Redemption: The Evolution of Grace: A Nephilim Urban Fantasy (Grace Gamble Trilogy Book 1)

by Sabra Kay

  “Thank you for your prompt response. I trust you're well?”

  “No problem. I'm fine, you?” The small talk was awkward as always, but I knew what was coming next.

  He didn't call just to find out how I've been doing. There was always a lecture or a demand. Now that I was back in his lab once a week for his bullshit treatments, the fun was never-ending.

  “It's time to come in for your injection.” He wasted no words.

  “Yeah, I already talked to Dr. Page. I missed last week. I was busy.”

  “Busy? You've been on leave for nearly two months. And there's the matter of the company credit card.”

  My stomach fluttered. I'd forgotten about that. I braced myself for a thorough lecture.

  “Yeah, about that, sorry.”

  I'd mistakenly funded a night's boozing with a CDT credit card, supposed to be for work-related expenses. I couldn't even claim that I was at the bar for work since I wasn't working.

  Busted.

  “Grace, do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be called into the office by a subordinate because my daughter, a member of the CDT Task Force, has used organization funds to pay for a night at the bar? You are on administrative leave and very thin ice. You should be doing everything you can to set things right. But no, you continue your selfish, irresponsible behavior.”

  I tapped my foot while listening to his rant, wishing like hell I'd brought my cigarettes or at least my coffee. I had nothing to say. He was right, but I didn't care. It was a mistake. I'd grabbed the wrong card, whatever.

  “I don't have time to continue this conversation, Grace, but believe me, this isn't over. You'll pay back the money that you owe and make an official apology. If you will not take this job seriously, that's fine. In fact, it's better than fine. You have no business on the force. You can resign and focus on other things, like growing up.”

  “Is this going to turn into another lecture about finding a husband and having babies?” I rolled my eyes. This was the routine. First, a roast about how I sucked at my job, then a smooth segue into how my time could be better spent barefoot and pregnant.

  “No, it's not. You can't even care for yourself, Grace. I'll need to see you in the lab, preferably tomorrow. It's important. Please be sober.”

  I ignored the last part. “About the lab. How much longer are we going to do this? And how is it going to help me? I'm tired of getting stuck, and the last injection made things worse.”

  “Patience. We've talked about this.” He sighed. “I don't have time for further discussion. I'll let Beth know you'll be in soon.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he'd already hung up.

  “Yeah, nice talking to you, too,” I muttered.

  I'd been in and out of my Father's lab since I was a kid. This last round of injections was supposed to help me with the dizziness from my head injury and maybe quell the out-of-control anxiety I was experiencing.

  I stood up and took a deep breath, glancing around the room. My mother’s room was the only room in the house that was beautiful, soft, and welcoming. Everything else was hard, discouraging any impulse to sink in or relax, but this room begged you to slow down, to breathe, to sink in.

  The morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains, illuminating the muted floral prints and the tiny specks of dust that floated lazily through the air before settling on the cherry wood desk.

  I looked again at the photos. Studying them for any information that I'd missed the million other times I'd looked at them. I analyzed her smile, the crinkles of her eyes, the way she held me, the way she looked at my Father in their wedding photo, the shape of her nails, her hair, the way she held her body, anything. I wondered if she'd been happy being my Mother. If she loved my Father.

  If he loved her.

  He didn't seem like he had love for anyone, really. Duty, yes. Love, not so much. Anyone who assumed angels were loving, sweet or kind had never met my Father.

  I caught myself in the mirror and once again compared myself to her. I had her dark, wavy hair and pale skin. Our eyes were the same, too.

  I made my way back down the stairs. My head was spinning. The last several weeks had been a blur. I was just in a funky space. At least, that's what I told myself when I started feeling guilty about it.

  Before returning to my apartment, I paid a visit to the kitchen pantry. There wasn't much in there, just some canned goods, containers filled with ancient pasta, and what I had come there for. I grabbed two bags of seeds and headed into the backyard.

  The sun was out, but the ground was still wet from the rains. Moisture hung heavy in the air, rich with the smell of earth and leaves. I filled the bird and squirrel feeders to the brim. The family of squirrels that called the yard home weren't quite tame, but they knew me and knew it was time for breakfast. I stood still for a few minutes, waiting for them to peek out of their hiding places.

  I tiptoed forward and placed an offering of nuts and seeds on the old tree stump. I walked back the required five steps and waited. Sure enough, she hopped up on the trunk, glancing warily in my direction as she shoveled snacks into her cheeks. She stood on her hind legs after she finished, nodded at me, and scurried back to her family.

  From there, I headed down the brick walkway to the patio, which had once been an elegant outdoor retreat, abundant with stately blossoms, well-manicured topiaries, and flowering vines. Now it was a barren wasteland, the flowers replaced by spindly yellow husks sprouting from cracked and rotting casks of spent earth, and the patio furniture long stripped of its cushions spread haphazardly across the brickwork like rusty skeletons.

  Rainwater filled the cat food dishes. I dumped them and cleaned them out. I checked the wooden cat houses to make sure the bedding was still dry. Satisfied that everyone was cared for, I made my way back to the cave.

  The place was a mess. If my Father saw it, he'd for sure have it condemned and order me back to my room upstairs. No way was that happening. At least in this cramped studio, I didn't feel the emptiness closing in on me so much.

  I flipped through the channels and found myself back on the Rev. Billy Blaine's Church of The Redemption morning wake-up sermon.

  Today he droned on about the "darkness" and how it was everywhere.

  "That's right, folks, everywhere you look, darkness lurks. It's all too easy to slip into the ways of sin and darkness, so you must stay vigilant. Be your brother's keeper, lest they fall into the darkness as well.”

  He was right about one thing. The darkness was everywhere, and he was a prime source of it. America's televangelical sweetheart and his robotic, smiling, dimwitted wife, Marianne. Friend to billionaires, kings, and presidents, with followers in the millions. People came from all over the country to get a live seat to one of his rousing, hate-filled sermons.

  I rolled my eyes and poured myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

  As vile as he was, our kind wasn't about to mess with him. There was no exorcising this clown. He was a fully integrated being, flesh, blood, and demon here on Earth to stay.

  We set our sights lower, working at the community level, keeping the streets clean, as it were. It wasn't enough as far as I was concerned. But then again, it was personal for me. A demon had killed my mother, and I was determined to ship every one of them back to where they came from till the day I joined her, wherever she was.

  Nephilim aren't technically supposed to exist, but since we're here, we do what we can to keep humanity safe from demon scumbags. Despite our service, we live under the constant threat of annihilation from the assholes upstairs. No wonder I couldn't stop drinking.

  Chapter Three

  After a long day of loafing on the couch, chain-smoking, and wallowing in self-pity, I decided to walk to Harry's.

  I got ready quickly, changing into my favorite jeans, a fitted tee, and my mother's old leather jacket. A spritz of perfume and some concealer for my dark circles and voila! I was ready.

  Harry’s was about a fifteen-minute
stroll away, at a leisurely pace, ten minutes if I hustled. The night air felt good on my face and helped clear my muddled head.

  The full moon shone down, illuminating my way through the dark streets. When my inner voice reminded me that I was going to spend less time at the bar and quit drinking, I lied and told myself I was just going there to see Harry. When the voice reminded me that I could see him outside the bar, I told it to shut the hell up.

  I perked up as I approached the bar and the familiar sounds and smells greeted me. Patrons spilled out onto the sidewalk, chattering and shouting and giggling, smoking and gossiping in their makeshift drunken cliques. Of all the places, this was not where a nephilim should feel most at home, yet here I was. Despite the despair, loneliness, and dysfunction, this bar was where I came to feel like I was a part of the living.

  A trio of buzzed young women stood directly ahead, whispering and glancing around before bursting into ear-piercing shrieks of laughter. The tall one with the long jacket had a writhing black mass affixed to the side of her neck and another one wrapped around her torso. Tentacles plunged themselves into her solar plexus.

  I didn't care about the slugs slithering and hovering around the patrons. I had zero problems with being in the thick of them. They didn't love me much, though. My presence repulsed the creatures. Their tentacles would instinctively retract while they made themselves as small as possible.

  Long jacket girl stopped her conversation abruptly as I approached, glaring at me with indignant horror. She looked me up and down and shot me a disdainful sneer. I smirked back and brushed past her, ensuring there was contact.

  It was just a few seconds, but it was torture for the girl and her hitchhikers. I knew it was the parasites attached to her that inspired her feelings of repulsion, hatred, and fear. It was defensive. They didn't want to take any chances of losing their host.

  Something about nephilim had a way of making people want to do better, but for some reason, my effect was one of intense guilt. I asked Harry once if hanging around with me made him feel guilty, but he said he was immune, having withstood champion-level guilt trips from his Mother throughout his childhood.

  I took a seat at the bar and caught Harry's eye. He gave a slight nod on his way to the other end of the bar with drinks in hand for some boisterous douchebags and their vapid dates.

  Harry might be human, but he wasn't what we'd call 'regular folk.' He had the sight, and both witch and mage blood flowed through his veins. He was untrained, though, and wasn't a part of the magic community, nor the nephilim community. This was one of the things I loved about him. He 'got' my world, but he wasn't in my world.

  “What kind of night is it, Grace? Beer or whiskey or both? Also, at least a dozen of my customers left since you walked in. Thanks for that.”

  It was true. This happened every time I came here. Long coat girl and her crew had jetted out, and quite a few others had made their exit. There were still plenty of patrons to keep Harry busy, though, so I didn't feel bad.

  “It's a beer night.”

  He winked and produced my favorite brew. I watched him work the bar for a few minutes, flirting with the ladies and joking good-naturedly with the guys. I didn’t know how he did it. I wouldn't last a night working with the public like that. Anyone working behind a counter deserved a medal.

  I sat at the bar texting my best friend Darah and checking the CDT boards for the latest in demonic possession news and events when suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck pricked, and a chill ran down my spine. I glanced around as casually as I could, taking inventory of the patrons, looking for what had set off my spidey-senses.

  Perfect.

  A rat bastard cambion, right there in Harry's bar. What an ass. Tucked into a corner table with his back against the wall, entertaining two pretty humans who were hanging onto his every word. He leaned back in his chair, peeling the label off his beer, and I noted with interest that we were drinking the same brand.

  He had excellent taste in beers. I could give him that. He looked slightly bored, and I could tell he was putting in minimal effort when it came to securing his entertainment for the night. He was a good-looking guy, as most of them were. Tall, dark, and mysterious.

  He noticed me, too, although he tried to pretend that he didn't. His amber eyes glowed almost imperceptibly, a cute trick seen only by me and Harry, who was looking on fretfully.

  Harry's bar could be considered neutral territory, but Nephilim didn't generally go to places like this. Not that we were above enjoying a drink or a good time. After all, we were part human, but overall, our kind made healthier choices, and dives like Harry's attracted far more darkness than light.

  Nephilim were a proud bunch once, but over the years, the constant pummeling we'd received from Upstairs had rendered us skittish, impotent, and nothing like the badass, demon-hunting, save-the-day angel half-breeds we once were. The self-satisfied smirk he sent my way told me he knew it.

  I swiveled my stool back around. I wasn't about to get into a staring contest here. A few minutes later, he left with his new friends in tow, giggling and stumbling out into the night. I pretended not to notice him glaring at me on the way out.

  I downed five beers over the next three hours and smoked half a pack of cigarettes. I read Chuck's good night text and ignored it, hoping he would assume I was already in bed. I watched the parade of sorry souls come and go and shut down the small talk and tired pick-up lines thrown at me by those who stubbornly stayed until Harry shut down the jukebox and started wiping down the bar. Once the last stumbling asshole left the building, I helped Harry clean up the place, and we finally sat down in our booth.

  “You look stressed, Harry.”

  He was one of the most laid-back guys I knew. He and Chuck both possessed what I considered the magical power of chill. A power I most definitely did not have. Seeing him stressed was jarring.

  “I don't like it. That Cambion. I didn't like him here, I didn't like the way he looked at you, and I didn't like the way you egged him on.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You know what I mean. You were challenging him.”

  “Wait... you don't think he's supposed to scare me, do you?” Heat rose to my face.

  The idea of succumbing to fear of a demon half-breed was offensive. What was Harry thinking? And I had hardly egged him on. I had gone out of my way not to draw his attention.

  “I don't know. I guess it just seems pointless to pick a fight with a well-connected Cambion known for being a ruthless, powerful, dangerous douchebag with no conscience. Why attract his attention?”

  I sighed. “I don't know. How do you know about him? Who is he? Am I supposed to know?”

  He looked incredulous, and I felt slightly stupid for not knowing something I was clearly supposed to know.

  “You know who his Dad is, right? The Rev? Billy Blaine?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Nope, I didn’t know that. Wow, I’d screwed up and missed a golden opportunity to roast The Rev in front of his own kid. Epic failure on my part.

  “If there was someone I'd like to take off the map, it would be him. Now he's dangerous. His kid? Just a wannabe with nothing but time and money on his hands. He's no threat to me.”

  Harry didn't look convinced. “If you say so, Grace. But it's not just him. The parasites around him, the shadows. There were so many. It felt like they were... lingering, not just around him, but around you. I can't put my finger on it, but I felt like he was here for you.”

  “I think you're being dramatic.” The words sounded hollow coming out of my mouth.

  'Shadows' weren't just shadows. They weren't ghosts, demons, or parasites. They were their own entity, dark, and oppressive. I'd been plagued with them since the night of the Cervantes exorcism, which was unprecedented, since most dark energies avoided us like the plague.

  “Wow, really?” He looked hurt.

  “Harry.” I softened my voice. “I know you can see things
I can't see. I know you have powerful vision and intuition. I know that. Shit, I'm the one who's been telling you to stop wasting your talents behind this bar, right? And I've also told you a million times it's not safe for you to be hanging out with the likes of me, yet here we are.”

  Harry shook his head. He knew where I was going with this. “Don't start. You aren't putting me in any danger unless you want to start picking fights with local Cambion, that is. I've been running this bar since Dad died five years ago, never had a problem with non-corps or cambion or anything else.” He cocked his eyebrow and lit himself a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “Besides, you're the one who can't stay away.” He exhaled and grinned.

  “But you had a bad feeling tonight.” Now that the bar was empty, we could smoke. I pulled a cigarette from my pack and leaned forward so he could light it for me. “And that feeling was centered around me.”

  Harry rubbed at the stubble on his cheek and gave me a slow blink. This was a touchy subject for us. I knew... But it was going to keep coming up. No sense in avoiding it.

  “I had a funny feeling because you were intentionally attracting the attention of Gregory Blaine, or whatever his last name is.”

  I shook my head and took a swig of my beer. “No. I didn't do anything. I noticed him, so? Am I supposed to pretend I can't see him? Act like he's not there? He can't hurt me, Harry.”

  “Oh, really?” You don't think so?”

  “Look,” I put out my smoke and slammed down the rest of my beer. “My being here isn't safe for you. Most people like you have to go underground, move out to the middle of nowhere, live alone, or live somewhere like the Grove. I get you've got a ward protecting you, but it's not infallible. If someone or something wants to get at me, they're not necessarily going to get me. You get me?" I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms. The last thing I wanted to do was stay away from Harry, but we both knew it was the smart thing.