Betrayed (31 page)

“We’l pay for the information.” Bran pul ed out a bundle of hundred dol ar bil s and placed it on the side table.

Jethro glowered at Bran. “I do not need your money, pup. Bringing her,” he pointed at me, “and them,” he waved to indicate the Guardians, “to my bar is payment enough. From now on, everyone wil know that if they mess with me, they mess with the Cardinals.”

“We haven’t offered you protection yet,” Bran warned.

“You do not have to, smart mouth. A bar ful of witnesses saw you come into my office. That is al it takes.” Jethro nodded his head and closed his eyes.

“I heard about the List. That is al every Hermonite talks about these days. The List…the List…as if owning a few poor souls would guarantee them power.” He chuckled. “Idiots. There are a lot more souls out there than Coronis’ cache, yet everyone wants hers.”

Right at that moment, I loved Old Jethro.

Bran frowned. “So what do you know about it and Damien?”

Jethro’s wrinkled brow furrowed. “Damien is a recluse. Even an old goat like me has never set eyes on him. For a long time I suspected he did not exist, that he is merely a figment of Coronis’

imagination created to keep her fol owers in line.

You know, the keeper of records, the one who knows how many souls each demon acquired and the tal y of favors received and owed. But by the way he has the lot of them riled up, I say he is very real.” He lifted his drink from the table to take a sip. “To hear them say it, it was his idea they elect a leader. The heads of the houses were going to divide the world up into four sectors. The Nosferatus even wanted their hunting grounds in Romania. But Damien told them no. They must do things the old way, have a mortal combat.”

We al moved forward, our gazes locked on his wrinkly face.

“A mortal combat?” Kim whispered.

Jethro nodded.

We leaned back with varied expressions. He chuckled gleeful y, obviously getting a kick out of shocking us. He’d make a great storytel er around a camp fire.

“A representative from each house gets in the arena and is chal enged by someone from the other houses,” he said, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Powers pitted against powers, weapons against weapons until there is but one last demon standing, the king or queen of the demons.” He chuckled again.

“When and where is this mortal combat going to take place?” Remy asked.

Jethro turned his head and blinked at Remy.

His mouth opened and closed, then he snapped,

“That, son, is something you should not concern yourself with. None of you should even consider going to such an event. It wil be fil ed with Hermonites.”

“Our superiors might find the information useful,” Bran pushed.

“Then let them run around the country and ask about it,” the old man retorted stubbornly. “Only the heads of the houses are privy to such things, and they are not talking. You kids stop meddling in things that can get you kil ed,” he mumbled and glared at al that can get you kil ed,” he mumbled and glared at al of us.

My empathic antennas went on alert. He was lying and scared. “Does that mean you know where it is taking place but choose not to tel us?” I asked.

Jethro waved his stick. “It means I do not know, little one.”

“At least tel us
when
it’s taking place?” Sykes asked.

Jethro narrowed his eyes.

“So we can be prepared,” Sykes added, grinning. “New leadership means more mayhem for us.”

Jethro shook his head. “You must be the charming one. I guess there is no harm in giving that information. It is a week from tomorrow. Damien’s List is the winner’s prize along with the headache of being the new ruler of the demons.”

“Have you heard anything about Zedekiah?” Bran asked.

Jethro laughed. “He is Damien’s man, or so I hear. I tried to find out who he is, but there are no records of his existence.”

“What do you mean no records?” Izzy asked.

“He’s human. There must be a birth certificate somewhere, an address, tax rec…ooh. You probably need a computer to get those.”

Jethro laughed. “Think me too senile to use human gadgets, young Time Guardian?”

Izzy winced. “Uh, yeah.”

He laughed harder. “The body might grow old, but the Nephilim mind stays sharp. Believe me when I say, there are no records of this Zedekiah. I am not surprised though. When a human signs on to work for a powerful demon, the demon makes sure he or she becomes invisible, untraceable. That is what Zedekiah is…a ghost.”

“He led us to believe we could find Damien and the List,” Bran said.

“Just like he did minions from the other houses,” Jethro said. “Like I said, everyone wants that List and wil do anything to get it.” He drained his drink then stroked the side of the bottle. The glossy hard surface shifted and became thin like paper.

Then he crumpled it and threw it in a recycle bin. “We must do our part to save the earth,” he added sadly.

“It is our home.”

I stared at him, his loneliness so deep and vast it hurt to feel it.

“Where was I?” he asked, looking around.

No one spoke.

Bran cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Zedekiah promised the List to us and the other houses.”

Jethro nodded. “Yes. He did that, but I hear he has been talking to the House of Nosferatus. The gang that attacked you tonight comes from that house. They must be trying to eliminate the competition.”

“We weren’t attacked by vamps, just Werenephils,” Izzy said.

The others nodded.

“We had to deal with Nosferatus. They bite during battle.” Bran turned his arm, but the bite marks were healed.

“Anything else?” Jethro grumbled. “I have a bar to run. Damn ingrates might drink me out of business if I do not watch it.” He struggled to get to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. Bran reached over to help him. As soon as he got to his feet, he pushed Bran’s hand away. “I can get up by myself, pup. Been doing it for five hundred years without your help,” he added proudly.

Bran studied Jethro with a frown. It was obvious he was concerned about the old man.

“Where can we find the gang that attacked us, Jethro?”

“At a club plying humans with drinks and pil s and feeding on them. Their leader is Lottius, a waste of good breeding. Her father is Gabreel, a member of the council in the House of Nosferatus. But what does she do behind his back? Runs with that no-good crowd.”

Bran’s gaze didn’t shift from Jethro’s face.

“Where does she hang out?”

“It changes every night. Ask one of my boys.

He might know. Come along.” Jethro led the way out of his office. The others high-fived each other while I gave the room one last glance, trying to imagine Bran sleeping in it. I couldn’t. What he must have gone through to leave his former life.

The noise went down several decibels when we re-entered the bar. Someone turned off the music. Another got off a stool and offered it to Jethro. He sat and beckoned one of the bartenders, a buffed up young man. “Where’s Lottius’ party a buffed up young man. “Where’s Lottius’ party tonight?”

The shook his head, eyes darting around.

“Jethro, I…I….”

“Stop wasting my time, boy,” he snapped, brow creased with annoyance. “I know where you go when you are off the clock. The Guardians need to know where Lottius and her gang are tonight.” The bartender looked at us, swal owed visibly, and reached under the counter for the newspaper. “A missing person’s ad is placed in the local paper with the location of the rave party. Only those who know what to look for understand it.” He ran his finger down the ads then stopped at a missing daughter ad with contact address and phone. “You switch the streets and the phone numbers and…it’s at Ravens, a club in West Hol ywood.” He scribbled the address down on the edge of the paper and ripped it off. “They don’t let just anyone in.”

Bran smiled. “We’l find a way. Have you been to this club before?”

The guy’s eyes widened. “Yes, but I can’t go with you. They’l know and…and….”

“We don’t need you to take us,” Bran reassured him. “We just want to know the layout of the club and maybe a description of Lottius.”

“I can link with him and get the image from his mind,” I offered.

Bran looked at me like I had lost my mind then shook his head. He turned to the bartender and tapped the edge of the newspaper. “Sketch it here.” The bartender sketched the outline of the floor, putting Xs at the key places Bran asked him though I had no idea why he’d want to know where the bathrooms were relative to the bar.

“Lottius had a table reserved for her and her friends. It’s on the left side of the bar.” He reached under the counter again and pul ed out a VIP pass.

“Sorry, I have only one.”

“No problem.” Bran took the pass and gave it to Remy.

Remy palmed it between his hands, raised his arms like a magician performing a card trick then let the pass float to the counter. Another fol owed then another. After about ten, he stopped and returned the original to the bartender, whose eyes were like saucers.

Bran picked up six of the passes and handed the rest to the bartender with a few hundred dol ar bil s. “Thank you.”

“One more thing,” the bartender said. “The place wil be crowded tonight, but Lottius is easy to spot. A streak of white runs through her black hair.” We looked at each other, grinning. A Nosferatu with black and white hair? Was that a coincidence or what?

“Like Cardinal Moira’s,” Izzy whispered.

The bartender shrugged, but Jethro chuckled.

“Yes, just like the Cardinal’s.” He shook his head.

“The things children do to rebel against their parents.

Are you teleporting there?”

“No,” we al said in unison then laughed. After what happened earlier, no one wanted to chance being separated.

“Then you need transportation. Taxis don’t pick up people around these parts.” He pushed a set of keys across the counter to Bran. “The bike is stil out there where you left it. Wel , not exactly since I ride it on occasion, but it is there.” Bran grinned. “And for my friends?”

Jethro faced the bar and bel owed, “We’l be needing rides to West Hol ywood, my brethren.

Volunteers step up.”

Chairs scraped across the wooden floor as al of his customers scrambled to their feet.

Impressive. I liked these rejects more and more, but I had only one question. “Uh, haven’t they been, uh, drinking?” I whispered to Bran.

Jethro heard me and chuckled. “They are Nephilim, little one. Alcohol goes through our system like water. It tastes good, but alas, the intoxicating effect humans enjoy is sadly missing.” Then why did Grampa tel me not drink?

There was no time to ask because Remy and Sykes already had already chosen female riders and were heading out the door. Izzy took the arm of an old geezer, who grinned like he found gold at the end of a rainbow. Kim, typical, found herself a handsome younger guy. He had so many tats he looked like a walking canvas.

One looked at me, but Bran shook his head.

“She rides with me.”

“Says who?” I slipped an arm through the man’s. “Let’s go.”

“Lil?” Bran warned.

“Lil?” Bran warned.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” The man disengaged our arms and pushed a helmet into my hands. “He’s a formidable opponent, so just do as he says.” He walked away.

Chicken.
I glared after him then turned to face Bran. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He cocked his arm, a grin on his lips.

Narrowing my eyes, daring him to say something, I slipped my arm through his. I was stil angry with him for keeping secrets, but I couldn’t stop imagining him in Jethro’s bar or on that lumpy sofa in the back room. He’d gone through so much to become a Guardian. Why was he pushing me away now?

16. Father Knows Best

Bran and Jethro spoke briefly. Something exchanged hands, and then they hugged. It was so sweet and touching. It made me feel bad for being mad with Bran. He was an amazing guy, and I loved him to death. I just wished he’d stop being so overprotective and secretive at times.

“How are your wounds?” I asked, settling behind him on the bike.

“Fine.”

He could be bleeding but stil say fine in that tough-guy tone.

“Where are they? I don’t want to hold you too tight and make them worse.”

“I don’t want you to fal off the bike.” He took my arms and looped them around his waist. “Hold on tight.”

Why did I bother worrying about him?

Sighing, I hugged him and rested my cheek against his back as we took off. Nearly the entire bar escorted us, which was way cooler than teleporting.

Some rode in twos, others solo. Drivers and pedestrians alike stopped to stare at us.

In less than half an hour, we pul ed up outside the Ravens Club in West Hol ywood, a stretch of building with security lights shooting from its base.

The arrival of over fifty bikers drew attention. The plan was for no one to notice us in a group of rowdy riders. While the front riders revved their engines and did loops around the cars dropping off clubbers, we slipped away to the neighboring parking lot. Bran gave his bike key to one of the passengers on another bike with instructions to return it to Jethro.

The line to get into the club was long and winding, but it wasn’t the only club on the strip.

Ravens appeared to be for al ages. Music pulsed in the air, rising in volume whenever the bouncers opened the doors to let someone inside. We huddled under a tree on the grassy lawn of the building neighboring Ravens and studied the people mil ing around. The clubbers wore crazy hair styles and very little clothing. Some Goths wore black like us, boots and trench coats with studs, chokers and metal stud and rings al over their faces.

Sykes studied a girl with blue glam-rock hair, an itty-bitty piece of cloth for a top, and tattoos that could rival any of Jethro’s Bar’s clientele.

“Do we go in, snatch this vamp chick and get out? Or hang around and have some fun?” He stretched the last word then licked his lips.

“Why?” Izzy asked with a sneer. “One caught your fancy?”

“So many to love,” he whispered, his gaze fol owing another girl, “and so little time.”