Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) (19 page)

“I won’t.”

Tori didn’t know quite what to expect at Blackfriars. Her parents had fled England to escape Lord Birmingham, and now she was supposed to trust him and his descendants with her life? Although her instinct was to cling to Raven, she didn’t want to be perceived as weak. Besides which, she wasn’t certain he would enjoy it.
I shouldn’t mistake his kindness for attraction.

An older man approached as they entered the house, dressed in a suit. “Good evening,” he said in a British accent. “Welcome to Blackfriars West.”

“Hello.” Assuming he was Lord Birmingham, she waited for Raven to introduce her.

“Quigley, this is Tori Moss,” Raven said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moss. May I take your wrap?”

Slightly embarrassed at her mistake, she relinquished her shawl and purse to the butler. “Thank you.”

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Oh, um, no. I’m fine.”

The butler ambled off with her shawl draped across the sleeve of his suit and her purse tucked under his arm. Tori glanced at Raven. “Your servants finally joined you, then?”

“Yes, and you’re in for a treat. Mrs. Turnbull is a very fine cook.” He beckoned her forward. “Everyone’s in the library, awaiting our arrival.”

She caught his hand, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. “This is so weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“A butler just took my things. Your private chef is preparing dinner. Everyone has assembled in the library, awaiting our arrival.” She giggled. “I feel like I stumbled onto the set of a movie and you’re acting like it’s all routine.”

“There’s one aspect that’s not routine. I’ve never invited a girl over for dinner before.”

Their gazes locked for a several seconds.
Does he mean I’m special, or am I reading too much into it?
Fletcher, clad in black slacks and cashmere turtleneck sweater, appeared in the open library doorway.

“Don’t keep Tori all to yourself, old boy.” He gave her an admiring glance. “You look smashing.” With a dazzling smile, he hastened over to offer his arm. “May I escort you in?” Unvarnished charm oozed from every pore, and she noticed Raven’s lips tighten.
There’s no love lost between those two.

Inside the library, Felicia was sprawled across a sofa with one of her spiky red pumps dangling off her toes. Her black velvet pants hugged every curve, and a black off-the-shoulder suede top lent her a sex kitten look. When she saw Tori, Felicia gritted her teeth in a smile that never reached her eyes. “Hello.”

I’m not sure I will ever warm up to that girl.
“Hello.”

The man Tori had known for years as Mr. Peabody hastened over. “Tori! I’m so glad you’re here. Let me introduce you to Lord Birmingham, the director of the London Shakespearean Institute.”

A handsome older gentleman, dressed in a tailored suit, unfolded himself from a wing chair.
Now I see where Fletcher and Felicia get their looks.
The man’s thick white hair was impeccably groomed, and despite his age, he exuded an air of masculinity and power.
It’s no wonder my father chose to run instead of battling him.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Tori Moss. The resemblance to your beautiful mother is uncanny,” he said. “I confess you’ve not been far from my thoughts these past seventeen years.”

“I can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid,” she replied. “Until a few days ago, I was entirely in the dark over this whole situation. I thought my parents and I were American.”

“How very odd. Weren’t you curious why they had English accents?” Felicia asked.

“They spoke with American accents,” Tori said. “And as far as I knew, they’d never traveled abroad.”

“Gerald and Hannah took every precaution to seem American,” Ian said. “Their cover was flawless.”

“Not completely,” Fletcher said. “Someone found them out.”

“Can you think to whom your parents might have confided their secret?” Birmingham asked.

Tori shook her head. “When I look back on it, our activities were focused on my school and activities. They didn’t have outside friends…except for my foster mother, Misty Savannah. She has a huge home in Sherman Oaks, and we lived with her as long as I can remember. She let me stay after they died, and gave me as normal a life as possible.”

“Lord Birmingham, do the Shakespeareans have any demon assets here in L.A.?” Raven asked. “Someone we could pump for information?”

“Demon assets?” Tori repeated, confused.

“Informants who can be bribed or tortured into giving up secrets,” Fletcher said.

“None of which I am aware,” Birmingham said. “Until now, Los Angeles has been off our radar screen.”

“I might know somebody.” All eyes swiveled in Tori’s direction. “He’s not a demon, but he owns a store dealing in paranormal books and artifacts. Maybe he’s plugged in to the rumor mill.”

Seemingly taken aback, Birmingham and Ian exchanged a glance.

“A Shakespearean in the making,” Birmingham said. “When we get past this crisis, perhaps we can find a place for you in the organization.”

“Don’t let them draw you in, Tori. I’m sure you have better things to do,” Felicia drawled. “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starved.”

Mrs. Trumbull had prepared an enticing meal of Beef Wellington, tossed green salad, risotto, green beans, asparagus, broccoli, and baby red potatoes. Quigley helped serve, and once again Tori had the peculiar sensation of having inadvertently wandered onto the set of a BBC drama. Over dinner, Ian recounted several stories of harrowing demon-hunting adventures he’d had with Tori’s father.

“Are there a great many Nephilim?” Tori asked finally. “I mean, the ones like me who don’t realize it?”

“A few,” Birmingham said. “The ones who talk about seeing demons, however, oftentimes end up institutionalized, or drop out of society.”

“If you can’t identify these people, how do you recruit new members?”

“The Shakespeareans
breed
them,” Felicia said. “It’s always assumed the next generation is thrilled with the legacy, even when that’s not true.”

The slightly bitter tone of Felicia’s response did not escape anyone’s notice.

“Nobody is forced to join the Shakespeareans,” Ian said.

“Quite so,” Birmingham said. “Particularly not now, when our services are needed less and less.”

“If L.A. is any indication, Shakespeareans are needed here desperately,” Tori said.

“When the Apocalypse fails to materialize, demons will disperse. Shakespeareans will hunt the remainder. After that, our kind will become an anachronism.” Birmingham took a sip of wine, his expression unreadable.

“Once we save the world, I’m going to get myself a theatrical agent,” Felicia announced. “I want to act.”

“I expect with your looks and talent you’ll be very successful,” Tori said.

Felicia cocked her head. “Aren’t you nice.”

Inwardly, Tori smiled.
Never before has the word “nice” seemed more like an insult!

“I’d fancy being a soap star,” Fletcher said. “I’d work a few hours and then have the rest of the day to hunt demons.”

Birmingham’s mood seemed to improve. “Oh, to be young and have dreams. What about you, Raven?”

“All I can think about for the next few weeks is keeping Tori safe,” he said. “After that, I’ll have plenty of time to concentrate on the future.”

“How gallant. The role of white knight suits you, Raven.” Felicia’s gaze dropped to her plate.

Tori stole a look at Fletcher, who gave her a tiny nod.
After cheating on Raven last summer, Felicia still has feelings for him? She has a funny way of showing it.

After dinner, Ian and Birmingham retired to the library for a nightcap. Raven gave Tori a tour of Blackfriars, starting with the basement wine cellar. Since they hadn’t yet explored on their own, Fletcher and Felicia tagged along. The four of them trooped down the stairs into the cool, dimly lit cellar, which was lined with rows and rows of empty wooden racks.

“Years ago, those racks used to be filled with kegs of wine,” Raven said.

“Obviously, the monks knew how to hoist a few,” Fletcher said.

Felicia walked down the row until she reached a heavy wooden door nearly obscured by a wine rack. “Where does this lead?”

“I’ll bet it’s a passage to the outside,” Fletcher said. “A lot of English castles were built with an escape route like that.”

“Let’s open it,” Raven said. “I’ll get a torch and be right back.”

He darted off, and Fletcher began to nudge the rack to one side.

“A torch? Wouldn’t a flashlight be easier?” Tori asked, bewildered.

Felicia’s laugh was sharp and mocking. “How very American. A torch
is
a flashlight.”

Fletcher looked up from his task. “That’s a trifle rude, Felicia.”

“Sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Try,” he retorted.

By the time Raven returned with the flashlight, Fletcher had moved the rack clear. While Raven shone light on the ring handle, Fletcher gave it a twist. The door opened only slightly. After handing the flashlight to Tori, Raven helped Fletcher wrench the heavy oak panel inward far enough so they could see what was behind.

“Aha!” Fletcher chortled. “I was right.”

A brick-lined passageway went along about fifteen feet before reaching a dead end. The air inside was musty and damp—and unappealing.

“I’m not going in there,” Tori said, edging backward.

“Me neither,” Felicia said. “The last thing I need is a nest of spiders in my hair.”

Fletcher and Raven exchanged a glance and grimace.

“Good enough for me,” Fletcher said.

“No argument.”

Without further discussion, they pushed the door closed and brushed dust and cobwebs off their clothes.

“On to something more fun,” Raven said. “The gym.”

The other section of the basement contained an extensive gym, which included treadmills, gymnastic equipment, and an in-ground trampoline with a training harness.

“It’s so spacious and well-equipped!” Tori exclaimed.

“Everything a demon hunter needs to train, from hand to hand combat to target practice,” Raven said.