by Helena Maeve
“Two houses down,” blurted one of the women. She seemed to be the youngest, with hair the color of sunburned grass and doe eyes that she quickly lowered when her response attracted glowers from the others.
Asher raised two fingers to the brim of an imaginary hat. “Much obliged.”
“Ain’t you gonna eat something first?” asked another woman. Her voice was gravelly with age but her face was still youthful. Asher might have mistaken the gray in her hair for blonde if not for the sharp contrast with her thick, black eyebrows. She pulled one of the chairs at the table. “Sit down, Mister…?”
“Franklin. Asher Franklin.”
“Mr. Franklin.” The woman nodded, as though committing his name to memory. “Sibyl, fetch us another chair.”
The girl who’d given away Ivan’s whereabouts scrambled to obey.
“I’m Darlene,” said the graying woman. “These are my sisters.”
She introduced each one in part, but Asher no sooner registered their names than they slipped his mind again. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the sausages browning on the stove.
His distraction didn’t go unnoticed. Darlene ordered that breakfast be fixed for him and her orders were obeyed without argument by the other women. They all seemed to be human, which made whatever hierarchy existed between them far too obscure for Asher to parse. As far as he could see above the stiff collars of their plain, homespun dresses, none sported any garish bites. None carried themselves with the arrogance of men and women who knew they had a vampire’s favor, either.
Asher remembered this rigid sense of decorum from his few past trips through Redemption. It hadn’t struck him as odd back then.
To his surprise, all four women looked to Darlene once they’d sat around the table and joined their hands in prayer. She bowed her head and so did they.
Some townspeople still clung to the old ways in Sargasso, but in Uncle Howard’s home, family meals were as rare as to be anomalies. Asher couldn’t recall the last time they’d squandered precious time saying grace.
“Amen,” Darlene intoned gravely and, as if guessing his wayward thoughts, trained her gaze squarely onto Asher. “What do you want with Ivan?”
Don’t see how that’s any of your business. With some effort, Asher swallowed back the retort. “One of my friends enjoyed his hospitality last night.”
“You have women friends?” Sibyl asked. Surprise widened her pretty brown eyes.
“I do,” Asher confirmed over the sound of cutlery scraping plates. “We grew up together.” But lest they think he was concerned with Connie’s well-being out of some other sentiment than brotherly affection, he made sure to mention Wesley and Uncle Howard too.
“If Husband gave your uncle to Miss Lucretia, he must be quite young and handsome still,” Darlene ventured over the rim of her coffee cup. “She’s none too fond of the old ones.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” muttered another of the women.
Darlene whipped her head around at the bold speaker and made a hissing sound, her gaze hardened in admonition.
Asher could’ve sworn he saw the plain brunette shrink lower in her seat. “Moreau didn’t give my uncle to anyone. He was merely concerned about us spending the night all crammed in one hotel room… That’s all.” As if saying it made it true. As if injecting confidence into his voice had anything to do with persuading everyone else.
He cut into his sausage with a little more fervor than was needed, all too aware that he was being watched. Halloran hadn’t shied from calling him a fool last night. What would he have said if he’d known the full extent of Asher’s circumstances?
Trying not to squirm under the intensity of their focus, Asher tried for a change of topic. “Um…where is Moreau this morning?” He hadn’t been in bed when Asher woke up, though the blood on the sheets was proof enough that Asher hadn’t dreamed him up too.
“No doubt conferring with his lieutenants,” Darlene replied. “Redemption must be defended day and night, particularly of late.”
Her eyes didn’t linger on him for long, though whether it was because she didn’t think him important enough to have played a part in her town’s recent misfortunes or because she didn’t know more, Asher couldn’t say. Ambrose’s campaign of harassing his neighbors hadn’t yet drawn to a close. The Red Horn Riders were still ravaging the valley on his behalf.
“You mean to stay in Redemption, then?” Darlene went on.
His mouth full, Asher nodded. At least the food was decent and plentiful. No one batted an eye when he stared yearningly at the skillet, silently begging for a second helping.
His plate was refilled, his coffee topped up.
In spite of where he was and what he’d left behind, he had begun to feel a little better by the time breakfast drew to a close. “Are you sure I can’t help you with the dishes?” he asked, idling at the table with the dregs of his coffee.
Most of the women had departed to see to their duties elsewhere in the house. Only Sibyl remained by the washbasin, left alone to wrestle with a mountain of dirty plates and a skillet that had seen better days.
She glanced over her shoulder. “No, Mr. Franklin. I’m quite all right.”
“Asher.”
“What?”
“Call me Asher. I’m hardly any older than you are.” Curiosity gnawed at him, but he held back a question as to Sibyl’s age. It wouldn’t be proper.
“Asher,” she repeated, two spots of color blooming on her cheeks. “Never known any Ashers before. A few Ashleys. Alecs, Alexanders… And there was old Abraham, of course, though he didn’t stay long.”
“Didn’t much care for Redemption?”
Sibyl shook her head. “Oh, no. Good Lord called him back to Heaven.”
Shit. Asher bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
Death was no rarity in Sargasso. Between vampires and disease, life in the Arizona wilds had always packed a killer punch.
“Nothing painful about it,” Sibyl said. Plates clicked, one atop the other, as she laid them out to be dried. “Husband says to be human is to be of use. When Abraham got too tired to work, he wasn’t a bein’ like you and me no more.”
“That’s a little harsh…”
“Is it?” Sibyl wondered, her tone light. “I don’t think so. You’d not keep feeding a horse once it’s been crippled, would you? Husband says it’s the same with people.”
“You don’t mean Moreau…killed him?” Asher couldn’t account for the pinch of horror in his chest. He’d never met this Abraham, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know vampires could be vicious monsters.
In Sargasso, bodies turned up all the time when the mayor’s brood went too far with their pets.
Sibyl twisted to face him, a furrow between her brows. “Killing’s against God’s law.”
“Of course.” Asher let out a sigh of relief. “Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest…” That Moreau is a demented brute. His frame of reference was simply a little bit skewed.
“Husband made him useful again, is all,” Sibyl went on in that light, airy voice of hers, wringing out the wet dish cloth. “Filled our bellies for a fortnight. We still have some of the offal in salt in the pantry.”
Asher’s jaw slackened.
The front room echoed with familiar voices before he could ask Sibyl to repeat herself.
He must have misunderstood.
She hadn’t just said—she couldn’t have implied…
She did.
“Mr. Franklin?” Darlene’s call cleaved through the nausea threatening to engulf him. “I believe your friends are here to see you.”
Asher shook himself. “I should, uh…”
“Do you want some coffee?” Sibyl asked, as cheerful as if they’d been discussing a boy she liked rather than one she’d consumed.
“No. Thank you.” Asher stumbled out of the kitchen as though paddling through quicksand. What the hell kind of a place was Redempti
on?
He barely recognized Connie until she’d spun to face him.
“Oh, thank God you’re all right!” Her hair had been done up into a complicated, braided ’do. The simple cotton dress she’d fled in was gone, replaced by a luxurious burgundy two-piece suit accented with black trim.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Darlene asked. She stood beside the still-open front door with narrowed eyes and a curl of matronly displeasure on her thin lips.
The reproof audible in her voice stopped Connie just short of putting her arms around Asher. But Connie was no shrinking violet. She turned to Darlene with a haughty expression, her chin tipped up in defiance. “And you are?”
“One of Mayor Moreau’s wives,” Asher muttered. He couldn’t seem to raise his voice above a whisper, thoughts still tangled up in what he’d learned of the ways of Redemption.
Darlene fixed him with a mildly annoyed gaze. “Mayor Moreau’s first wife,” she corrected in a voice that said just what she thought of their little foursome. “You are welcome to speak in the parlor. I will summon Husband.”
She seemed to take it as a given that Connie and the others would have come to see the mayor and not Asher.
Still, her departure offered a brief window in which they could all speak freely.
“Are you all right?” Uncle Howard asked, taking Asher by the shoulders.
“Look at his neck,” Connie scoffed. “How could he be? Christ, we’ve left one hellhole for another…”
Scowling, Wesley raised his voice above the others. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you warn us away from Redemption? You knew—”
“I didn’t!” Asher protested.
“You must have! Your uncle sent you here how many times?”
Dozens, if Asher’s memory were to be trusted. Although given that his dreams involved visits from a vampire halfway across the valley, perhaps Asher shouldn’t have given his mental faculties quite so much credit.
“I didn’t know.” Asher’s legs crumbled under him and he fell into the nearest armchair. “I swear I didn’t know.”
“Bullshit. They want to marry us off to bloodsuckers—”
“Wesley!” Uncle Howard gasped. “A little restraint, please. Asher, my boy, it’s not your fault—”
“Nothing’s ever his fault,” Wesley gritted out, lacing his hands behind his neck. “Shit, maybe he likes being vampire feed! He was up at Willowbranch a long time. For all we know, maybe he’s gotten sweet on the enemy!”
“Would you shut up?” Connie snapped. “Turning on each other won’t do any good.” She glanced to the door. “I ain’t going to be sold off to some vampire. We need a plan to get ourselves out of this mess. Asher—Asher.”
The steel in her voice bid him glance up.
“You were always the one with all the ideas back home. What do we do?”
I don’t know.
No, that wouldn’t do. Connie was putting her faith in him to come up with a way out. She still believed one was possible, as if their defeat in Sargasso and their mad dash through the valley hadn’t taught her anything. As if there was no end to her trust in the lure of a future free from vampire dominion.
Asher blinked away the sting of tears. “Connie…they eat people.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Lucretia was well pleased with you, Mr. Franklin,” Moreau said, grinning from ear to ear. “How did you enjoy her company?”
“Oh, um.” Uncle Howard colored slightly. “She was very hospitable. Very kind.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll accept her offer.”
Asher felt his uncle’s pleading gaze fasten on to him, but couldn’t raise his own from the ground. He’d heard Moreau’s women whisper about Lady Lucretia preferring younger men. He’d also heard that the recent attacks on Redemption had cost the town more humans than vampires and the pinch was beginning to make itself felt.
A number of bloodsuckers had inadvertently exsanguinated their pets through overfeeding.
Lucretia would grit her teeth and put up with an old man if it meant she could preserve her favorites. This didn’t bode, especially well for Uncle Howard.
“And you, Mr. Foley?”
Wesley snorted brazenly in Moreau’s face. “I’d sooner chew glass that let that harpy get her fangs anywhere near me.”
Connie sucked in a sharp breath. The whole room seemed to echo her shock.
“I understand that in Sargasso you are allowed to run quite wild,” Moreau said mildly, “so I’ll pardon your language, Mr. Foley. But be advised we don’t tolerate rudeness in Redemption. Particularly toward your betters.”
“What exactly makes—”
“He’ll behave,” said Asher, before Wesley could dig himself in deeper. With his floppy blond hair and chiseled jaw, Wesley had it in him to be fetching. If he could get the glare he was currently training on Asher under control, he might even find himself in a suitably painless compromise. “Lady Victoria couldn’t have chosen better.”
Moreau cocked an eyebrow as if to say, you really think so? But when he spoke, it was to correct a more insidious point. “Unfortunately Lady Victoria wasn’t too thrilled with Mr. Foley’s lip.”
Shuffling lower in his seat, Wesley smirked. “Could’ve told you I’m unmarriageable and saved you the trouble.”
“One disappointment is hardly any reason to stop trying,” Moreau assured him. “You’ll be joining Mr. Franklin at Lucretia’s until new arrangements can be made. As for you, Ms. Pinkham—”
“I’m very happy where I am,” Connie answered smoothly. “And I think I could make Ivan even happier.”
Asher had only seen the ghoulish Ivan once, but he struggled to imagine what happiness might look like on his face. Presumably a slightly less dolorous expression. A smile seemed beyond his abilities. Laughter, out of the question.
If Connie had been wasted on her former fiancé, then it was a damn travesty to have her saddled with a creature as bland and bleak as Ivan.
Asher shook himself. In a matter of hours, he’d gone from thoughts of escape to trying to make the least painful bargain with a man he would’ve fantasized about murdering not too long ago. He told himself it was pragmatism. A tiny voice at the back of his mind insisted he was merely gutless.
Moreau grinned broadly. “I’m very pleased to hear it. We’ll have the bans read soon. Ivan will be thrilled.”
Connie returned his smile, though hers was slightly timid and quick to slide from her lips.
“What about Asher?” Wesley grumbled. “Or is it that you’re sending him back?”
“Perish the thought!” Moreau seemed affronted by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I fully intend to find Asher a good woman to honor and obey.” The sharp, faintly salacious slant of his mouth revealed all too clearly what he meant by ‘obey’. “But in the meantime, he will be under my protection as my honored guest. If you’ve no objections, of course, Asher…”
Moreau’s wolfish smile would have been charming if his canines hadn’t been just a half inch too long. If Moreau hadn’t represented everything Asher hated about the world.
What could he do, besides shake his head and wish for more whiskey? The little he’d imbibed already threatened to rise up in his throat. It was paltry comfort to note that Moreau’s bite had ceased bothering him.
Moreau’s hunger wasn’t difficult to decipher. There would be more tonight.
* * * *
“Regretting it yet?”
If Asher didn’t acknowledge the unnatural chill that rippled down his spine, he could almost tell himself that it was the wind’s whisper ringing in his ears and not a most familiar brogue.
“Snubbing me won’t help.”
Asher sighed. “Go away, Halloran.”
“You’re on my land.”
Reluctantly, Asher blinked his eyes open. The barren plains around Willowbranch were a familiar sight, particularly after dark, though he had only seen them from the farmhouse porch a handful of times. It should have been no
where near enough to have the view etched onto his memory.
The rocking chair creaking back and forth in the corner of his eye bid him to whirl around.
“Dear uncle,” Nyle read, his voice like velvet. “Shall I tell you how he feeds from me? His teeth are long and sharp…”
A fist closed around Asher’s heart. “What—where did you get that?”
Asher’s question left Nyle unmoved. He didn’t raise his gaze from the letter in his hands. The creases and soot stains on the paper gave away its origin.
“That’s private,” Asher snarled. “Give it back—”
Nyle vanished from sight as swiftly as he’d materialized, leaving Asher to stumble into thin air.
“Again,” Halloran drawled, “you’re on my land.” The letter was now in his fist, though he didn’t seem to have the same interest in perusing its contents. “Did you really find the nights more bearable in my company?”
Incensed, Asher snatched the missive from Halloran’s grip. “You bastard! You took everything I had and now you’re going through my trash?”
The valley echoed with the tenor of his shout, carrying it far and wide, to the edges of Asher’s dream.
“I didn’t,” Halloran corrected after a beat. “Nyle was…curious.”
“I’m sure you tried to stop him.”
“Why would I? You’d have me believe your species is not unintelligent. I thought there might be some value in your thoughts.”
Asher could all but hear the sarcasm in his voice. It shouldn’t have irked him so. “Yeah, well, I was never much of a wordsmith.” He scowled at Halloran. “How did you bring Nyle here?” And why? Hadn’t Asher been humiliated enough?
Dropping his gaze from Asher’s face to the letter, Halloran licked his lips and swallowed as if trying to parse out the words he meant to offer in explanation. Yet when he glanced up, his eyes were hard. “If you still don’t understand how this works, then I’m wastin’ my time with you.”
None of this is real.
Asher staggered where he stood, the letter clutched tightly in his fist.
