Awakened (32 page)

I took a deep breath and gripped his hand. He grabbed the handles of the duffel bag. “Let’s do this.”

Their family room disappeared to be replaced by a field of some kind with high-rises in the background. I would’ve lost my balance on the uneven ground if it weren’t for Remy’s hand holding me upright. I sucked at teleporting to begin with and the heels only made my clumsiness more apparent. The others appeared behind us.

The sun had already set and darkness crept under L.A. smog, but I could still see the portal to the tunnels ahead of us. A shack dotted with graffiti was to our right.

“This way,” Remy said, pointing to our left.

We walked across the park and up a short hill, passed a bent section of a chain link fence and reached the highway, where a line of four black SUVs waited. Street lights and headlights of passing cars bounced off their sleek exterior, but the tinted windows made it impossible to see the drivers.

The passenger door of the second car opened and Bran jumped down. He was dressed in all black—pants, shirt and his leather duster coat. Several more doors opened and men in flowing brown robes belted with a robe stepped down. There were about six of them. With the hoods covering their heads, I couldn’t see their faces. We all slowed down to a stop.

Bran waved us over. “Guys, these,” he indicated the men in monk-like garbs, “are my friends. You know them as souled demons.”

“Others call us the
Outcasts
,” a deep, rumbling voice said underneath a robe. I was close enough now to see his face, but all I saw were the wraparound sunglasses and a full beard. “I’m Darius. We’ll escort you to the Lair. Some of our people are already inside to watch your back. Give him the bag.” He slanted his head toward the driver of the first car.

Remy handed over the bag of weapons to the faceless man, who threw it inside the car. The man then slid behind the steering wheel, gunned the engine and took off.

“Don’t worry, Guardian,” Darius said. “Your weapons will be inside when you get there. Shall we?”

Bran led me to the car he’d exited and slid beside me. Sykes joined us. Izzy, Kim, and Remy were led to the one behind us. The remaining three men took the rear car. We entered the traffic and took off toward the high rises. Inside the car, no one spoke. I began to fidget.

“Thank you for helping us,” I told Darius.

He nodded. Bran took my hand and moved closer. His breath fanned my face. “How are you holding up?”

“Good. You think we’ll pull this off?”

“Of course,” he whispered. “We have the element of surprise on our side. Gavyn said there are a few guards down there.”

Should we trust Gavyn? I shivered and looked out the window. Muted sounds filtered inside and teased my ears, music from cars zipping past us, blaring horns from impatient drives, ambulance wailing somewhere in the background. Having Bran with us was reassuring. His brother would not dare betray us with Bran on our side.

We stopped moving, and I realized we’d arrived. I looked out the window and shivered. We were outside a storied building, a block from the high rises. A line of high-end, sporty cars—Porsches, Ferraris, Jags and Lamborghinis—snaked in front of us to the entrance of the club. Uniformed valets caught keys and parked cars with the efficiency of an ant colony.

“We’ll wait in the parking lot,” Darius said as he slid to the entrance. He didn’t acknowledge the valet trying to get his attention. Bran, Sykes and I stepped down and the man drove off. The others joined us.

“Your friends don’t say much, do they?” Sykes asked Bran.

Remy shrugged. “We got the ride, bro. Imagine teleporting to this place.”

“Listen, guys,” Bran said. “Demons like to get inside people’s heads, so try to think of anything but the valley and the Cardinals.”

“I have the monks on my mind,” Izzy murmured, unbuttoning her coat. “Not that I could see their faces.”

“Glimmer,” Bran explained. “Think of the men if you must. Anyone searching your thoughts will assume you’re from Darius’ brotherhood. This is one club where their kind is allowed.”

A hollow feeling settled in my stomach as I removed my coat. Bran reached for my hand, saw my outfit and grinned. “Wow, you look amazing.”

I’d wanted to wow him, but now I couldn’t care less. I was more worried about our safety and Grampa, and how long I had to continue wearing the heeled boots. “Thanks.”

“Come on.” He exchanged nods with some of the valets. Two buffed-up bouncers, a dark-haired guy with spiked hair and a dark-skinned guy with dreadlocks and trimmed goatee eyed us as we approached. My unease increased.

Bran nodded at Dreadlock. “T.J.”

The bouncer’s gaze ran over our group. “Llyr.”

“Busy night?”

“No more than usual.” The guy’s gaze went to my hair, lingered. Pressure increased inside my head. He was trying to read my thoughts. I resisted. Surprised crossed his face. He dragged his attention from me to Bran. “He’s waiting for you upstairs. How many in your party?”

“Six.” Bran indicated the trainees.

T.J. nodded, stepped aside and slanted his head toward the glass door. I caught his reflection on the door. His assessing gaze stayed on us. I didn’t trust the guy, and it had nothing to do with him being a demon.

We passed the double doors and walked through a short tunnel-like hallway, fake smoke swirling around our feet. The foyer glowed with red lights, and the cascading crystal chandeliers were breathtaking. I took a moment to orientate myself, forcing Bran to stop, too. The place was packed, but the lack of verbal and psychic conversation was jarring. Music filtered from somewhere in the background, but it was muted. My gaze darted around, trying to figure out what was happening.

On each side of the entryway was a sunken lounge area with oversized ottomans occupied by gorgeous men and women. To our left, a large screen stood in the middle of the customers. Not your usual flat-screen T.V. I could see right through this one. Everyone on that side of the room had their gazes locked on it. What were they watching? There were no images.

Bran nudged me to move, but I couldn’t. My gaze was on the man seated on a gilded umpire chair beside the screen. Dressed in all white, he had chiseled features, long wavy blond hair and a face so perfect he looked like a master’s sculpture. He waved a hand over the screen, and a football game commenced.

No sounds. Just the images. The camera followed one player as he raced with a ball. He jumped and missed being taken down several times, did a flip and took off so fast he appeared blurry. He slammed the ball on the ground and started to dance. I didn’t follow sports, but I knew a touchdown when I saw one. I smiled. He was good. Could he be a demon? Was that what held these guys enthralled?

We’ll start at point-five million dollars, ladies and gents,
a melodic voice telepathed.
He’s a keeper, and is willing to bring some of his fans with him to whoever owns him. Do I hear point-five-five?

Six,
someone offered.

Do I hear point-six-five?
the first announcer asked.

Seven.

Seven-five.

Eight? Do I hear a point-eight? Ladies and gents, he’s at the top of his game, will own several super bowl rings in this decade alone. Going once, going twice…sold for point-eight million dollars to the lady in seat 37.

The NFL star disappeared from the screen only to be replaced by a pompous-looking man in a business suit. The auction started again.

I swallowed, my eyes swinging to Bran. “What are they auctioning?”

“Souls. Let’s go.”

I couldn’t move. My gaze shifted to the other side of the room—packed gambling tables, chips being swept off the table by angelic looking men and women. My gaze connected with a player as Bran pushed me forward. She looked like she could grace the cover of Elle, but desperation burned in her eyes. I didn’t need to ask Bran to know what the stakes were.

Shock, revulsion and anger zipped through me in quick succession queasiness washed over me. All demons deserved to be sent to Tartarus. The female gambler’s eyes narrowed on my face. I let thoughts of Darius fill my head, his wraparound sunglasses, beard covering most of his skin.

I faced forward and let Bran lead us to the left. I glanced back, expecting to see the gorgeous woman still looking at me or outing me as a Guardian. Her fevered gaze was back on her cards. But my ogling must have drawn attention because eyes were on me, followed by attempts to invade my psyche. I resisted and stared straight ahead, my insides coiling tighter with each step, my skin crawling.

Ahead, through arched entrances, bodies writhed under colored lights. The music grew louder the farther away we moved from the entrance, but no one stopped us. I noted other things like the bar wrapping around the center of the entire floor, bartenders whipping cocktails without lifting a finger and drinks floating above us to clients’ hands. No waiters or waitresses. Why would they need them when the employees were busy selling poor souls to the highest bidder?

“You okay?” Bran asked.

“They play with peoples’ souls like it’s nothing,” I said, anger burning inside of me.

“I know. If we didn’t need to be here, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Did you visit this place before you came to us?”

He nodded.

Whoever owned it ought to be vanquished, I wanted to tell Bran, but the heart-thumping hip-hop beats made conversation impossible. Besides, we were here for Grampa and Moira. We stopped near the booths and seats separating the lounge from the dance area. Flashing disco lights around the dance floor changed from red to blue, then green and back to red again.

Mingle…dance,
Bran telepathed and nodded toward the dance floor, a spacious area packed so tight I couldn’t imagine dancing. I was too edgy, borderline nervous wreck.

Bran kissed my temple.
I’ll see you in a few seconds.
Then he disappeared.

Who wants to brave the dance floor,
Remy asked.

We shook our heads.

Let’s get those drinks and keep a lookout for trouble.

We moved as a group to the bar and ordered drinks Kim insisted were “mocktails” or non-alcoholic cocktails. The guys went for club soda, which I noticed they pretended to sip as we drifted along the periphery of the dance floor. My mouth was dry, but nervousness had such a chokehold on my throat I couldn’t swallow the weird concoction in my glass even if I tried.

You guys ever been to a club like this before?
I asked the others.

Never,
they all answered.

They hold freakin’ auctions, man,
Sykes said through clenched teeth.
The fiends.

I should have known “Rocket man” sold his soul,
Kim added.
It
e
xplains why his career took off after years of being a mediocre running back.

We watched the dancers grind and pop, thrash and twist. Kim and Izzy nodded their heads to the beat, but it was all for show. Everyone was rattled by the macabre scene near the entrance. I scanned the dancers, the people around the bar. Were Valafar’s men here, watching us, waiting? And since no one wore a monk’s garb, I couldn’t tell which ones were Bran’s friends either.

Remy nodded at the stairs, and we moved toward it. I checked my watch. Five minutes. Dread of the unknown curled in the pit of my stomach. What was Bran doing up there? I searched for his psi and sighed with relief. He was okay. Tense but okay. I searched for Grampa’s. Nothing.

We stayed close to the rail and away from the clubbers giggling and dashing up and down the stairs. The upstairs wall was black with splashes and squiggles of neon colors, including the door Bran mentioned. We watched the frenzied dancers below for a few minutes.

Remy leaned toward me. “I’ll go in first. Come after Izzy and Kim.”

He spoke with the others then placed his drink on a table and sauntered to the camouflaged door. Kim then Izzy followed. Sykes squeezed my hand, an attempt to reassure me. I didn’t think I’d ever be the same again after tonight. I gave him a smile then left.

The others were waiting behind the door. Everyone looked tense. The sounds from the dance floor didn’t penetrate the door so the silence was creepy. A hallway wrapped around a glass wall and disappeared.

Music drifted in when Sykes opened the door and joined us. He locked it behind him. The sound of a door opening somewhere reached us, and everyone jerked. I swallowed panic, eyes steady in the direction the noise had come from. Relief coursed through me when Bran appeared around the corner and waved us over.

We entered an opulent office decorated with plush chairs and a chaise in the private sitting area, a wet bar, floor to ceiling heavy burgundy draperies. A dark cherry office desk and swivel leather chairs took up the other side. Behind the desk was a large screen television screen. We were above the bar, the glass wall giving us a panoramic view of the lounge and the dance floor below.

“Where’s Gavyn?” I asked.

“He’ll be back. Let’s get ready.” Bran slanted his head toward the duffel bag with our weapons. It was near the door.

“First things first,” Remy said and waved his hand. Our clubbing outfits were transformed into hunting clothes—black pants, matching shirts and coats, and black combat boots. Thank goodness.

There was silence as we passed around daggers, knives, stars and blades—Remy’s arsenal of lethal weapons. We slid them wherever we could—inside our boots, on sheaths strapped around our thighs, hips and chests. The guys favored close combat weapons, daggers and blades. Izzy grabbed a crossbow, Kim and I went for the throwing knives and ninja stars. I noticed that the blades were different from the ones we used at the dojo. These were lighter in color and had a green tint.

Remy cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Remember, we’re not here to start a war. We’re here to get the Cardinals out. We’ll use our powers to subdue, not vanquish.”

“Too bad,” Sykes said.

“I feel naked without my sword,” Kim griped.