Ryder on the Storm (4 page)

“The prophecy is wrong.” Ryder held Lucian’s gaze as he processed the statement. Sure enough, shock, then puzzlement, finally confusion. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if the thoughts would not formulate quite right on his tongue. Finally, he emptied the glass, walked to the liquor cabinet and refilled it before turning to face Ryder again.

“Brother, that is a pretty inflammatory statement. Do not tell me the council was correct to question your loyalties.”

“Hear me out, Lucian.” Ryder opened the small hidden cabinet beneath his table and withdrew the notebook he’d been working from. “We only have a part of the prophecy in our archives. I spent time with Trin Sullivan. Her ancestor is the mystic who gave the original prophecy and she kept records. I saw the journal. I swear to you Lucian, there is more to it than we thought.”

“Shit.” Lucian downed his drink, set the glass loudly on the counter and grinned at Ryder. “Do you have the proof?”

“Not exactly, but I know where the original journal is kept.” Ryder knew exactly where Trin kept it, and that it would have been delivered to the girl, her niece, by now.

Lucian shook his head, “Brother, what on earth have you gotten yourself into?”

Storm

Standing at the long, glass-topped bar of Starlight, scrunched between Dan and Shane, Storm felt safe. Her vision from earlier tucked away in the recesses of her mind, she allowed the thrumming classic rock of the club to ripple through her. Christmas lights twinkled above, lining the ceiling, and below her beneath the plexiglass floor. The same lights trimmed the bar and liquor shelves. Starlight was the hip, new club according to her friends. They were clearly channeling some sort of big hair band vibes this evening forcing Storm to stifle sarcastic comments all evening. She was bored. Other than the music, she found nothing appealing about Starlight. Her foot refused to stop keeping beat to the medley of Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Boston, and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Okay, so the music struck a chord and the boys had agreed to unload her entire truck and help her unpack if only Storm would accompany them for the night. They even offered to buy her drinks. Her guilt over sending them away coupled with the scrumptious pizza they’d delivered, well, she gave in right quick.

The worst part of the experience had to be the get up they’d produced for her. With all of her clothes packed away in the truck she couldn’t very well argue. Storm dolled herself up - as in completely out of her element. In fact, she looked like a pin-up. Every time Storm caught a glimpse of herself in the enormous floor to ceiling mirrors behind the bar she cringed. It was uncomfortable only for the fact that men were staring at her and the only thing that staved their awkward advances remained her two beautiful companions. Storm felt painfully aware that she was not the typical fare for Starlight; the snug-fitting pencil skirt and off the shoulder top stood out in the crowd of spandex and sequins. Perhaps she’d gone a touch too far with the 20s style coif. She cursed herself for listening to Dan and Shane.

“Stop fidgeting, Storm. You look amazing.” Shane’s whisper tickled her ear and the compliment made her even more uncomfortable. Retreating behind the glass in her hand, Storm eyed her co-dates. She didn’t get it. They could have anybody in the bar; she’d seen the droves of women watching the pair hungrily and shooting her death looks. Still, they flanked Storm, in the middle of the long bar, and fed her drinks and popcorn in attempts to force fun down her throat. Storm mentally checked herself; she had to give them more credit. Dan and Shane were not the average body-building, superficial thugs and she accepted that nobody could call her hideous.

Sighing, Storm placed the empty glass on the bar and gestured for another from the cute bartender, half clad in stylishly tattered jeans slung low on his hips, low enough to let the world know he sported nothing underneath them. Baron, that was the name he’d given her. Right. Storm could only think of Snoopy and the Red Baron when she looked at him now. That’s what usually happened. Something would turn her off so she could no longer look at a man with even remote sexual interest. Dan and Shane were the same. Though she still wished she would feel something more toward them, it just didn’t happen. Storm would always see them as the Hardy Boys, much worse since they’d become police officers. She didn’t even really know where the correlation had come from. It just happened one day when they were at a football game, sophomore year perhaps? She couldn’t be certain. Regardless, to Storm, Dan and Shane were beautiful to look at but it ended there. Sad but true. She sighed again as the Red Baron placed a drink in front of her and attempted to undress her with his eyes for the tenth time that night.

Turning back to watch the crowd milling about the dance floor in odd rhythms, Storm felt a ripple down her spine and nearly dropped her glass. Dan’s arm found its way around her waist in an instant and concern flooded his face.

“I am fine, just turned too fast. Really. I probably just need to slow down on the drinks a bit.” Turning her most reassuring smile to Dan, Storm slipped out of his embrace and leaned against the bar. His face fell and she knew it. They’d been friends for years, since childhood, and when she’d returned, Storm looked the guys up first. Well, she’d only looked the guys up. Storm found out that they’d kept the postcards she sent them from her various locations but knew her well enough to leave it alone. It was comforting to know they’d kept her secret – until Trin’s death. She felt grateful they’d outted her for that. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was coming. Something she did not want to deal with. Dammit. How could she get the Hardy Boys to leave now?

“On second thought, I am not feeling too hot. Maybe you boys could get me home?” Storm feigned balance problems and put her arm around Dan’s waist, leaning into his warmth. That did the trick; she felt his breath catch for a moment and then his arm around her in return. They followed Shane as he weaved his way through people and random tables toward the door. Storm didn’t see who Shane nearly collided with but she heard the apologies. Her body reacted to the stranger’s voice, a blend of silk and iron, coaxing and offending at the same time. She went rigid, that voice seemed familiar somehow.

Before she knew what happened, Storm found herself seated in the back of her Beetle and speeding toward Willow Wood. She felt lightheaded and realized the she had actually consumed more alcohol than she should have. One of the guys carried her in and laid her in bed. Storm fell asleep to their hushed argument, making out a few words in her drunken haze, something about immortals and almost blowing it. Then her focus became convincing herself not to wretch. She failed miserably and stumbled drunkenly to the bathroom.

Ryder

That smell. The wisp of hair from between the arms of the two seraphs. Ryder forced himself to keep moving, he didn’t want a confrontation here. The niece, HER niece. This niece had some power, how did the watcher not recognize her as a Seer? How could they not know? Walking within a foot of her it became clear. And his body reacted to her surprisingly. Beads of sweat formed at his brow as Ryder pushed through the crowd to the bar. Even after she left the building, the remnants of her smell affected him. A Sullivan Seer still lived. A powerful mystic, far more than Trin had ever been. Did she know her power?

Ryder ordered two whiskeys and two beers, the bartender nodded in recognition. He’d worked at Noveau, the name of the club before it became Starlight. Ryder owned the club then as well, he’d owned it in one shape or other for some twenty years. He refurbished it every year or so to keep up with the trends, and occasionally set them. Classic rock seemed to be making a comeback as the children of the 80s reached their 30s and longed for reminders of their childhood. Judging by the crowd, more than few 30-somethings were relishing the music and ambiance of Ryder’s most recent pet project. He noted at least two bachelorette parties and recognized a few members of the city’s pro football team in the VIP corner. They were seated at the booth next to his. A pair of scantily dressed blondes with big hair and other large assets danced on the table back to back putting on a titillating show.

Baron the bartender, formerly Clyde, and before that Arrow, smiled at him. Ryder’s payroll had the man listed as Frederick Whiteman for tax purposes but Ryder allowed his staff to utilize any pseudonym they chose fully understanding that having a persona could bring in more tips. The kid intrigued Ryder, a real chameleon, and a valuable asset. At his interview, Frederick had done a routine from Cocktails - that 80s flick with Tom Cruise – and Ryder had been so amused he hired him on the spot. As it turned out, Frederick was the best bartender in town, a lifer who readily changed his look in sync with the club, Goth, techno, jazz, you name it. Tonight he stood behind the bar shaggy-haired, shirtless, and barefoot with women throwing themselves at him. Ryder wondered how long that would last now that he and Lucian had arrived; it tended to happen that way, part of the Immortal package. If Ryder could change it for somebody, he’d change it for Frederick. Honestly, the kid was a good guy, a hard worker, with a good soul but no luck with the ladies, not that he would likely find his diamond in the rough at a club.

“We will not stay long, er, Baron. Just up for a drink and then moving on.”

“Thanks, Boss, you know the ladies stop tipping when you stroll in. I saw a peach here a few minutes ago; you’d have liked her Boss – flame red hair, a rockin’ bod, and dressed like a pin-up. Something about her made me think of you.” Frederick/Baron, ran his fingers through his hair and gave a devilish grin, “Still on for a meeting tomorrow mornin’ or should I plan on it in the afternoon?”

“Morning, eleven sharp.” Ryder placed a fifty on the counter and slid it over to his employee. “May this be the tip of the iceberg for you this evening.”

Frederick/Baron nodded back and pocketed the bill. Ryder downed the whiskey and snatched the beer off the counter. Lucian followed suit in silence. The Immortals walked across the dance floor to the corner booth and settled in. The football blondes stopped dancing for a moment and looked to leave their players but Ryder made a show of ignoring them. Instead, he sipped on his beer and stared out across the sea of faces, glistening with sweat, their reek filled his nose. Sex hung in the air. Lucian broke the silence.

“Nice place. Good beer, great whiskey, lots of sweet ass for the taking.”

“It is a good source of revenue, and a great place to entertain when I choose.” Ryder took another swig from the bottle, an import, a good one too. Thick, full-bodied, perfect for his mood.

“I find it amusing. What’d your barkeep say about the girl? You still chasing redheads? I thought you were done playing with fire?” Lucian raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

“I am. They saw me here with Trin. End of story.”

“For your sake, I truly hope so. We have company, brother. And not the pleasant kind.” Lucian nodded toward the door. He spoke the truth.

“Did you know they were coming? Lucian, tell me you did not know. Tell me you did not set me up for an inquiry.” Ryder looked at his friend, square in the eye, unblinking, wanting to believe he knew the man better. Lucian merely shrugged his shoulders and took another swig of beer.

“If you are really asking me that question then I will take my leave.” Lucian moved to exit the booth but Ryder laid a hand on his arm and passed a meaningful thought.

“Apologies, old friend. I am paranoid. You know how it is when your feet are to the flames. I wonder why they are here; I sent my account on the Sullivan Seers to Roane already.” Ryder felt uneasy, not fully convinced that Lucian’s arrival had been coincidence but hopeful that he’d arrived to be of assistance. “They do not look pleased do they?”

“No, brother, no they do not. Perhaps we should take this back to your residence and leave your business untainted?” Lucian nodded toward the door, tension rolling off his frame in response to Ryder’s own. As always, Lucian’s mere presence remained intimidating even among their kind.

“I do not wish to destroy my home, let us start with the alley out back.” Ryder stood, leaving his beer beside Lucian’s upon the table. Shoulder to shoulder the pair pushed across the dance floor to the new arrivals. Wordlessly Ryder ushered the guests back through the employee exit and into the back lot. Once the heavy steel door had closed behind them, Ryder turned and sized up his guests, nodding to each in turn – “Roane, Kell, Pollux, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We have come to ensure the Sullivan Seers are truly extinct. It appears a new Sullivan resides at Willow Wood and that things were handled rather sloppily.” Roane’s baritone flowed so steadily it sounded eerie. The man never yelled. He never utilized inflection at all actually. Most people felt uncomfortable around Roane and the man used it to his advantage, even Kell and Pollux shifted awkwardly on either side of him. Ryder never understood it really. Sure, he stood eye to eye with Lucian and was nearly as broad, but he always reminded Ryder of Mr. Clean, minus the smile. Roane never smiled – ever. He always wore the same basic black cotton tees that stretched over his well-defined musculature. But beyond that oddly disconcerting voice-thing, Roane looked like just another man. Of course, it apparently irked Roane that he failed to intimidate Ryder. He did not like Lucian much either. Ryder got the impression that one of Roane’s many personal missions involved putting an end to them both.