Redemption

by Mel Odom

  Darius laughed; he’d been hitting the whiskey pretty hard himself since they’d found it among the cargo. “Ye’re not a sailing man, lad, else ye’d never ask that. A man what lives upon the sea, he knows more of her mysteries and of them what bides time upon her than any landlubber ever could.” He nodded. “That’s Handsome Jack, all right. I’d wager me right arm on it.”

  Driven before the wind, Fancy closed rapidly on the other ship.

  “They’re a-having to tack into the same wind what’s pushing us. Even if they was to try to run from us now, ol’ Fancy’s quick enough to catch them.” Darius bellowed orders to his crew, commanding them to change some of the sails. “And tighten them up snug, you no-good layabouts. I won’t have them sails luffing.”

  Angelus’s stomach tightened in anticipation. Staring across the storm-tossed seas, narrowing his eyes against the strobing lightning flashes, he saw the bobbing lanterns aboard the other ship. He wore his demon’s face proudly, knowing it would strike terror in the hearts of those he was about to meet.

  A few minutes later the vampire in the rigging called down, “They’ve seen us, Cap’n.”

  Concerned, Angelus watched as Handsome Jack suddenly came about, reversing direction. The other ship’s sails filled almost instantly, pale white quarter moons ballooning against the black night.

  “They’re making for the coastline,” the vampire lookout called down.

  Angelus turned to Darius. “Will they get away?”

  Darius grinned. “Let ’em run, lad. I always enjoy the chase. And no, they ain’t a-going to get away. I’ll promise ye that. Taking a ship at sea is a mite trickier than what we did to get ol’ Fancy here, but me and these men have taken a few ships in our time. This one will be no different, I’ll warrant.”

  Standing at the stern railing, Angelus watched as Fancy closed the distance on Handsome Jack.

  They were less than a hundred yards out when Handsome Jack’s crew fired a cannon shot across Fancy’s bow. The sudden bloom of orange fire exploding from the smaller ship’s deck marked the cannon’s position.

  Angelus heard the heavy hiss of the cannonball pass by only a few feet over his head to splay in the bay, followed immediately by the sound of detonation. Sound traveled more quickly over water than it did over land, but it didn’t travel as quickly as the flash of light.

  “Either they got a good marksman aboard,” Darius said, “or that was a lucky shot.” He raised his voice, never flinching from his chosen course. “Run out them guns, you scoundrels.”

  Amidships became a flurry of activity as Darius’s crew pulled the heavy, protective tarp from Fancy’s four sixteen-pound cannon. They rolled them over to the starboard side on the heavy iron-cast wheels. Care was taken with the gunpowder barrel the vampires used to charge the cannon. They rammed sixteen-pound cannonballs down the enormous throats.

  “Are ye prepared to fire?” Darius demanded.

  “Aye, sir!” a chorus of yells replied.

  “On my signal then, you terrible excuses for true fighting men.”

  Running full out now, Fancy crested the waves often instead of her prow slicing through them. When her forward momentum was spent, the ship slammed back down against the water with jarring force.

  Angelus turned to Darius. “Isn’t all this battering hard on the ship?”

  The old ship’s captain laughed. “Ah, lad, ye are a pip. This old girl can take all these seas have to give her and more. Grab ahold of that cutlass and wave it about like ye be a proper pirate.”

  Angelus slid the cutlass free and peered across the dark water, seeing the haggard and nervous faces of the men crowding Handsome Jack’s deck. A few of them tied lanterns up in the rigging, throwing more light over the sea. Farther ahead of them, the dark coast of western Ireland could be seen.

  Waves slapped against both ships as they sped across the water, and the sound was caught between them, echoing and intermingling with the shouts of the men on both vessels. Another cannon aboard Handsome Jack fired, spitting orange and yellow flames. The whumph! of the cannon going off sounded a heartbeat later.

  This time the cannonball slammed into Fancy and sent a palsied shiver through her that echoed through the deck under Angelus’s feet. Anxiously he peered down at the ship’s side, trying to find the spot where they’d been hit.

  “They didn’t hole us, lad!” Darius cried out. “When that happens, the crack of timbers shattering rings out instead of that great bloody boom ye just heard.”

  Angelus glanced at Darla, but her smooth countenance gave away nothing. He looked back at Handsome Jack, now less than sixty yards away. Two crews worked at the cannon, dumping powder and balls into them. But another group of men surged onto the deck with muskets. They shouldered their weapons and fired, covering that part of the deck for a moment in thick, roiling black smoke.

  Shot rattled against Fancy like hail. One of the hostages went down screaming in pain. A hole appeared in the canvas near Angelus’s head.

  “Steady on, lads,” Darius commanded. “Keep yer powder dry.” Fancy closed the distance to forty yards and fell in beside Handsome Jack. “Leave off sail, ye great muttonheads! Match our speeds!”

  Darius’s crew brought some of the canvas sheets down, and Angelus immediately felt the change in Fancy as she slowed. They came alongside the other vessel easily.

  “Gunners!” Darius bellowed. “Mark ye well yer targets! I want them two masts shivered!”

  Peering across the distance, Angelus saw two men dressed in finery. Evidently they were part of the king’s men, as Darius had promised.

  “Be careful when you board,” Darla quietly warned beside him. She touched his face again, softly.

  Angelus glanced at her, knowing she was aware that he made his own decisions. “Why?”

  “I have a feeling that there is more to this ship than even Darius knows.” Worry shone in her eyes.

  Angelus grinned and shook his head. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. There’s not a man living who can harm me.”

  “Gunners,” Darius bellowed, “fire!”

  The sudden thunder from the cannon ripped across Fancy, drowning out even the ragged screams of the wounded hostage. Even as he reeled under the auditory assault, Angelus watched as Handsome Jack’s rear mast suddenly shattered a few feet above the deck and twisted violently in the rigging.

  The sails furled uselessly, whipping about in the wind without capturing it. Another cannonball scattered the men on deck, hammering some of them flat and knocking two of them over the back railing.

  The carnage fired the dark hunger that ruled Angelus’s thoughts. He gripped the cutlass more fiercely. “When do we take the ship?” he asked Darius impatiently.

  “Now!” the old captain replied. “Ready yer grappling lines, boys, we’re a-gonna bring this here fish in!”

  Fancy pulled to within thirty feet of Handsome Jack when the first casts were made. The grappling hooks spanned the distance easily, bit into the ship’s railing, then the vampire crew hauled with all their savage strength, pulling the two ships together and tying off the lines.

  Handsome Jack’s crew grabbed hand axes and tried to slash the grappling lines, but the vampires swarmed across the distance, making the jump easily, and battered the human sailors back.

  Unable to restrain his own blood fever any longer, Angelus hurled himself across to the other ship. He landed on the deck, confronted immediately by a burly pirate who swung a hand ax at his head. Angelus dodged back, a cruel smile on his lips.

  Angelus reached for the sailor’s arm and twisted it. Bone snapped sharply, and the man screamed in pain. In the next instant Angelus slashed his throat with his nails. The vampire drank the rich, warm blood as he watched Darius’s crew rip through the humans.

  Darla landed only a few feet away, her face marked by the hunger that rode her. She snarled at the sailor before her. The human swung his ax at her head, but she reached up, blocked the swing, then ripped out his throat w
ith her other hand.

  “Grab the wheel afore we break up on them rocks!” Darius stood upon Handsome Jack’s deck now, battling ferociously with one of the well-dressed men who had an honest gift for swordplay. “If this ship goes down while we’re tied up, it’s liable to drag Fancy down as well.”

  Dropping the corpse he held, Angelus peered ahead of Handsome Jack and spotted the jagged rock fangs above the waves less than a hundred yards distant. The ship was headed straight for them.

  Angelus ran toward the ship’s stern as the rain continued to pound down from the dark heavens. Two others of Darius’s crew ran with him. He raced up the steps, dodging the hanging tangle of ship’s rigging and collapsed sails. Then he was at the great wheel.

  A long sliver of wood from the ship’s deck or the broken mast jutted out of the helmsman’s chest. The dead man’s glassy eyes stared into the dark sky, mirroring the lightning crackle that flashed above.

  Angelus yanked the corpse away and grabbed the wheel. He couldn’t see through the fallen sails to where the broken rocks speared up from the waves, but he thought he remembered. He pulled hard to the left.

  Handsome Jack smacked up hard against Fancy, nearly knocking Angelus from his feet. He hung on stubbornly but couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of the situation. They’d come there to catch Handsome Jack; now it looked as if the other ship had caught them.

  “Let me at that wheel, lad,” a vampire pirate ordered gruffly as he waved the fallen sail away. “We —” A look of surprise suddenly filled his scarred face. He glanced down at the wooden sliver that jutted through the center of his chest, piercing his dead heart. In the next instant his flesh disintegrated, leaving only his skeleton behind. Even before the rack of bones could fall, they exploded into dust as well. The roaring wind whipped the dust away.

  A figure stepped through the shadows created by the flailing sails. She was decidedly feminine, her curves showing through the black breeches and bell-sleeved white blouse she wore. There was no fear on her face as she lifted the metal-sheathed wooden rapier she carried into the en garde position.

  She was beautiful, Angelus realized, and he felt drawn to her even as he wanted to slap the confident smile from her face. She had her red-gold hair pulled back, letting it run down her shoulders.

  “Come on, you godless creature,” the young woman challenged as she set herself on the pitching deck. She pulled one arm behind her in a fencing stance. “Let’s see if I can find that narrow spot where your soul once resided!”

  Without warning, she came at him, the wooden sword leaping for Angelus’s heart with unerring precision.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Angel?”

  Angel stirred restlessly from the hypnotic pull of the memory, noticing Cordelia was staring at him as if expecting an answer. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “Obviously nothing you were interested in.” Cordelia gave him her miffed look and returned her attention to the Variety paper.

  “I’m interested,” Angel said. “It’s just that Whitney Tyler reminded me of someone I met . . . a long time ago.”

  “Anyone we know?” Cordelia asked.

  Angel hesitated. “No. This was a long time ago.”

  “As in, before the invention of the automobile?”

  “Yes.”

  Cordelia shrugged. “Ancient history.”

  Angel felt uncomfortable. Memory of the young woman aboard Handsome Jack was one of many he no longer wanted to remember. That young woman and hundreds like her were reasons he was in L.A. now. “Right. Nothing interesting.”

  Cordelia gave him a high-wattage grin and her full attention again. “Oh, and do I sense dish in the offing? An old, unrequited love? A secret tryst?” She made a sour face. “Or someone you put the bite on back before you got reunited with your soul and now regret?”

  Angel blinked. Even after all these years Cordelia’s lack of social graces could surprise him at times. She prided herself on telling it like it was, even if she sometimes missed the big picture.

  “Just be warned,” Cordelia went on, “if this is one of the maudlin, self-recriminating, poor-me-I-used-to-be-such-an-evil-vampire moments, I’m really not interested.”

  Still, there was something vaguely secure about Cordelia’s lack of tact. It seemed eternal, something that could always be counted on.

  “That whole act,” Cordelia said, “is just too entirely much like the maudlin, self-recriminating, poor-me-I-never-wanted-to-be-the-Slayer mantras I used to have to put up with from Buffy. I mean, you were what you were, and you are what you are, and you’ll be what you’ll be.”

  Doyle shook his head. “My, and aren’t you Martha Stewart and Dr. Spock all wrapped into one tonight.”

  “Life is what you make it,” Cordelia stated. She glanced at Angel. “Even unlife.”

  Angel returned his attention to the television screen. Whitney Tyler, as Honor Blaze, was back in action. The resemblance between her and the young woman on Handsome Jack was nothing short of uncanny. He watched her, mesmerized.

  “Well?” Cordelia said.

  Angel glanced at her. “Well what?”

  “What kind of moment were you having? You can’t just leave us hanging like that.”

  Angel nodded. “It was one of those maudlin, self-recriminating, poor-me-I-used-to-be-such-an-evil-vampire moments.”

  “Not interested.” Cordelia glanced through the trade paper some more.

  Doyle excused himself, went to the bar, and returned with two fresh bottles of beer. He handed one to Angel.

  Angel glanced at the label. “Switching from the imported stuff?”

  Doyle shrugged and gestured to a small TV behind the bar. “The Kings just got drilled in the third period, and the Laker Girls are looking better than the Lakers in the fourth quarter.” He uncapped the bottle. “I’m just hoping that permanent press is the only absolute over at the Chinese laundry, you know?” He lifted the bottle in a silent toast. “To your health.”

  “And a change in fortune.” Angel put his beer on the table, not really intending to touch it again.

  Doyle watched the large-screen television. “This show is not such a bad idea. Maybe you should consider talking to someone in the industry yourself. Sell them your story. Bad vampire regains soul, finds love, loses girl, sets out to redeem himself from all the evil he’s done by taking on evil. I’m guessing at the very least we’re talking about a Movie of the Week deal here.”

  Cordelia folded the paper, excitement glowing in her dark eyes. “You need to let me handle this.”

  Doyle gave her a sidelong glance. “You? I’m the one who thought of it.”

  “Yes, but I’m the one with the Hollywood connections.” Cordelia leaned into the table, as if afraid someone around them might overhear. “You know, this could really work. Look at how popular Anne Rice and all her vampire novels are. Not to mention all the money involved. Of course, we’d have to lose the whole detective shtick.”

  “We would?” Angel asked, trying to fathom where Cordelia might be heading.

  “Sure. That’s so unglamorous. We need something . . . cooler.”

  Doyle nodded, showing excitement of his own. “Right. A vampire sports agent, now there’s a winner. Going into negotiations, fangs bared, waiting for first blood. Show me the money — or I’ll show you your spleen.” He wilted beneath the glares Angel and Cordelia gave him. “It was just a thought.”

  “We need something cool,” Cordelia said. “A vampire rock star? Top of the charts? Big production numbers? What do you think?”

  Angel tried to think of anything to say that Cordelia wouldn’t interpret as too negative. She could be overly protective of her ideas. “What would a vampire rock star do?”

  “I don’t know,” Cordelia admitted. “I haven’t gotten that far with the concept yet. But we could probably get a killer soundtrack deal from it, too. Have really cool weekly guest stars.” She looked at Angel. “Can you sing?”


  “No,” Angel said quickly, trying not to think about Cordelia’s concept too deeply.

  “A vampire rock star’s too passé,” Doyle commented. “The detective thing could work. It would just have to be handled a bit differently. Upscaled. Sort of a Charlie’s Angels meets Salem’s Lot take.”

  Cordelia’s brow furrowed. “The vampire kind of behind the scenes?”

  Doyle nodded. “Letting his beautiful associates handle the cases.”

  “Beautiful associates?” Cordelia mused. “Maybe we could have just one. Who’s really good at her job. Very sexy. Very cute.”

  “And a charming, debonair male associate,” Doyle agreed. “Just to kind of keep things balanced. Keep both sides of the demographics happy, you know.”

  “You?”

  Doyle looked insecure. “There’s something wrong with me?”

  “You don’t even know all the romance languages.”

  Doyle sighed. “Russian is not a romance language.”

  Three young men entered the bar from the street outside. They moved easily, with an innate grace that Angel noticed at once. The fluid movement was only one of the indications the three vampires weren’t new to unlife.

  While Doyle and Cordelia continued to plot, Angel watched the three vampires as they quietly took a table in the corner. They watched the bar’s clientele with predators’ hooded, hungry eyes.

  A few minutes passed, and a young couple got up from a booth and headed for the door at the back of the bar. The three vampires got up together without exchanging a word. They flowed through the bar in pursuit of their prey.

  “Hey, Wally,” Doyle called out during a commercial break in Dark Midnight. “Maybe you can settle a small bet.”

  “The Kings tanked the game,” the bartender replied. “Yuan called over, said he thought you might be here. He wants you to pay up.”

  Doyle waved it away. “The Lakers are still playing. I’ve got a good feeling. Anyway, do you know if Russian is one of the five romance languages?”