Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series)

by Rogers, S. G.

  A whisper-thin petite blonde paused on her way past. “If you don’t get selected, you can always start your own dance company. Tori Moss and her Fangirls.”

  She sauntered off with her pert nose in the air. Tori noticed a pint-sized imp riding on the girl’s ballet bun, giggling and making faces. Although the imp was disconcerting, Tori tried to maintain her composure. If anyone knows I see demons, I’ll be called a freak. Despite her effort to feign nonchalance, Jenny mistook her expression for hurt feelings.

  “Never mind Kirstin, Tor. She’s just jealous.”

  “Got that straight.” Deborah curled her lip. “Why does she have to be so mean?”

  Tori shrugged. “You never know what sort of demons people are wrestling with.” She gulped and changed the subject. “Speaking of which, are you looking forward to Trans-Zone semester?”

  Groans.

  “I forgot about that,” Jenny said.

  “It’s not fair. I think we should be able to study whatever we want during the last semester of our senior year,” Deborah said.

  “I don’t want to take drama,” Jenny said.

  “Neither do I,” Tori said. “I froze up with stage fright during my second grade play and vowed never to act again.”

  “We also have to take movement classes with the drama students,” Jenny said. “Last year, it was square dances.”

  Deborah sighed. “I don’t know why the school says it’s important to force us out of our comfort zones. I’m fine with my comfort zone.”

  Tori shivered at the memory of Kirstin’s grotesque imp. My comfort zone includes never having to see that wretched demon again. “So am I.”

  On her way home from the dance studio, she drove past two other demons. The first was a gnome harassing a dog out for a walk with its owner, and the other was a Goth demon in human form, looking to cause trouble at a strip mall. Why are so many demons out lately—and in broad daylight? Maybe Los Angeles should be called Los Demonios.

  She parked in the driveway in front of her foster home, a beautiful four thousand square foot house situated off Mulholland Drive in Sherman Oaks. Her foster mother, Misty, had been a close friend of her parents, and Tori was quite fond of her. The wealthy woman had taken her in after Tori’s parents were killed in a car crash.

  When she went inside the house, she spotted an unlit and unadorned artificial Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, next to the gleaming black baby grand piano. Oops! I forgot to bring down the decorations! Her foster mother’s live-in cook and housekeeper appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Good afternoon, Tori.”

  “Hello, Anya. Is Misty home?”

  “She’s resting in her room.”

  Immediately concerned, Tori loped up the stairs. She found her foster mother in her palatial bedroom, propped up on the bed with her electronic reading device. Although the woman was elderly, her hair, makeup, and clothes were always impeccable. The walls of her room were covered with old photographs of her posing with various celebrities of a former era.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?” Tori asked.

  “No, sweetheart, I’m just tired. Maybe I’ll take an iron pill with a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll have Anya bring a tray to your room.”

  “You’re a dear.”

  Tori draped a hand-knitted afghan over Misty’s legs. The woman’s faded blue eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Thank you. How was dance class?”

  “Wonderful. I’m going to audition for SBT next year!”

  “You’ll bowl them over, I know it. Listen, Tori, you really must buy some clothes. You’ve grown at least an inch taller since summer.”

  “If it makes you happy, I’ll go shopping.”

  “Good. And you could use a few new foundation garments.”

  “Excuse me?” Tori was genuinely puzzled.

  “Brassieres, dear. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but your cups runneth over.”

  Tori’s face flamed hot as she folded her arms over her chest. “Okay. I’ll go talk to Anya about the tea.”

  While the housekeeper made the tea, Tori rummaged in the closet where the holiday decorations were stored. As she lifted the plastic container of Christmas decorations down from the shelves, a sealed box marked MOSS PERSONAL EFFECTS caught her eye. Tori flashed back to the day ten years prior, when she was summoned to the principal’s office at school. Police officers were waiting there to tell her about her parents’ fatal car crash. She’d felt so horribly alone. A puny, insignificant orphan emotionally pulverized by a tsunami of loss. The impact had sent her reeling, and months passed before she could begin to function normally again. It was during that dark time when her ability to see demons had really become clear. The ensuing nightmares became exquisite torture, but she refused to tell anyone why. Even at a young age, Tori knew it wasn’t normal to see demons, and she hadn’t wanted to be labeled a loon.

  Staring at the box of her parents’ personal effects brought back unwelcome memories. I can’t deal with this right now. My life was torn apart a decade ago and it still seems like only yesterday. Nevertheless, she pulled the box down from the shelf and stashed it in her bedroom. Maybe I’ll look inside later…after the holidays.

  Shopping bags in hand, Tori emerged from a store on Melrose Avenue, where the lamp posts were decorated with holiday tinsel. She weighed whether to continue shopping, but then she noticed three human-shaped demons heading her way. They seemed to be staring straight at her, but because their eyes were completely red, it was difficult to tell for sure. Paralyzing fear took over for several moments, but then she forced her feet to move. Her car was several blocks away in a more deserted residential section. What if the demons catch up to me before I can get inside and lock my car doors?

  A half-block later, she came across a store—The Mime’s Eye—which was dedicated to new age paraphernalia. In the window display hung several charms, talismans, crystals, and amulets. I’ll wait inside until the demons pass. Her heart was pounding as she darted inside and pressed herself flat against the wall next to the window. When the three demons appeared, Tori held her breath.

  “Can I help you?”

  Startled, Tori flinched. The African robe-clad shop owner gave her a kindly smile. “Sorry if I frightened you, but you can relax. They won’t come in here.”

  “What?”

  “A special rune is painted over the doorway. No demons can enter.”

  “Y-You see them?”

  “Certainly.” He tilted his head as he regarded her. “How long have you had the sight?”

  “My whole life.” Tori craned her neck toward the window, but the unholy trio had disappeared. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing more and more demons lately.”

  “I’ve noticed an increase as well.” He leaned forward, as if to impart a secret. “Most people don’t realize what’s really happening.”

  “Which is?”

  “The eternal war between good and evil is heating up.”

  Tori edged away. Although she believed the man to be sincere, she wasn’t completely certain he was sane. Maybe if I buy something, I can escape gracefully.

  “Um…do you have any amulets, you know, to ward off demons?”

  His demeanor turned professional. “I’ve a number of Celtic Shield Knot amulets on sale, in many beautiful designs.” He ushered her past a display of incense and over to an extensive collection of necklaces and charms. “I’d recommend solid silver for maximum effect. My name is Mr. Mime if you have any other questions.”

  Although she was dubious an amulet would actually protect her, Tori examined the necklaces. The Celtic Shield Knot designs were very pretty, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to wear one. It took her several minutes to choose one of the distinctive silver medallions. She also picked a smaller Celtic Shield Knot charm to hang from her rear view mirror. Mime reached into a display case as she brought her selections to the register.

  “Are you interested in a more pointed method of demon defe
nse?”

  Tori’s eyes widened at the sight of a sheathed dagger resting in the palm of his hand. “Oh, I—”

  “Don’t worry, the blade is blunt for your own personal safety. But it’s fashioned from pure silver. Demons shatter on contact, guaranteed.”

  “I don’t kill demons,” she replied, aghast. “I just want to avoid them.”

  “Easier said than done.” With a chuckle, the man returned the dagger to the display case. “It’s here if you change your mind.” Wink.

  “Er…thanks.”

  Mime slid a printed card and a pencil over to her. “Join our mailing list for announcements about seminars and new products. We’ll also send you a twenty-five percent off coupon for your birthday.”

  Tori wrote her name, email address, and birthdate of March twenty-first on the card while the man rang up her purchases. When he reached for a small shopping bag, however, she stopped him. “I’ll wear the necklace and put the other in my pocket.”

  “If you like.” Mime peered at the information she’d written on her card. “I see you have a birthday coming up!”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  With a brief smile, she picked up her purchases and shopping bags and left the store. A quick glance in either direction confirmed the demons were gone…but she fastened the necklace around her neck anyway. As she walked down the block, she couldn’t stop giggling. Mr. Mime is crazier than I am!

  London, England

  Raven Cassidy sped down the dark, rain-dampened street in pursuit of his elusive quarry. As he ran, his breath gusted out in clouds of white. Despite the approaching holiday season, the miserable weather had chased most residents into their houses early on. Not even the police wanted to brave the elements, but Raven didn’t mind. Sleep wouldn’t come until he’d killed something evil. By midnight, only demons lurked in the shadows—and those who hunted them. Unfortunately, underworld denizens were becoming more and more infrequent.

  Raven’s persistence was finally rewarded when he spotted his prey in the doorway of a drug den. A toss of pure silver ball bearings forced the demon onto the sidewalk, as if fleeing a swarm of wasps. To Raven’s frustration, the creature eluded his silver throwing star and ran off. With the demon’s mocking laughter in his ears, Raven retrieved his weapon. The silver blade-edged star was embedded in the wooden doorframe, and he lost precious time working it free.

  He scanned the street afterward, but saw nothing. I can’t believe I lost him after coming so close! Movement up ahead caught his eye. Had the red mohawk-coiffed demon kept to the shadows, Raven would have been stymied, but nobody ever claimed demons were always intelligent. With single-minded determination, Raven sprinted to overtake him. When the demon realized he’d been spotted, he ducked into an alley. A dead end! Raven’s lips curved with anticipatory glee. The hunt would be over soon. At the mouth of the alley, he paused long enough to switch on his LED penlight. A sweep of the area revealed the distinctive demon, cowering in the back against a locked door. As Raven approached, throwing star at the ready, the demon snickered and crawled straight up the side of the building. With a flick of its red-tufted long tail, the creature disappeared from view.

  Curses.

  Annoyed and frustrated, Raven turned to leave…and found his way blocked by two of the biggest, ugliest gargoyles he’d ever seen. Fear turned his lips numb; throwing stars weren’t going to cut it this time. Like a fool, he’d been lured into danger without adequate preparation. As the beasts crept closer, Raven gulped. Maybe if he unloaded all his stars at one of the demonic thugs, the other would flee? Not likely. His gut tightened as he prepared to do battle. Before he could even pull his arm back to throw his first weapon, the gargoyles pounced.

  A familiar voice rang out. “Macbeth!”

  The gargoyles flipped, midair, and rushed toward the person who’d uttered the sacred word. A long blade slashed at the demons, expertly carving them into dust, one by one. A slow sigh of relief escaped Raven’s lips. As the dust settled, he walked toward Fletcher Harrington, who was sheathing his sword in a scabbard hidden by long coat. Why, of all people, did I have to be saved by the most arrogant idiot in the universe?

  He flicked off his penlight. “Er…hello, Fletcher. Thanks.”

  As the fair-haired teen peered at him, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smarmy smirk. “Glad I could help save your bacon.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to your house, actually. I wanted you to be the first to know I was accepted into The Royal Drama Academy of London. Felicia was, too. We got our letters today.” His even, white teeth gleamed under the streetlights.

  “Congratulations,” Raven managed.

  “And you?”

  Raven suddenly wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to let the gargoyles slice him into pâté. Too late now. He shook his head. “No. I didn’t get in.”

  Exaggerated wince. “Ooh, that’ll leave a mark. Hard cheese, old boy. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  Fletcher examined his buffed nails. “No need to commit suicide over it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to commit suicide, you insufferable fathead!”

  “Taking on a couple of gargoyles was a pretty good imitation. In addition, Grandfather won’t be chuffed to learn an underage Nephilim was out demon hunting this late at night.”

  Raven tightened his knuckles. “You won’t be able to tell him if your teeth are bashed in. Besides which, your grandfather will be awfully interested to know you pinched his sword.”

  A flicker of apprehension crossed Fletcher’s face. “Well played, Raven. I guess I never saw you, then.”

  I wish I’d never seen you. “Right.”

  “By the way, my sister sends her love.”

  How dare he throw Felicia in my face! “You’re contemptible.”

  “That’s Lord Contemptible, to you.”

  The two young men parted company, but their mutual hostility lingered in the air.

  Raven’s father was waiting up for him when he got home. One glance at his son’s attire must have confirmed his suspicions because a muscle in Ian’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared with anger. Distinctly aware he was on thin ice, Raven sat at the kitchen table and prepared himself to be taken to task. At least the servants are in bed and won’t hear me getting dressed down.

  At length, Ian Cassidy stopped pacing the kitchen floor, folded his arms across his chest, and drilled Raven with his gaze.

  “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No. I’d had a bad day and wanted to snag one lousy demon before turning in. It just took me a little longer than I’d anticipated.”

  “Demon hunting alone is careless and rash.”

  “I know.”

  Although Fletcher had promised not to say anything, Raven didn’t trust him. If his father heard the entire story from anyone other than his son, it would be worse. So he described what had happened…glossing over the immense size of the gargoyles, of course.

  “The demon who got away knows your scent now,” Ian said.

  Shrug. “I’ll change my aftershave.”

  A sound of exasperation. “Did your stupidity have something to do with your bad breakup with Felicia, or this letter?”

  To Raven’s astonishment, his father pulled a crumpled piece of stationery out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

  “What were you doing, digging around in my waste basket?”

  “I make it my business to be observant, which is more than I can say for you.” Sigh. “I’m very sorry you’ve suffered disappointments. In the case of the Academy, at least, you’ve only yourself to blame.”

  “Don’t start. I nailed my audition monologue.”

  “Good looks and talent aren’t enough, lad.”

  “Fletcher and Felicia Harrington got in, so maybe it’s who you know that’s important.”

  “They are both top drawer students, so I don’t want t
o hear any sour grapes. Admissions are competitive, and you lack discipline academically.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, it’s The Royal Drama Academy of London, not Oxford. I didn’t think they’d be so selective.”

  “What’s your fallback plan?”

  “I don’t know. I was sure I’d get in.” Raven frowned. “After graduation, I’ll join the Shakespeareans, I guess.”

  “The Shakespeareans are renowned demon hunters, not a boot camp for wayward youth. As you discovered tonight, hunting demons can be extremely dangerous if you’re not prepared. Besides which, with fewer demons to hunt these days, the Shakespeareans need only take the best candidates.”

  Raven bristled. “You don’t think I can hack it?”

  “You’re Nephilim, so you can do anything you set your mind to, but you need to prove your maturity.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  Ian pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m retiring from the London Shakespeare Institute.”

  A shock ran through Raven at the news. “What?”

  “There’s not enough for me to do anymore, and it’s time to get on with my life. I’m moving to Los Angeles over the holidays and I’d like you to come with me.”

  “Have you gone ’round the twist? I can’t change schools midyear! Forget it. I’ll move in with Mum. She and Carbuncle won’t mind.”

  “His name is Carson. Since he makes your mother happy, the least you can do is be respectful. At any rate, you’ve no choice now. The demon you allowed to escape is going to be on your scent, and a Nephilim won’t always be around to protect you.”

  “That’s not a proposition, it’s an edict. I won’t go.”

  “I found a private performing arts school in L.A. with an opening.”

  “I’m not leaving London.”

  “You’re coming, Raven. As it turns out, I can use you on an assignment.”

  “I thought you were retiring.”

  “I’m retiring from the Shakespeareans, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t got my own agenda.”