be brought food tomorrow.”
“Well, that will be nice. So at least you don’t intend to starve us, whatever else you intend to do.”
His pale skin flushed. Good. Then he was gone.
Roz sighed, but reached down and poured two coffees, adding cream and sugar to both. She handed one to Maria, put the plate of biscuits between them on the cot, and sat back against the wall with a sigh. As she nibbled on a biscuit and sipped the coffee, some semblance of peace stole over her.
Whatever would happen would happen. It was out of her hands now. In some ways, she found the notion comforting. She needed to decide what she could tell them, but she supposed she should wait and find out what they already knew. At least the whole mesmerizing thing should work in her favor. After all, if he believed her to be in his power, he was also likely to believe whatever she told him.
And if worse came to worse, she could throw in Asmodai’s name. If he really was Christian Roth’s father-in-law, that had to count for something. If she said he was also her…employer? Protector? Whatever…It might put them off killing her quite so quickly. Though Asmodai had told her that if she ever revealed her connection with him he would kill her himself, and she believed him. But Asmodai wasn’t here, and if he wanted to kill her he would have to get in line.
She ate another biscuit.
Through the long day, they dozed, taking it in turns to lie on the cot. As Graham had promised, food was brought at regular intervals. They were relatively comfortable, but the waiting was driving Roz nuts. She’d fastened her robe as best she could. Only about half the buttons remained, but at least she wasn’t flashing her underwear anymore.
As it hit ten o’clock in the evening, she realized the sun would be going down, which presumably meant that the vamps would be waking up. She wished she dared ask Graham, who had turned up with their evening meal—presumably, he worked the night shift. She was sure he knew all about what Piers was, and she was dying to question him, but it would be rather giving the game away.
Christ, she wished someone would come. But when the door finally slid open, it was a stranger who stood there. And he gestured to Maria, not her. Maria cast her a worried glance, but rose slowly and shuffled toward the door. Roz patted her arm as she passed. “Remember what I said—tell them the truth. You’ve nothing to hide.”
Maria nodded and the doors shut behind them, leaving Roz alone.
She hurried across and powered on her laptop—the batteries were getting low. But there was nothing going on in Piers’ office anyway. The screen remained stubbornly blank.
Damn, she wished she had some clue as to what to do.
…
Piers had decided to start with Sister Maria. She was probably going to be easy to break. Not that he intended to break her, but he would get to the truth. He’d asked Jonas, the most powerful warlock employed by the Order, to sit in on the interrogation.
Jonas had the appearance of a frail old man, but Piers was quite aware that that was through personal choice—Jonas was a strong believer that being underestimated gave him an edge. Piers was also aware that the warlock had his own reasons for working with them, but as long as those reasons didn’t go in direct opposition to the requirements of the Order, Piers didn’t care.
Jonas’s particular strengths lay in divining the future and assessing the truth—he could usually tell if people lied—which made him very useful at interrogations. He also did a nifty line in blood charms, which was how he’d come to the attention of the Order. He’d made the charm that had kept Christian’s wife, Tara, safely hidden for more than twenty years.
It was believed that all witches and warlocks had fae blood somewhere in their ancestry, which was what gave them their powers. But unlike his little nun, there was no sweet scent of fae arising from the warlock. It made Piers wonder just how much fae blood Roz had, and what powers lay dormant inside her.
Or were they dormant?
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. The older sister was ushered inside. Her scared gaze darted from him to Jonas and then over her shoulder to the door, as if she were contemplating doing a runner. He almost smiled—he could have told her that there was nowhere to run, but he doubted that would have a calming effect. Instead, he strode toward her.
“Look at me,” he said in a low, calm voice.
She swallowed but lifted her gaze to him.
He allowed his will to flow out, wrap around her mind, and the fear and panic receded from her eyes.
“Tell me what happened when the convent was attacked.”
She spoke slowly, not hesitating, the events unfolding exactly as they had been told the first time. Piers glanced at Jonas. The warlock gave a small nod—as far as he was aware, she was telling the truth, at least as she saw it.