by C. J. Hill
Tori shrugged apologetically. “Can’t you find out which of them has a son named Ryker? Wouldn’t that be on their tax returns or something?”
Her father made an unhappy grumbling sound in the back of his throat. “Isn’t there anyone from your school that you like? What about Roland?” Her father seemed to have just noticed it was Friday night and Tori was at home. “Aren’t you seeing him anymore?”
Tori had dated Roland before she went to camp, had liked him a lot actually. They were almost boyfriend and girlfriend. Now, though, the relationship seemed pale and anemic. Jesse had talked to Tori about life and duty. She had soared through the forest with him, glided through the starlit sky to mountain perches. Roland talked to Tori about French homework and whether the school should have a polo team.
Jesse knew who Tori was, what she was, and what she was capable of. Roland knew who her friends and family were and that she was pretty. Roland still talked to her at school and texted once in a while, but every time he asked her out, she told him she was busy.
Tori kept staring at the addresses in her father’s hand. “Roland and I are just friends. I really need to know where Ryker is.” She gave her father her most winning smile. “Please, can’t you check the tax records for me? I know he thinks I’ve blown him off. I have to talk to him.”
Her father sighed and tucked the paper into his pants pocket. “I’ll see what I can do. But if you really are that keen about Ryker, you ought to tell that Dirk fellow to stop writing you.”
“Dirk and I are just friends,” she said.
Her father took off his coat and headed toward the coat closet. “Some friend. Why haven’t you given him your cell phone number? It’s not that my staff doesn’t like going through your personal correspondence—actually, as a parent, I like it better that way—but wouldn’t it be easier and faster for him to text you?”
“It’s complicated,” Tori said, and then she left the room before he could make more comments about her love life.
All through dinner, Tori kept thinking about Dirk. Every time a shriek interrupted her thoughts—less often now, and they were shorter, barely squawks—she wanted to talk to him. Was his dragon sight exactly the same as it had been before? Had he experienced any changes?
She kept fingering her watch-phone. If she called Dirk, Dr. B would see a record of the call on his phone. He monitored them. He’d wonder why his assurance hadn’t been enough for her.
Besides, Dr. B thought their last phones had been compromised somehow. The same thing could have happened with the new phones.
It would be better, safer, if she went to see him in person. She knew his address after all. She’d memorized it even though she hadn’t tried to. If Overdrake ever captured her, there wouldn’t really be a difference between her knowing the address and visiting the place. The location was shot either way.
Tori went back and forth with the idea. Dirk would have told Dr. B if he’d seen anything unusual. And Slayers weren’t supposed to see each other. It was one thing to write letters. It was different to completely disregard the rules.
On the other hand, Tori should talk to Dirk about what she was hearing. Ultimately the country’s safety was at stake. And what was wrong, really, in going there? She would make sure no one followed her.
She wanted to see Dirk, wanted it more the longer she thought about it.
And so it became the right thing to do.
Half an hour later, Tori told her parents she was spending the night at Penny’s, she told Penny to cover for her because she wouldn’t be in until really late, and then Tori was driving to Dirk’s house. She wished she’d left earlier. It was an hour and a half trip, which meant she wouldn’t get there until eight thirty. She had been held up because she had to run an electronics sweep on her car before she left, and okay, she spent a little time touching up her hair and makeup. She hadn’t seen Dirk since August, and she’d been a total mess over Jesse back then. Tonight she would show him that she was her usual confident, collected, over-Jesse self.
It felt odd to drive into Winchester. The place was full of dark memories. Overdrake’s first compound had been on the outskirts of this city and the last time Tori came here the Slayers fought him and failed. Of course, Overdrake was long gone now. He moved everything off his property on the night of the raid. Still, Tori nearly expected to see him—black suit, helmet covering his face—lurking in the shadows of the streetlamps.
It must be hard for Dirk to live here, knowing that the dragons had been so close. Dr. B said that’s why Dirk had always had such a strong connection to them. He grew up with dragons nearby.
When Tori pulled onto Braddock Street, she realized Dirk’s address wasn’t residential. It was in downtown. Which meant Dirk hadn’t given her his home address after all. She slowed her speed, looking at the old-fashioned brick buildings on both sides of the road. Where had her letters been going? She finally pulled up to the address. La Niçoise Café. A restaurant.
Did Dirk work here?
Tori felt her expectations deflating. Dirk might not even be here tonight. She might have driven all this way for nothing. Still, she supposed she might as well go inside and see if she could find him. She parked her car, gave one last look around to make sure no one had followed her, and walked inside.
The café had a quaint French feel to it. Lace curtains, flower boxes, and small elegant tables. Strains of French music lapped gently through the room. It smelled of something savory, of things cooking. Two people stood at the hostess station talking. A girl about Tori’s age in a uniform and an older woman in a business suit. As Tori walked over, the woman looked up and smiled. “Welcome to La Niçoise Café. Table for one, or are you waiting for someone?”
Tori glanced around the room. No sign of Dirk. “Can I request a waiter?”
The woman’s gaze ran over Tori, making a mental note of her designer clothes and her Gucci purse. “Certainly,” she said. “We’re happy to accommodate our guests anyway we can.”
“Thanks. Is Dirk working tonight?”
“Dirk?” The woman’s smile faltered. It wasn’t confusion, just reluctance. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any waiters by that name.”
“Oh,” Tori said. “Does he work in the kitchen then?”
The woman shook her head, eyeing Tori suspiciously now. “No. There are no Dirks in the kitchen.”
Tori flushed. She’d sent letters here and Dirk had gotten them. He made comments about her letters in his. Which meant this lady had to know who he was, or something very odd was happening.
Tori shifted uncomfortably. “Dirk is a friend of mine. We met this summer and he gave me this address to write to him. I was in town and wanted to surprise him.”
The manager raised an eyebrow at Tori. “What did you say Dirk’s last name was?”
How could Tori explain that he’d never given her his last name, that he couldn’t. “I … It’s embarrassing. I’ve forgotten it. You must have seen my letters come in, though.”
The manager’s expression turned cold, guarded. “I’ve never seen any of your letters. You must have your addresses mixed up.”
“No,” Tori started, “I’m sure I—”
The woman held up her hand to stop Tori’s protest. “I’m sorry. I can’t give out personal information about the staff here.” She picked up a menu, indicating the discussion was over. “Will you be staying for dinner?”
Tori didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to, and yet at the same time she had the vague hope that Dirk might walk in and see her. “Can I look over the menu?” she asked.
“Certainly.” The woman handed Tori the menu and walked away, heading toward the kitchen.
Tori scanned the dinner items without really paying attention to them. Filet mignon … grilled duck breast … what now? Should she call Dirk on her watch-phone? If she did, should she admit she came looking for him? Maybe she should just write Dirk and ask him in a coded way what he saw with his dragon sight. Hey, she co
uld write him a note right now and leave it at the hostess station. It might not get to him, though. Maybe he was finding some way to intercept the mail before it got here. Could he be working at the post office?
The hostess leaned toward Tori. “I don’t blame you for looking for Dirk,” she said in a confidential tone. “The guy is hot.”
Tori’s gaze snapped up. “You know Dirk?”
“I’d like to,” the girl said. Her name tag read, “M. J.” “Me and every waitress in the place.” M. J. looked over her shoulder to make sure no one overheard them. “Dirk’s father owns the restaurant. That must be why he gave you this address.”
“Oh.” Tori perked up. “Do you know how I can get a hold of him?”
M. J. shook her head. “He only comes in about once a week. His dad doesn’t work here. He just owns the place. So every time the Everetts come in, we’re supposed to be on our best behavior and comp everything. Seriously, though,” M. J. said with a sly smile, “I would comp Dirk’s meals anyway.”
The Everetts. That was Dirk’s last name. Tori wasn’t supposed to know it. She felt a pang of guilt and supposed this was why Dr. B didn’t want them contacting one another outside of camp. It was too easy to find out personal information. She appeased herself by promising she wouldn’t ever reveal it. Especially not to Overdrake. But now that she knew it, should she check the White Pages to see if she could find his home phone number? The hostess would probably tell her Mr. Everett’s first name if she asked.
Tori folded the menu. She shouldn’t ask. She should turn around and go home before she learned anything else.
“So you’re Dirk’s summer fling?” M. J. asked, clearly curious. When Tori didn’t answer, M. J. added, “The postman drops off the restaurant’s letters at the hostess station, so we see them before Mr. Everett’s assistant picks them up. Personally, I think it’s sweet that you keep writing Dirk.”
“Um…,” Tori stammered. “Did Dirk … is that who he says the letters are from—his summer fling?”
M. J. shrugged apologetically. “He calls you his fan girl.”
“His fan girl,” Tori repeated.
“Listen, you seem nice, and you’d have to be blind and immune to charm not to fall for Dirk, but I should warn you—every time he comes in here for dinner, he’s with a different girl.” M. J. gestured around at the restaurant. “And the guy didn’t even give you his real address. That says something.”
“Yeah,” Tori said. Every time Dirk came in, he was with a different girl? Tori shouldn’t be bothered to hear this. The uncomfortable feeling in her stomach came from being lumped in with Dirk’s groupies, from looking like some sort of pathetic, lovelorn girl who didn’t know when her summer romance was over.
Tori was clearly not that sort of girl because she knew her romance with Jesse was over. Even if she had gone to the Natural History Museum in hopes that he would change his mind and meet her.
Sheesh. Now that she thought about it, maybe she really was as pathetic as one of Dirk’s groupies.
The hostess was staring sadly at Tori, perhaps because she hadn’t moved. What was even worse about all of this was that when the hostess got the next letter to Dirk, she was going to think Tori was doubly pathetic. If Dirk wanted her to keep writing to him, he would have to get a P.O. box just so Tori wouldn’t imagine M. J. shaking her head and telling the waitresses about what a pitiable idiot fan girl was.
Tori forced a smile and handed the menu back to M. J. “Thanks for the information. I guess I won’t stay for dinner. I only wish I’d gotten to talk to Dirk in person about all of this.”
M. J. let out another sympathetic sigh. “I shouldn’t say anything else, but if you want to see him, go to a John Handley High football game. Dirk has a letter jacket.”
More personal information. Now Tori knew what high school he went to.
“Thanks,” Tori said. She turned and left the restaurant before she could learn anything else.
Without letting herself think about it, she checked John Handley High’s website on her phone. They had a home game tonight. Tori could be there in a few minutes.
She’d come this far. And she probably wouldn’t learn anything else that M. J. hadn’t already told her in her advice for the lovelorn.
Besides, why shouldn’t Tori see Dirk play football? She was his fan girl.
CHAPTER 10
Tori nearly laughed when she caught sight of John Handley High. It was a sprawling brick building with so many white columns, it looked like it had been dropped down from Mount Olympus. BMWs and Mercedes littered the school’s parking lot.
And the other Slayers had given her a hard time for being rich. Dirk had apparently been keeping a few secrets from everybody.
Tori walked down to the bleachers and found an empty spot near a group of girls. They glanced at her, slicing her up as a potential rival, and then ignored her. She got that a lot from girls. It was still better than sitting by guys, though. Guys always asked questions, flirted, and tried to attach themselves to her side with barnacle-like insistence. Tori didn’t want that right now.
The air was cold, crisp with the sense of autumn. Her jacket didn’t offer a lot of warmth, so she tucked her hands into her pockets. Her gaze slid across the players. John Handley was in maroon shirts with white pants. A glance at the bench told her that Dirk wasn’t sitting there.
At camp she probably would have been able to tell which player he was through her counterpart sense. She wasn’t sure how strong that ability was now that she’d been away from him for so long. It would be odd to see Dirk and not sense things about him.
Martinsburg’s quarterback snapped the ball a dozen yards down the field to a receiver. With a few quick steps, a JHH linebacker plowed into the receiver, sending him sprawling. Tori’s gaze zeroed in on the linebacker. He held out a hand to help up the downed player. Perhaps it was his self-assured walk, or maybe her counterpart sense worked as well here as it did at camp. She knew the linebacker was Dirk a second before the announcer called, “Tackle by forty-four, Everett.”
Tori relaxed, smiled, and watched the last fifteen minutes of the game. Dirk made two more tackles. One of the cheerleaders, a lanky blonde who was fond of leg-kicks, seemed especially excited when this happened. John Handley still lost by three points. The crowd clapped at the end of the game anyway, the band played, and the team marched off to their locker room.
Most of the crowd headed toward the parking lot. Parents and friends wandered to the edge of the field waiting for the players. Tori joined them, suddenly nervous. What would Dirk do when he saw her? He’d said in one of his letters that he wished he could see her, but he might feel differently about her showing up at his football game.
Dirk hadn’t given her his real address; he’d taken steps to protect his identity. And she had not only learned his last name, she also knew where he went to school. This wasn’t just bending the rules. It was pretty much taking a sledgehammer to them.
Tori stood behind a clump of parents who were talking about the game. “So close,” one of the fathers said. “It’s a heartbreaker.”
Tori’s breath came out in cold puffs. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Maybe this had been a bad idea all along and she was only making it worse. Maybe she should go before he saw her.
The players emerged from the locker room, done with whatever pep talk or lecture their coach had given them. They strolled over to talk to the people at the edge of the field. She caught sight of Dirk in the back of the group, talking with another player. His helmet was off and his shaggy blond hair was dark with sweat. Grass smudges and dirt covered his arms and uniform. She stared at him, drinking him in. Even dirty he was utterly handsome.
Tori looked toward the parking lot. The manager of La Niçoise Café would probably tell Dirk that a girl came by and asked for him, but Tori could leave before he found out that she had gone to his high school. He was nearly to where she stood. She moved a little farther behind the cluster
of parents so she wouldn’t be visible.
The lanky blonde cheerleader swept up to Dirk and gave him a hug. “You played a great game,” she cooed. “You should have won.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a quirk of a smile and kept walking down the field.
He hadn’t seen Tori yet. His gaze was trained on some people a few yards to her left. She glanced at them and then quickly glanced away. It didn’t matter. The image stayed in her mind.
A middle-aged man with smooth dark hair stood next to a beautiful brunette woman. The man had to be Dirk’s father. He had the same height and build as Dirk, the same face shape. The woman didn’t look old enough to be his mother. She must have been, though, since she had her arm looped through his father’s arm. She wore a form-fitting black coat with white fur trim and a matching hat—probably bought at some chic skiing villa somewhere. An elementary-aged girl waited beside them. She had long brown hair like her mother and waved excitedly at Dirk.
Tori had seen Dirk’s family. This visit just kept getting worse. Why hadn’t she realized his family would be here? That was the sort of thing families did.
Tori would draw attention to herself if she turned and bolted off the field now. She would let Dirk walk over to his family and then she would drift downfield to an exit. No one had to know about this unfortunate incident.
Dirk kept his gaze on his family. His father called out, “If your coach had let you play offense and defense, you would have won.” He had an accent, a familiar one, although Tori couldn’t place it. British maybe or South African.
“Yeah,” Dirk called back. “What’s up with the coach letting other people have playtime?” He was walking by Tori. She lowered her head as far as she could while still keeping an eye on him.
The smile dropped from his face and he abruptly stopped walking. “Tori,” he said. His gaze swung to the bleachers behind her, searching the groups of stragglers making their way down them.