The Redeeming

by Jennifer Ashley

  Ed laughed again, a roar that drowned out the screeching engine. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “Celtic.” When Ed looked baffled, Tain said, “Welsh.”

  “You’re not American then.”

  “I am now.” Adrian had obtained all kinds of documents for Tain that said he was an American resident of Seattle, even though Tain stayed with Adrian at the Seattle house only a few weeks at a time. Pieces of paper didn’t mean much to a man who’d traveled where he’d pleased before his capture, but people these days liked documents, and Adrian had told Tain they would save a mountain of trouble. “From Seattle,” Tain added.

  “Well, at least you’re not—Shit!” Ed broke off as the truck bucked hard then coughed. Then the rattling stopped, and the truck drifted to the side of the road in silence.

  Traffic was sparse, the few cars giving them a wide berth as they passed. Mike hopped out as Ed popped the hood, and Tain joined Mike on the gravel.

  The land here was empty, soothing. The desert stretched forever on either side of the freeway, pale gravel covered with slender-limbed creosote and smaller scrub, nothing manmade except a lighted billboard a few yards off the freeway, advertising a 24-hour casino in Las Vegas.

  Los Angeles’s constant smell of exhaust was gone, replaced by the clean scents of dust and night breezes. The air was pleasantly cool now that the sun had slid behind the horizon, though during the day, even in September, the temperature out here would soar into the triple digits.

  Mike, who hadn’t said a word since they’d picked up Tain, had his head under the hood, shining a flashlight over various pieces of metal and dried rubber hoses. He wiggled things, and then Ed tried to start the truck, but nothing much happened except clunking noises and Ed’s string of obscenities.

  “Let me try,” Tain said.

  Silent Mike gave him a look that said, Sure, if you want, and stepped out of the way.

  Tain knew nothing about the mechanics of vehicles of this century, although he knew men enjoyed tinkering with them whether they needed to be tinkered with or not. But he could feel the engine’s core, see the power snaking through it, and understood where that power was blocked.

  He jiggled bits, as Mike had done, while he sank a tiny trickle of magic through the engine, unclogging the lines, fixing the gear shaft that had been slipping, and smoothing over frayed belts and various cracks in the metal.

  Tain withdrew himself from the machine’s belly and said, “Try it now.”

  Ed cranked, and the engine started up. Instead of the loud rattle with which the truck had eaten up the miles, the engine now purred, smooth and quiet. Ed’s eyes widened over the steering wheel, and Mike stared at Tain.

  “How the hell did you do that?” Ed bellowed out of the truck window.

  Tain said nothing as he closed the hood. Mike clapped him on the shoulder and gestured him back into the truck.

  Ed told him to sit in the front this time, Mike scooting over to the middle so Tain could be by the passenger door. The dog, still sleeping in the back, began to snore.

  Ed pulled out after a lone car had shot by, grinning as the truck moved easily down the freeway. He pressed the accelerator and quickly caught up to and overtook the other car.

  “Woo hoo!” Ed screamed. “Hey, Tain, we’re heading to a place out by Vegas. Want to come? The girls there really like to party.”

  Mike spoke for the first time. “One of them is a vampire.”

  “But nice,” Ed said quickly. “She won’t kill you or anything.”

  “She can bite my neck any time,” Mike said softly, and Ed bellowed with laughter.

  Tain smiled along with them. A vampire might know what he was looking for, if only because she’d want to avoid it.

  “Sure,” Tain said.

  Ed whooped again. “Hot damn. Hang on, here we go!”

  McKay had taken Samantha off the investigation of the matriarch’s murder but hadn’t banned her from looking into the destruction of Merrick’s club, Nadia’s abduction, or the threatening letters. Samantha spread the files over her desk late that afternoon and went through it again a piece at a time, adding what she’d learned from her visit to No More Nightmares.

  She wished she could have found a suspiciously cut-up newspaper and a bottle of glue on Melanie’s desk, but there hadn’t been anything in the innocuous office to justify Samantha asking for a search warrant. Ms. Townsend’s preoccupation with methods of killing demons and her assistant’s fanatic protection of her weren’t criminal, per se. Samantha had to be content with putting a watch on the office and trying to track down Ms. Townsend.

  She also wanted to interview Merrick again, to find out how someone had gotten a firebomb into Merrick’s club without him knowing it. Logan had sniffed around the morning after the club burned down and discovered a little pile of crystals, wire, and small, fine bones. A forensics department witch had identified the pieces as accoutrements for a spell that could remotely trigger a fire. Samantha also wanted to talk again to the Djowlan demon who’d attacked the matriarch’s house, and Kemmerer, who’d sold Nadia to her captors. All these threads had to go somewhere.

  Plus it kept her from thinking about Tain. Trust me, he’d said.

  Did that mean he’d come back with the culprit in tow and give him to Samantha along with all the evidence she needed? Or was he up to something Immortal she really didn’t want to know about?

  Samantha’s harried thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone. Her hopes leapt—Tain—then plummeted when she saw the call was from Septimus’s vampire club.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Don’t sound so happy to hear from me,” the vampire’s dark voice rolled from the other end. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Not on a phone half the world can tap. Can you meet me? At my club would be best.”

  “Your club full of demon-hating vampires? I don’t think so. How about the Malibu house?”

  “I want to talk to you, not Hunter and his charming wife. How about a restaurant later tonight? I’ll set it up—I know a good place.”

  “No vampires,” Samantha warned.

  “No vamps. Just humans catering to an exclusive clientele. You’ll like it.”

  “Can you give me a hint what this is about?”

  “It concerns a mutual friend, and that’s all I will say on a phone. I’ll send the limo to pick you up at ten.”

  “No, I’ll drive myself.”

  Septimus sighed. “I’d rather you let me make sure you get there without problems. I’ll send the limo. Kelly will be there, if it makes you feel better.”

  “A date with a famous actress and a vamp boss? How can it get better than this?”

  “Your sarcasm stuns me. Be ready at ten.” Septimus clicked off without saying good-bye.

  Samantha returned to her files, uneasy. A vampire had secrets about Tain he didn’t want to tell her over the phone, and she had to wait until ten or so tonight to find out what they were, if Septimus would even tell her everything. This did not put her into a good mood.

  She stared in irritation at Logan’s and her notes until the phone on her desk rang. She snatched it up. “Samantha Taylor,” she snapped.

  “Samantha?”

  Samantha blinked and adjusted her tone. “Hello . . . Dad. What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to you, privately, not on the phone.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Samantha said. “Sorry, I mean, sure. Want to meet me for a quick dinner?”

  She heard him consult with her mother then Fulton replied that he’d drive down and meet her at La Casa Bonita, her favorite downtown Mexican place. Samantha now had to spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what that conversation would entail as well.

  Samantha reached the restaurant before her father did, being too restless to work much longer. The staff knew her because she came in so often, and they let her take a booth away from the most crowded areas. When Fulton ca
me in, catching sidelong looks from the waitresses who weren’t adverse to good-looking demons in their establishment, Samantha stood up and hugged him.

  Fulton looked pleased but puzzled. “What was that for?”

  “Can’t I be glad to see my own father?”

  Fulton’s frown deepened as they sat down. “Anything wrong?”

  Samantha shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to talk to me.”

  Fulton waited until he and Samantha had ordered, then he looked around the crowded restaurant. “Not my idea of private.”

  “It’s the best I can do. I’m on evening shift, and all the interrogation rooms at my office have two-way mirrors and microphones. This place gets so noisy no one will hear a word we say.”

  Fulton looked skeptical, but once the waitress had deposited a basket of tortilla chips and bowls containing four different kinds of salsa in front of them and walked away, Fulton began to talk.

  “Do you know why the matriarch asked me to stay and talk to her the day you met her?”

  “I needed to ask you about that.” Samantha dipped a chip in the pungent tomatillo salsa and took a bite, savoring the lemony, salty taste. “What I recall mostly from that day is demons attacking, and me getting gooey acid all over me.”

  Fulton gave her a concerned look. “You’re all right from that, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry, yes, I’m fine. Tell me why the matriarch asked you to stay.”

  “To talk about you. She asked me about your upbringing, what you did now, why you’d joined the police. She also asked me about your mother, and what you were taught about demon-kind.”

  “I wasn’t taught anything about demon-kind,” Samantha said, dipping her next chip into roasted tomato and chipotle salsa. “I thought I was an ordinary human child for a long time.”

  “I know.” Fulton looked chagrined. “That was my fault—your mother wanted you to know, but I begged her not to tell you until you were old enough to understand. I wanted you to be raised human, because . . . well, for many reasons.”

  Samantha busied herself eating her soaked chip, but the taste she’d normally savor got lost as she wondered what Fulton’s reasons had been. She said, “I heard an insane rumor that the matriarch wanted to groom me to take her place. That’s what the majordomo—Ariadne—seems to think.”

  “That’s another thing the matriarch wanted to talk to me about. She asked me to put you forward as a candidate at the next clan muster.”

  Samantha sat back, stunned to hear him confirm it. “What’s a muster?” she asked faintly.

  “A gathering of heads of demon households. We call it a muster, an old-fashioned term, because we used to have them only when we geared up to fight some battle. These days musters are more like board meetings.”

  Samantha reached for another handful of chips. “The majordomo told me that the matriarch put forth a candidate, and the heads of the families approved or didn’t.”

  Fulton gave her a nod. “Heads of families can name a candidate as well, especially if the matriarch dies before she names who she wants as successor.”

  “So when are you going to tell the head of our family about all this? Or did you? What did he say?”

  Fulton touched his chest. “I am the head of our family, which is one of the most powerful in the clan.”

  Samantha’s chips dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed a napkin to wipe them clean. “You always told me you were a lesser demon, not very strong.”

  “Magically, I’m not very powerful. But politically, I am. When my father died some years ago, I took his place—I was the oldest son and heir, and you are my only child.” Fulton’s dark eyes softened. “Your mother and I were going to introduce you to all this gradually, but the matriarch jumped the gun by wanting you as a candidate. She was right, in retrospect. You need to know.”

  “But I’m only half demon,” Samantha protested. “Why would the clan accept me as matriarch? Not that I have any intention of taking the position.”

  “Because my family has plenty of clout,” Fulton said without boasting. “The matriarch was also from our family—she was my great-aunt, which means of course, that you share her blood.” Fulton paused, his eyes darker than ever. “I hope you will consider it.”

  Samantha started to raise her voice in argument, then remembered they were in a crowded restaurant. “I can’t possibly be clan matriarch,” she said, trying to sound calm. “The idea is insane. I can barely work magic.”

  “Yet you know the activities of every demon club and demon boss in Los Angeles, not to mention everything the vampires do. You defeated an out-of-control Old One alongside a powerful Immortal warrior, and you have friends among the life-magic creatures who can do amazing things. Plus, you don’t take shit from anyone. I remember all the things you did to try to find your mother last year.”

  Fulton finished as the waitress brought enchiladas and empanadas to the table. “Please, consider it,” he said.

  Samantha sat back again, the steam from her enchiladas rising to caress her face. Of all the things she’d speculated her father would say to her tonight, it wasn’t this. She’d thought he’d shake his head in wonder at the matriarch’s declaration, maybe agree that the woman had come unhinged.

  Now Fulton was sitting here calmly eating empanadas and telling Samantha he thought she should become the next matriarch of their demon clan.

  “What does Mom have to say about all this?” Samantha asked.

  Fulton swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Joanne always knew this was a possibility. She doesn’t really understand why it must be, but she’ll support you.”

  “That makes two of us,” Samantha said. “Not understanding, I mean.” She let out a breath and pinned Fulton with a hard stare. “I appreciate you telling me all this, but I can’t possibly become the clan matriarch. That’s all I can say.”

  “Please, think about it.”

  Samantha ran her fork through her black beans sprinkled with cotija cheese. “Something I don’t understand—you said you’d wanted Mom to raise me as human. Why do you all the sudden want me to be queen of the demons?”

  The look in Fulton’s eyes was serious. “Because as matriarch, you will have power, and you’ll be protected by that power. I married your mother because I loved her, but I defied my family and convention to do it. In the old days, a half-blood offspring would have been immediately killed. Even these days, demons have been known to murder half demons and feel justified. But if you are the matriarch, one endorsed by the previous matriarch and backed by one of the most powerful demon families in the country, you will be safe.”

  Samantha looked at Fulton for a long time, until he picked up his fork again and stabbed it around his rice.

  “This is my life,” Samantha said in a soft voice. “All I ever wanted was to be a cop. When I found out I was half demon, I worried I’d never be let on the force, but then I learned I could be in the paranormal division. It’s all I ever wanted to do—it’s who I am. I don’t know anything about the demon clans, and I certainly don’t want to be head demon.” She stopped. “I can’t.”

  Fulton reached over and clasped Samantha’s hand, his touch warm and vibrant. “Please, child, don’t dismiss it so quickly. If another matriarch is chosen, and she takes against you, you might forfeit your life.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Is this a great party, or what?”

  Ed and Mike had driven Tain through the dark desert to end up in a bar inside the Nevada border, too far from Las Vegas to be anything but down scale. The air conditioning was faulty, the interior dark, the door permanently open to the night air.

  Except for the slot machines blinking in one corner, Tain could be in the kind of tavern he’d frequented with Adrian in the old days—the same disreputable characters, barmaids who were either coyly smiling or sullen and un-trusting, and patrons who either wanted to be best friends or start a fight.

  Ed insisted Tain stay and meet “the girls,” who came fr
om a ranch some way up highway 95. Ed said ranch with a little wink.

  The vampire woman was easy to spot. She came in at about ten in a belly-dancing costume, set up a portable CD player, and started swaying and twirling to Middle-Eastern sounding tunes.

  The girls laughed with the regulars, which included Ed and Mike, and sized up Tain with calculating eyes. Two of the young women were demons.

  The vampire finished her dance and came over to where Ed enthusiastically beckoned her. “How you doing, sugar?” Ed asked her, giving her a one-armed hug. “This is our new friend, Tain. Tain, this is Vonda.”

  Vonda slid her sultry gaze from Ed to Tain, then she froze, her lips rolling back from her fangs. “What are you?”

  Ed looked surprised. “He’s a hell of a good mechanic, that’s what he is. We picked him up outside of Barstow.”

  Tain snaked a small bit of his magic out to touch Vonda. She tried to counter with a tendril of death magic then looked terrified as Tain easily brushed it aside.

  “He’s a witch,” Vonda said angrily, stepping away from Ed and folding her arms across her bare belly. “He has to be.”

  Tain let his magic become soothing, healing. “I’ll not harm you.”

  Vonda stared at him, mouth open. Tain made an I want to talk to you gesture with his chin, and moved to the corner near the slot machines. Vonda kept staring, then finally she followed. Ed, oblivious, grinned and gave Tain a thumbs-up.

  Vonda was still wary of Tain, keeping her arms folded as though trying to shut him out, but she conceded to answer his questions. “Sure, the No More Nightmares people come around here sometimes. The guys don’t let on that Amy and Sandy are demons, and the No More Nightmares people don’t seem to care that I’m vampire.”

  “They can’t sense the other two girls are demon?” Tain asked. Amy’s and Sandy’s dark auras were thick around them—no one with a spark of magic could miss it.

  Vonda shrugged. “They don’t seem to. I mean, these No More Nightmares chicks whine about demons being a menace and how they want them all gone, but they can’t even tell when one walks by them.”