A half block later, they reached The Mime’s Eye. While Felicia paused to admire an elaborate display of crystal-studded dream catchers, Tori glanced around for Mr. Mime. The owner was nowhere to be seen, but a new employee was manning the register. She tried not to stare, but the tips of short stubby horns were protruding from his dreadlocks.
“Can I help you?” His accent was Jamaican. “The name’s Cody.”
When the young man stepped out from behind the counter, Tori noticed cloven hooves where his feet should be. She lowered her voice. “Forgive me for asking, but how do you navigate past the anti-demon rune out front?”
“I’m a satyr, not a demon, so it doesn’t affect me.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Tori flushed. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
He waved off her apology. “No worries. Since there aren’t too many satyrs around here, you’ve probably never met one before.”
“You’re right, I haven’t.”
Felicia joined them, seemingly unperturbed by Cody’s appearance. Her brows rose as she glanced down at the young man’s painted hooves. “Beautiful nail polish! Is it Black Plague?”
“That it is.” Cody gave her an appraising look. “You certainly know what’s trendy.”
“I’ve always made fashion a priority.”
While Cody and Felicia chatted about nails, Tori’s gaze dropped to the display case. The silver dagger Mr. Mime had showed her was missing—presumably sold to a demon hunter. I wonder how many of us are out there?
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, “but is Mr. Mime available? I need to talk to him.”
“In his office. To the back and hang a right.”
Tori and Felicia found Mr. Mime unpacking a case of runestones, imported from Germany. When he glanced up, recognition brought a smile to his face.
“Tori! And you’ve brought a pretty friend with you.”
“Yes, this is Felicia. I see you hired an employee.”
“Actually, Cody’s my son. He’s half-Satyr—a by-product of a whirlwind trip to the Caribbean some years ago.” He gave a sigh, as if in fond remembrance.
“Nobody notices anything different about him?”
“I dabbled in the occult, remember? A little glamour spell works wonders on everyone except a discerning few like the Nephilim. How can I help you today?”
Tori glanced at Felicia, who sprang into action.
“Mr. Mime, I understand you’re plugged in to what’s really going on in the demon world.” Her accent was American—low and sultry. “Tori and I have been hearing certain rumors, and we decided to run them past an expert.”
Her flattery had the expected result. Mime giggled and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll be happy to try.”
She drew closer. “Word is, demons are preparing for the Apocalypse on March first, and Los Angeles is Ground Zero.”
His grin slipped and he gestured to the door. “Close that, would you?”
Tori complied.
“I’ve been hearing the same thing.” Mime’s expression was grim. “Apparently someone very powerful has located a Nephilim Leap Day child and intends to make a sacrifice.”
Tori gulped. “Does anyone know the child’s identity?”
Mime shook his head. “Only the person or persons preparing to sacrifice him.”
“Who might that be?” Felicia asked.
“I don’t know.”
Tori gestured to the shipment of runestones. “You’re still going about business as usual, so you must not think it will happen.”
His somber mood lifted. “I’m an optimist. March first is weeks away. I could win the lottery by then.”
“Are the vamps for the Apocalypse or against it?” Felicia asked.
“Against, of course. The only creatures who are for it are the worst sort of demons and humans who’ve been promised something in return for bringing the Apocalypse about.”
“Such as?” Tori asked.
“Power—in whatever society is left. Or perhaps somebody sold their soul at some point, and they want to get it back.” He shrugged. “Of course there are always humans who enjoy destruction, even if it results in their own doom.”
“And people think demons are weird,” Felicia murmured.
“One last thing,” Tori said. “You had a silver dagger in the display case out front, but it’s gone now. Did you sell it to a demon hunter?”
“Yes. There have always been a handful of Nephilim in L.A. who like to raise Hell, as it were, just to smack it down again. Kids your age, mostly, who are runaways. Without special training, they don’t last long. The kid who bought the dagger knows how to handle himself. He calls himself Stormchaser.”
“Stormchaser?” Felicia rolled her eyes at the name. “How terribly dramatic.”
“If Stormchaser spends a lot of time on the streets, I bet he’d know who is behind all this,” Tori said.
“He might,” Mime said. “Then again, he might not.”
“I don’t suppose you have his address?” Tori asked.
“I’m not sure he has one. He’s into the club scene, though. If you run across him, tell him I said hello.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mime,” Tori said.
As she reached for the door, Mime spoke. “Be careful, ladies. Any humans who stick their noses into this may find themselves torn apart by a pack of demons who’d do anything to ensure the Apocalypse will come about.”
The slightly arrogant smile on Felicia’s lips told Tori she was thinking Stormchaser wasn’t the only one who knew how to handle himself.
Felicia insisted on buying two of the shimmering one-inch dream catchers. While Cody rang up the purchases, Tori tried to curb her impatience. The meeting with Mime had done nothing to ameliorate her feeling that a target was painted on her forehead. And I’m no closer to learning who wants me dead than I was before. As Cody slid the tissue-wrapped items into a small hemp shopping bag, Felicia gave the satyr a slow smile. “Anyone who uses Black Plague nail polish probably knows where the best parties are.”
He chuckled. “The locations change every couple weeks.” He jotted an address down on the back of her receipt. “Show up here next Saturday night. Neither of you ladies will have any trouble getting in.”
Felicia scooped up the receipt and bag. “Thanks.”
Outside the shop, Tori made a sound of disgust. “I’m going to be horribly murdered soon, and all you can think about is buying bling and going to parties?”
To her surprise Felicia seemed hurt. “I bought the dream catchers to engage Cody in conversation, and the party is about finding Stormchaser. Even if he doesn’t know who’s behind the Apocalypse plot, it can’t hurt to have a Nephilim ally.”
“Oh.” Tori’s annoyance turned to chagrin. “I’m sorry. It’s a clever idea.”
Felicia sighed. “That’s all right. You’ve every reason to think ill of me.”
If she’s making an effort, I should make an effort—however grudgingly. “You were good with Mime.”
“Come, now, don’t gush.” Felicia was deadpan.
“I said I was sorry.”
“Here, take this.” She handed Tori one of the tissue-wrapped dream catchers. “I thought you and I could put these on chains and wear them as necklaces to the party. Anyone who is acquainted with Mr. Mime will recognize us as friends.”
“I-I’m impressed,” Tori said, taken aback. “I never would have thought of it.”
“I may be blonde, but I’m not dumb. Not that Grandpapa believes that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not important.”
Tori jerked her head toward the coffeehouse across the street. “Do you feel like getting some coffee?”
“I’d love to.”
Several minutes later, they’d settled themselves next to the coffeehouse window, watching people stroll past. Some had shopping bags, and others were walking dogs, but none paid any attention to the writhing wraiths and grotesque gremlins swarmi
ng in the gutters and sidewalks.
Felicia shook her head. “The infestation in L.A. is far, far worse than in London.”
“I expect every major city around the globe will empty out before too long, and the entire underworld will be here.” Tori shuddered. “Now what were you telling me before about Lord Birmingham?”
Felicia frowned as she stirred her coffee. “Um…did anyone explain to you about Nicholai?”
“N-No.”
Laugh. “You’re a terrible liar. Anyway, after Nicholai died, guilt took over. As a result, I went rather wild trying to prove I wasn’t cold…and ended up losing the friendship and respect of someone I admired very much.”
She means Raven.
“I don’t think Nicholai’s suicide was your fault, no matter what he said in the note. Did you have any idea how he felt about you?”
“We were close, but I had no clue his feelings had grown deeper than friendship. I had a secret crush on him for the longest time, but I never said anything. Anyway, Grandpapa doesn’t take me seriously. He always felt the ballroom dancing competition circuit was beneath me, if you can believe it.”
“What?”
“Yes, he’s rather close-minded about things like that. He hates the idea of my becoming an actor, too.”
“Does he want you to work for the Institute?”
“At a low level…until I get married. He intends to groom Fletcher for a leadership position in the Institute, but not me.” She paused. “I’m a little bitter about it.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to have anything to do with the Institute!”
“I suppose it’s my version of sour grapes. Plus, I can’t resist twitting Grandpapa every chance I get. Don’t misunderstand; I really am keen to act in the movies. It’s just nothing can ever be more exciting—or satisfying—than exterminating evil.”
“I’d like to learn how to do it myself, eventually, without getting killed in the process.”
“If you spend any time at Blackfriars, we’ll train you up a bit.”
The memory of Raven coaching her how to hit the heavy bag brought a smile to Tori’s lips. I look forward to having him train me.
“What’s the smile about?” Felicia asked.
“After my horrible SBT audition, I believed the world had ended. Then, when I learned my life might be taken from me, my perspective changed entirely. I love ballet, but there are other things for me to think about now.” She paused. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
“Because despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not entirely an unfeeling monster.” Felicia scooped up the rest of her whipped cream with a plastic spoon. “If you’ll indulge me just a little longer, before we go home I simply must have that leather jacket.”
Chapter Fourteen
Stormchaser
LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Raven allowed Fletcher to rope him into a few games of billiards. Well aware Felicia and Tori were out together, he kept one eye on the clock. When Felicia finally breezed in, clad in a new leather jacket, he couldn’t wait to learn what had transpired.
“The fellow confirmed only what we already knew, but it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” she said. “There’s a Nephilim by the name of Stormchaser who might know something more. We’re going to search for him at a party next Saturday.”
Raven’s eyebrows rose. “We…as in the four of us, right?”
“If you want to go, you’ll have to look cool. There’s going to be a lot of diversity and we want to fit in.”
“Diversity…as in demon freaks, vamps, and hangers-on?” Fletcher nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Raven can pull it off better than you can,” she replied. “We’re going to have to work on your look.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only you could find an insult in not looking like a freak,” she said.
“How did it go with Tori?” Raven asked.
“I made her cry a few times. She slapped me once and pulled my hair.”
“My sister’s being sarcastic, just so you know,” Fletcher said.
“We got along fine!” Felicia said. “But I saw something odd at her foster mother’s house. A painting of Baphomet.”
Raven shrugged. “A lot of people don’t realize Baphomet is connected with the occult.”
“Misty said the painting was a gift, but I caught a whiff of incense too.”
“She uses incense? The horror!” Fletcher exclaimed.
“If incense is evidence of a crime, you’ll have to lock up a broad swath of L.A,” Raven said.
“That’s not the only thing. Misty Savannah has been extremely generous to Tori, but why? They’re not related or anything.”
“The woman has nobody else to spend her money on, and she’s fond of her,” Raven replied. “If you start to cast aspersions on the one person who has provided Tori with any sort of stability, she’ll never forgive you.” And neither will I.
“I understand, but if we want to figure out who is behind the plot, we shouldn’t exclude anyone out of sentiment.”
“Misty Savannah is a former singing star,” Fletcher said dismissively. “Even Grandfather has a few of her records, in point of fact.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Felicia,” Raven said. “Please don’t say anything crazy to Tori. She’s got enough to worry about without you shaking her cage.”
“Don’t marginalize me! And Tori is not as fragile as you think,” Felicia retorted. “By the way, whose motorbike is parked out front? Do we have company?”
“It’s mine.” Fletcher’s grin dripped with satisfaction. “Grandfather and I took the limo after you left to get it.”
Felicia gasped in dismay. “I want a motorbike too! Why didn’t you wait until I got home?”
“Grandfather refuses to buy one for you. Something about motorbikes not being ladylike.”
“What?”
“Silly, huh? It’s not like you’re a lady or anything.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have I ever told you that you’re an idiot?”
Fletcher laughed. “Don’t rush to judgment on that. Grandfather is leaving tomorrow morning, but he’s giving you a car allowance. You can pick out whatever motorbike you want after he leaves and he’ll never know. I recall seeing several models in pink.”
“Pink my foot.” She smiled. “And you’re still an idiot.”
Nearly a week had passed since Tori and Felicia had spoken with Mr. Mime, and no new tremors had shaken the city. In addition, an almost eerie calm had descended on the demon populace. Far from being soothing, however, the lull in activity was jangling Tori’s nerves. Her real birthday was a scant few weeks away, and she still didn’t know who was behind the plot to usher in the Apocalypse. Maybe it’s all just a stupid, self-propagating rumor and I’ll wake up the day after my birthday, laughing.
Would this Nephilim they were seeking—Stormchaser—have any answers? Although she was doubtful, Tori had agreed to go the party that evening. Secretly, she was eager to have a look at the other guests, some of whom would be legendary creatures. The idea that vampires really existed was a difficult concept for her to accept. Were vampires any stranger than Satyrs or demons, though?
Much of Tori’s closet was strewn on her bed and over the back of a chair. In the midst of the chaos, she chewed her lip in indecision. Felicia had said “club chic,” but she wasn’t sure if she owned anything suitable. None of her dresses would work because she was riding to the party on the back of Raven’s motorcycle. Jeans weren’t dressy enough, were they? This is why I could never be a fashion model! I have no feeling for clothes.
Finally, she slipped into a sleeveless black unitard left over from a dance recital, and added a charcoal tapestry bustier she’d worn the year before as part of a renaissance costume. She donned her high-heeled boots, reveling in the resulting Amazonian sensation. Her hair waved loosely about her shoulders, and she spent an hour applying dramatic stage makeup, complete with false eyelashes.
A glance at the clock told her Raven would be picking her up soon. She fretted over her choice of jacket, wishing she’d had the money to purchase one of the soft leather jackets Felicia had found on Melrose. A belted short black trench coat would have to do. At the last minute, Tori remembered the dream catcher. She strung it on a piece of black cord and tied it around her neck, admiring the way the crystals caught the light. Her appearance was far more theatrical than usual, but she would certainly not be the flashiest creature at the party.
Misty had retired for the night, but Tori stopped by her room on her way downstairs. Far from being stuffy about her outfit, her foster mother was delighted with how she looked.
“You don’t think it’s too much?” Tori asked.
“Not at all. I used to wear outrageous clothes whenever I performed in Vegas,” she said. “Some of them involved leather chaps and corsets.” She burst into laughter at Tori’s expression. “Don’t worry, that was many, many years ago. Next time you need something spectacular, remember you’ve got the key to my costume locker. You’re welcome to take anything, at any time.”
“Thank you, Misty. You’re the best.”
“Have fun at the party, my dear. You don’t have much time left.”
Tori froze in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll be turning eighteen soon, and taking on new and more responsibilities. Might as well enjoy yourself while you can.”
The explanation didn’t bring much relief, but Tori smiled anyway. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
When Raven left his room, he was wearing a pair of low-slung black-denim jeans, boots, a black t-shirt, and his usual leather jacket. Felicia had made him add a silver-studded belt to the jeans, but otherwise had left him alone. Fletcher stepped into the hallway and Raven’s eyebrows rose.
“Shut it,” Fletcher said.
“I didn’t say a word.”
Rarely did Raven ever feel sorry for Fletcher about anything, but Felicia had really worked him over. She’d bought a home bleaching kit at the drugstore to paint his blond hair with white streaks, had lined his lower lid with a brown pencil, and made him don several bracelets and chain necklaces. In addition, he was revealing a great deal of skin in a scanty white tank shirt. Raven privately thought the whole getup was ghastly, and it was all he could do not to laugh as they headed downstairs.
Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) Page 13