“Evil and mean-spirited,” I said dismissively. “Gavyn is—”
“My brother,” Bran said and gave me a sad smile. “He’s not thinking straight.”
Oh, he was. Gavyn only ever thought about one person—Gavyn. He was conniving and power-hungry. To think I’d offered to heal him when a demon drained his powers. That was one memory I would have loved to forget.
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Kim asked. “You know, after we visited the fourth or the tenth Damned Human?”
Bran shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. And part of me didn’t want to believe it.”
“Doesn’t what you want count for anything in his stupid plan?” I asked.
There was silence, but we were all thinking the same thing—this might be bigger than we’d thought. When Bran won the battle on Jarvis Island, he’d gotten hundreds of thousands of contracts. While we’d focused on canceling his, the other junior and mid-level Cardinal Guardians from the other sectors around the globe had gotten the bulk of the other contracts. If the Tribe was punishing humans for canceling contracts and getting their souls back, their reach might extend beyond our sector.
“Sorry, dude, but your brother is a douchebag,” Sykes said.
“Please, don’t insult douchebags,” Kim said. “Now what?”
“We tell Darius to kick Gavyn out of the Brotherhood compound,” Izzy snarled. “He doesn’t deserve their hospitality if he’s back to his evil ways.”
Bran shook his head. “Gavyn left the Brotherhood the day after the party four months ago, but I know where he stays and works. I’m going to find him and have a long talk.”
“We are all going,” Remy corrected him. “He’s going to tell us how to send the Tribe back to Tartarus or whatever hole they crawled from.”
Bran actually smiled. “He runs a private club at Ritz-Carlton, L.A. Live. Demons only. He also lives there. Follow me.”
The room we appeared in was done in white and black, and had floor to ceiling windows with an amazing view of the city, the mountains, and the ocean in the background. Gavyn wasn’t home, but it was obvious why he had left the Brotherhood, with their homey stucco houses, for his old life. He was living in a lap of luxury, the latest electronic gadgets beside clairvoyant crystals projecting holographic motion images of him, his sister Celeste, and Bran.
“How very domesticated,” Kim said with a sneer.
I wanted to rip the place apart.
“The restaurant is several floors below us.” Bran said and glanced at his watch. “He’s probably there.”
“Just a second. My powers are peaking and I need release.” I pulled out a knife from the sheath inside my boot, walked to the couch and stabbed the edge of the cushion. Slowly, I moved across the white upholstery, from one end to the other, the fiber filling spilling out. I did the same with the back and the arms.
The surprised expressions on the others’ faces when I looked up didn’t bother me. I grinned. “I’m starting to feel better already. Remy, could you change the white walls into green mixed with gray and whatever ugly color you can think of? Too much white makes my headache worse.”
Without batting an eyelid, Remy pressed his hand on the nearest wall and murky green color spread from the point of contact. It spread over the walls.
“Hmm, I’ve an idea,” Sykes said as energy balls appeared above his hands. He dribbled them on the white carpet as one would a basketball, leaving behind blotches of scorched surfaces. Smooth moves. He leaned back and smirked. “How’s that headache, Lil?”
“Getting better by the second.” I cocked my brow at Kim and Izzy.
Laughing, they joined in. Bran chuckled, but he didn’t try to stop us. Izzy helped me remove the down inside the pillows and cushioned stools, while Kim blew them around, along with other knick knacks off the tables and shelves.
Gavyn’s place had three bedrooms, and from the decor and the displayed images, one was supposed to be Celeste’s and the other Bran’s. While Sykes continued to bounce his energy balls from room to room, Remy changed the shapes of anything he could touch, including electronics, which Gavyn appeared to collect. Bran gave up trying to stay uninvolved and turned on water in every bathroom and kitchen, flooding the floors and carpets.
Trashing the place was childish and we knew Gavyn would get the place fixed in seconds, but it felt good. We were all laughing by the time we finished.
The hallways were quiet when we left, no humans or demons, but the demonic energy hung in the air and our amulets warmed. They lit up when we teleported to several floors below us.
‘Hermonite Lodge,’ written in white, looked stark against the dark-gray wall. Underneath them were the words ‘Private Club and Restaurant’. There was a set of double doors to our right. Bran placed his palm against the door and pushed. It didn’t budge.
“Allow me.” Grinning, Remy pressed his hand against the door. The door shimmered and flowed, as though it was alive, until it became a doorway.
The others grinned. They were eager to take down demons as payback for the attack on the island. I was more cautious because once again my powers were off and I had the hated headache messing with my head. I dragged my feet as we followed Bran into the club. Remy took the rear and transformed the doorway.
We were in some kind of an entryway with chest-high walls to our left and right. Behind the walls was a sunken floor packed with customers dressed in expensive suits and dresses, their perfect hair nicely groomed. The club looked like any exclusive club for the rich and wealthy—heavy curtains and paneled ceiling, comfortable leather seats and subtle lighting. A wrap-around bar dominated the center of the room, and further on, there was a lounge area facing glass windows and the patio. But the similarity to a human club ended there.
Menus hovered above the table from clairvoyant stones. Drinks floated from the bar to patrons’ hands in an orderly fashion without spilling, but the aroma of food, leather, and wood mingled with demonic scents. And even though the diners used forks and knives like any civilized being, their diet made me want to gag.
Werenephils, who loved their food raw, sliced and chewed on bloody meat. The ones who preferred bugs scooped them by the spoonful or forkful. To our right, two Nosferatus buried their fangs into the necks of two scantily-dressed humans, who didn’t appear to mind. They lifted their heads, dabbed their lips, and went back to sipping wine while their lunch supply got up and disappeared behind a curtained door only to be replaced by two more. Probably dessert.
A demon dressed all in black blocked our path before we entered the main floor of the restaurant. An upper-level demon, going by his psi energy. Behind him stood two security guards, who looked like they could bench-press the Rock of Gibraltar. Their energies weren’t noteworthy.
“Your kind are not allowed in here,” the head honcho demon said.
“And you are?” Bran asked rudely.
“The assistant manager.”
“Well, Mr. Assistant Manager.” Bran casually reached out and flicked imaginary dirt from the shoulder of the demon’s jacket. “We are here to see my brother. So why don’t you run along like a good minion and fetch him?”
Confusion flashed across the demon’s face but he recovered fast. “Your brother?”
“Tall, gray eyes, silver hair…otherwise known as your boss. Meanwhile, we would like a table for,” Bran glanced at us and grinned, then faced the demons and added, “six, preferably away from the Nosferatus. My friends have a problem watching them feed.”
The demon’s eyes changed from gray to red. “You cannot be in here. Take your friends and leave, before someone gets hurt.”
