by Sabra Kay
Redemption: The Evolution of Grace
Book One of the Grace Gamble Trilogy
Sabra Kay
Copyright © 2021 Sabra Kay
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Skippy Designs
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
The last three exorcisms I helped perform put new meaning to the phrase 'week from hell.' Between the weird and visually unappealing orgy I had to walk into, the high-stakes hostage situation that nearly got us blown up and the high-profile politician in the middle of campaigning for re-election while dealing with second-stage possession, I was oh so ready for the drink I was about to enjoy.
I found an empty stool and waved at Harry. He saw me and winked. Just a minute, he mouthed.
An involuntary smile spread across my face and I felt a little flushed. He had that effect on me. I wasn't the only one. Harry's baby blue eyes, dimples, and subtle charms, earned him sweet tips and lots of phone numbers.
My favorite Nirvana song blasted from the jukebox and I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of music and laughter and the smell of booze and pheromones wash over me. The crowd was young and energetic on this Friday night, and despite the darkness and grim shadow energy trying to muscle its way into the place, the light prevailed.
Mostly.
“Hiya Grace.” Harry slid me my favorite beer, Northcoast Scrimshaw, and squeezed my hand before moving on to a group of college kids who were excited about 'getting their drink on.'
“Thanks. I need this.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea. I’ve seen so many naked people this week.” I groaned and covered my eyes, still trying to purge my brain of the images. “Why do the possessed always want to take off their clothes? Why?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Come back and see me after you dole out those shots.”
He nodded and moved on.
There seemed to be three kinds of demon possession: Power-grabs, sabotage, and free-for-all. I’d experienced all three in the last week. Demons liked to possess people with power, people with something to lose, and then sometimes they just wanted to get in a human body and get naked. Any human body. Ugh.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, but I ignored it. Nothing was getting in between me and a relaxing evening. I was six weeks into my position at the CDT, and things were going pretty well. It wasn’t quite the intrigue and adventure I'd envisioned, but I couldn't complain. The pay was good, and it was uniquely satisfying to be a part of a team dedicated to extracting demon scum from their human hosts and sending their asses back where they came from.
A dark-haired young woman in ripped jeans and a faux fur black jacket clambered on to the barstool next to me and hiccupped loudly before sticking out her hand and introducing herself. “Mah name is Andrea. S'nice to make your acquaintance.” She exhaled as she leaned into me, reeking of booze and poor choices.
I backed up reflexively and waved my hand in front of my face.
“Hi. I'm Grace. You're drunk, and I swear to god if you puke on my jacket or jeans, or anywhere near me, I'll crack you over the head with my beer bottle. Just sayin'.” I turned my attention back to Harry to see him shaking his head at me in disapproval.
What? I mouthed.
“Winning friends and influencing people, eh Grace?” He smiled and leaned over the bar, planting a smooch on me. He gave a sideways glance to my new buddy Andrea and shrugged. In the three minutes since she'd arrived, the vultures were already circling. I sighed and wondered if they'd be so keen to offer free drinks and a ride if they saw what I saw.
A mottled, black and brown, bulbous, pulsating mass had attached itself to the side of her head. Its snout rested just above her ear, with its lower half tucked under her chin. Spindly, segmented legs ending in serrated hooks plunged into her eyes, nose, and mouth. Another mass, this one resembling a scaly garden slug with tentacles, clung to her torso, winding its extremities around her throat and chest. She didn't know this. They never did.
I shook my head. Things had gone downhill fast since the demons had unleashed their creepy parasites into the world. For me, it was job security. For the unsuspecting humans, it was just more bad luck.
Harry pretended not to notice. I glanced at her again, and she looked back at me, squirming under my gaze.
“So, Andrea, do you come here often?”
Her jet-black hair was cut into a sleek A-line, and I envied her winged liner skills. She stared and mumbled something about meeting a friend.
I took way too much pleasure in making humans uncomfortable. It was a gift of sorts, but it rarely did me any good. I decided it was best to ignore her and focused instead on Harry, watching him work the crowd gathered at the bar. He slid me another beer and went back to it.
A suave character in a fitted silk shirt and meticulously trimmed beard sidled over to Andrea, motioning at the empty seat next to her. She looked at him, then looked at me. I raised my eyebrows and said nothing. After an uncomfortable silence, she grabbed her bag, slid off the stool and headed for the door, taking one last troubled look at me before stepping out into the night.
“Nice one, Grace.” Harry chuckled and wiped down the bar.
Silky shirt and beard guy glanced at the door, then at the booze along the wall, unsure whether he should follow his intended prey or have another drink and wait for the next one. He made a run for the john instead.
I sipped my beer and swung my stool around, surveying the landscape. Harry's was your standard, dimly lit dive. The bar ran the length of the room. There was a short row of red vinyl booths for cozy conversation and a handful of tables. A jukebox stood in the corner, blasting the best in 90s alternative rock most nights, and bathrooms were at the back. Nothing remarkable, just a good old-fashioned bar made for drinking away your troubles while meeting your soon to be ex, or your next one-night-stand.
My phone buzzed insistently, and I picked it up, prepared to deliver a scathing response to whoever was trying to screw with my Friday night.
“Uh-oh.” I said.
“What's up, Grace? Who you got?” Harry leaned over the counter, waiting as I read the text. My heart sank and my belly did a flip-flop. It was a string of messages from Chuck.
“Hey, we got a job. Be ready pronto.”
/>
“I'll be at your place in ten minutes,”
“Meet me outside.”
That had been a half-hour ago.
“Shit.” I stared at my empty beer bottle, then back at my phone.
“Grace, where the hell are you? I knocked on your door.”
Then, a few minutes later, “I'm giving you five more minutes, and I'm heading to the job without you.”
There was nothing to do but text back. My fingers trembled as I typed.
“Hey, where are you? I'll meet you at the Church… Sorry.”
I glanced up at Harry's questioning expression. “I gotta go.”
“Hey, yeah. I get it. Those demons aren't gonna exorcise themselves, right?”
“Right.”
He planted a kiss on me and offered me an Altoid. Then another one. Great, I smell like beer and cigarettes. So professional.
I gave Harry a fist bump and another kiss.
“I’ll call you in the morning, I promise.”
He gave me a thumbs up. I could see he was bummed, but fortunately, he understood the crazy schedule of a professional exorcist.
The Church was a few blocks up from the bar, and it wouldn't take long to get there if I hustled. I zipped up my jacket and pulled up my hood, my cheeks already stinging from the cold.
I'd only been on the job a few weeks, and while it was an on-call position, this was the first time they had called me for an unscheduled case. I kicked myself in the ass the entire way there, hoping like hell the buzz would wear off before I arrived at the site. I silenced the voice in my head that reminded me I had sworn to stop drinking when I started this job. Just like I was going to stop back in college, right before I got kicked out.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Chuck's car in the side parking lot of the Church.
He rolled down the window as I approached and waved me in. “Sheesus kid. What the hell? Where you been?”
There was no sense in lying. “At Harry's.”
“What? Were you drinking?”
I ignored his question, slid into the passenger seat, and put my seatbelt on.
“You were. I can smell it. Altoids and beer, lovely combo. Shit, Grace. What were you thinking?” He shook his head and we squealed out of the parking lot. “We're supposed to be in Oakland an hour ago. Ayana and Mina are gonna have our heads.”
“What's the job?”
Chuck sighed. “I read the file while I waited for your ass. Daniel Cervantes. Middle-aged family man, business owner. Late first stage possession. Back story is his wife and kid got killed by a drunk driver right before Thanksgiving. He slid into a depression, binge drinking, real pissed at his god. Perfect recipe. We think it was a targeted possession. There have been a lot of those lately.”
“Targeted for what? Who is he?”
“Just an average Joe, really. Not a politician or anyone high-profile.”
“Okay, so what makes you think he was a target and not just a random?” I felt my head clearing, much to my relief.
“Well, you can find hosts ripe for the taking just about anywhere, but sometimes people are targeted, worked on because they have something. Money, power, a situation. Doesn't always have to be fancy, just something they want. In this case, he's a business owner, big warehouse, nice big home in the hills, money in the bank. Report says there are other possessed hanging around him, Cambions, too. They'll take over, plow through his resources, maybe form a den. Possessions have rocketed in the last few months.”
I nodded. Chuck eyed me as he sped down the I80, headed toward the Bay Bridge. The rains had stopped, but the roads were still slick from the earlier downpour. There was no fog, though, and the lights of San Francisco shone bright against the night sky.
“You good, kid? How much did you drink?”
“A couple beers.”
“In my day 'a couple beers' was always more than a couple beers.”
“That's what I had. A couple beers.” I didn't appreciate being questioned. If I said a couple beers, that should be the end of it. Chuck was a recovering alcoholic, and as far as he was concerned, we were all one drink away from a blackout fueled killing spree. No use arguing with him about it, either. He would just use your argument to prove his point.
I changed the subject. “Why do you think there is so much more activity? So many more possessions?”
“It's not unusual to see spikes. There is an ebb and a flow. The parasites don't help, either.”
He rubbed his chin and cursed softly. “I forgot my damn coffee. Shit.”
“Yikes. That's a first.”
“Yup.” Oh well, at least we got the tunes. You know what time it is, kid.”
I cringed. I knew exactly what time it was. Chuck fiddled with the CD player and cued up the song. For the next several minutes, I would be subjected to eighties big hair rock at top volume, with Chuck belting out the lyrics off-time and off-key. I knew the lyrics to Motley Crue's 'Shout at the Devil' by heart, along with a growing list of other Gen X golden oldies.
Chuck slapped the wheel in time with the music, banging his head as we made it on to the I580 on our way to Oakland. My buzz had worn off, thank god, and now I just wanted coffee and a smoke.
I felt nervous and excited, like I always did before a job. Demon hunting had been my dream since I had first learned it was a thing. ‘Demon hunter’ wasn't the actual job title, but it sounded cool... Better and easier than calling myself an 'exorcism task force associate.' Right now, I was just a rookie, an apprentice. Chuck performed the exorcisms. The Witches kicked the demons back to their world. I stood around and helped where I could.
He continued at top volume, singing something about a lonely wolf and a razor to the skull.
Chuck's singing was a razor to my skull. I loved him, but damn. Motley Crue not my cup of tea, but it got the blood pumping, and I tapped my foot in time with the music despite myself.
We sped into the darkness, music blaring, ready for whatever the night had in store for us.
***
We turned into the industrial complex, a maze of corrugated steel and brick warehouses and a few corporate buildings. The roads were dark, save for the occasional motion detector light triggered by our presence. I rolled down the window to get a better look at the building numbers. The night air was damp and still. Chuck had finally turned the radio down and was mumbling under his breath as we turned down the next street.
“There! I see Ayana's car,” I said.
Ayana and Mina were still sitting in her hatchback, waiting for us. My nerves kicked in, my stomach lurched, and for a second, I thought my beer might make a reappearance.
It was my fault we were late.
Chuck looked at me for a moment, hand on the door handle.
“Well?” He looked at me.
“Yeah?”
He sighed, the way a weary parent would sigh. The kind of sigh that comes after you've explained something a million times, but dammit, you'll do it again if you have to.
“You got your piece on you? Anything? A dagger? Ninja throwing stars? Brass knuckles? Grenades? Anything?”
“I have chewing gum and a paper clip, Chuck. So yeah, we're covered.” I rolled my eyes. He knew the answer to the question.
“Pop the glove box. There's a loaded .380 in there. Ready to go, so be careful, dammit. You got protection? Boosters?”
I shook my head. Aside from the ability to exorcise invasive demons, Nephilim didn't have much in the way of powers, not anymore, anyway. We were stronger than average, harder to kill maybe, with a few Jedi mind tricks, that was about it. We relied on a little help from Mage magic and cold, hard steel. And here I was, showing up empty-handed.
“Is this going to happen again, Grace?”
I swallowed and shook my head.
“Good deal, kid. I'm not trying to ride your ass here, but this is serious business. You know that, right?”
“Sorry Chuck, this last week has been... challenging. I guess I'm kind of a mess ri
ght now.”
“It's a messy world. All you gotta do is keep your own side of the street clean. If you can't do that, you're no good to us.”
Ayana and Mina got out of the car and made their way toward us. I'd worked with Ayana on the last few jobs, Mina only once. Ayana was married to my boss, Miles, which didn't help my nerves one bit.
“We've been sitting here for over an hour. I don't care why, so don't bother explaining. Let's coordinate our entry and get this done.” Ayana didn't mince words. She had a great working relationship with Chuck but wasn't a big fan of yours truly, and I had no idea why.
“Okay, let's move then. Cervantes inside?” Chuck took a moment to make sure he had everything, and what he had was an arsenal.
“Yeah, we spotted him entering the building two hours ago. As far as we can tell, he's still in there, but he's not alone.” Ayana zipped up her jacket and shouldered her bag.
Mina put her hair up in a high ponytail that made her look about thirteen. She was new to the game, studying under Ayana. Born witches had the power to open and close the gates to the Otherworlds, and Nephilim had the power to cast a demon out of its human host. We worked together to combat the rising tide of demon possession plaguing our city streets. It was hard work, and some days it felt like a losing battle.
Ayana turned to me. “You okay, Grace? Nervous?”
“A little.”
“That's fine, as long as it doesn't freeze you up. You won't freeze up, right?”
I shook my head. She held my gaze until I looked away.
“You don't have any protection on you?” She looked me up and down and turned away, obviously irritated. “And you smell like booze.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Why didn't I go to the shop earlier? Why didn't I at least bring a protection charm? What if Cambion show up?
“Is this the place?” I asked.
“No, it's just up a little way. I didn't want to alert them we were showing up. We need to do this nice and easy. Mr. Cervantes is a good man. We want this to go smooth, get him back, and get rid of the problem.”
“Sounds good.” Chuck grinned and cracked his knuckles.
