Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) (12 page)

Raven stood and helped her to her feet. “When can we meet again?”

“I have something to do Thursday afternoon, so maybe Saturday?”

“It’s a date. I mean, it’s an appointment.”

She scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to him. “That’s my email address and cell phone number.”

A feeling of pleasure surged through Raven’s veins. “Cool.” He winked as he texted her. “Now you have mine.”

A wry smile. “Splendid.”

Tori headed off toward the parking lot. Raven had to retrieve a history book from his locker before he went home. As he made his way across the deserted quad, Kirstin passed by. Her imp made a rude gesture toward him.
I’m never going to get a better chance to off that demon than now.
Although he never brought weapons to school, he always kept a sterling silver ball point pen in his jacket pocket for emergencies. When Kirstin opened the door of the Administration building, Raven whispered, “
Macbeth!”

In a paroxysm of fury, the imp sprang off Kirstin’s head. Hissing and spitting, the demon loped across the grass with its claws extended. Pen in hand, Raven waited until the imp sprang toward him. At the apex of the creature’s jump, Raven rammed the silver shaft into its eye, shattering the demon into ash.

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here,” he muttered.

As he returned the pen to his pocket, a gasp made him turn. To his dismay, Tori stood there—her expression one of shock and disbelief.

Blazes.

He feigned nonchalance. “Er, hello. I thought you’d gone home.”

“You just killed a demon.”

Nervous perspiration formed in Raven’s armpits.
How much should I tell her?
“Technically, I sent it back to Hell. But for all intents and purposes, yes.”

“That pen—it’s silver, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It was a gift from my father.”

“And what you said just now—”

“From
The Tempest
.”

“Why did you say it?”

“No reason.” The inscription was common on Shakespearean weapons, but Raven didn’t want to open that particular can of worms. “It seemed appropriate at the time.”

“Before that, you said…
Macbeth
.”

“Shh!”
The can of worms is officially open now.
Raven glanced around to make sure no other demons had been called. “Nobody who can see demons should utter the ‘M’ word unless they want to provoke an attack. I mean, it’s bad enough when regular people say it. You should substitute ‘The Scottish Play’ instead.”

“That’s just a backstage superstition…that the ‘M’ word is bad luck.”

“It’s a superstition that happens to be rooted in truth, especially for the Nephilim.”

“
Nephilim?”
she echoed. “You’re talking Old Testament, when angels were supposed to have had children with mortal women? That’s mythology, written thousands of years ago!”

“Er…yeah, but you and I are proof that descendants of the Nephilim exist today. William Shakespeare was Nephilim and secretly a renowned demon hunter. He discovered uttering the ‘M’ word was like lighting a demon fuse. Demon hunters have used it ever since to lure malevolent denizens to their doom.”

Several moments passed as a myriad of emotions flitted across Tori’s face.

“You’re insane.” She edged backward. “Stay away from me!”

She fled, and Raven’s shoulders slumped.
I bungled that royally. What am I going to tell Dad?

Nephilim. Shakespeare. Macbeth. Demon hunters. Raven Cassidy is a lunatic!
As Tori’s car crawled along Ventura Boulevard at rush hour, blood pounded in her ears. The adrenalin coursing through her veins made her feel lightheaded, and her temples ached. Although she wanted to reject everything Raven had said, she’d seen for herself how he’d called Kirstin’s imp to him and killed it with a silver pen.
Demons shatter on contact, guaranteed. Crazy. I’m crazy. Mr. Mime is crazy. Raven is crazy.

And yet…her parents had owned a silver dagger capable of killing demons. Had they been crazy too? And Raven’s stupid story about William Shakespeare was eerily reminiscent of the old photograph she’d found marked “The Shakespeareans—London.”
If only someone could answer my questions. I wonder if Mr. Mime can help?

When Tori got home, she sought out the housekeeper in the kitchen.

“I’ve very sorry, Anya, but I have to run an errand and won’t be home for dinner.”

“Miss Savannah is at a doctor’s appointment. What should I tell her when she returns?”

“Please say I needed to track something down for a school project.”

“I’ll leave a tray of sandwiches in the refrigerator for you.”

“Thanks.”

After she’d retrieved the Shakespearean photograph and dagger from her room, Tori brought them with her to The Mime’s Eye. Although the cheerful orange berobed proprietor was busy helping a customer when she arrived, he gave her a smile of recognition.

“I’ll be right with you!”

While she waited, she drifted over to the book section and picked up
Demons Throughout the Ages
. The book featured detailed sketches of various Hell-born creatures—some of which she recognized from personal experience.
To get this level of detail, the author must have been a witness to these demons firsthand
. Curiously, there were also sketches of mythological creatures such as werewolves and vampires. She glanced up when Mime approached.

“How nice to see you again, Tori,” he said. “I see you found my book.”

She was taken aback. “This is your work? You’re quite the artist.”

“Most ordinary people would say I have an overactive imagination. Since you possess the sight, you know better.”

“Mr. Mime, as an expert in demonology, I wanted to get your opinion on something.” She shelved the book and reached into her backpack for the photograph. “Have you ever heard of the London Shakespeareans?”

He gasped as he peered at the image. “The Shakespearean Institute in London! This is extremely rare. Shakespeareans hardly ever allow themselves to be photographed as a group. Are you selling it?”

“No, it’s a family heirloom. What do you know about these Shakespeareans?”

“They aren’t the
only
demon hunting organization in the world, but they’re the most secretive and prestigious. They’re named for William Shakespeare, who was the most prolific demon hunter of the Elizabethan age.”

Raven was telling me the truth!
Her mouth dry, she produced the dagger. “Can you tell me anything about this?”

Mime practically salivated as he examined the weapon. “How extraordinary that you should be in possession of an authentic Shakespearean Institute blade! All their weaponry have the same phrase engraved on them—”

“‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’”

“That’s the one. Is this also a family heirloom?”

She nodded.

He turned the blade over. “Gerald Arthur.” His eyes flickered with something akin to excitement. “When I lived in England nearly twenty years ago, there was something in the news regarding a man by this name. Let me do some research and I’ll get back to you.”

“One last thing…is everyone who can see demons descended from the Nephilim?”

“No. Certain religious people, vampires, werewolves, and those who dabble in the occult develop the sight, too. I was in the latter category, but I’ve turned toward the light now.” He tugged on a chain around his neck, freeing a silver cross from underneath his robe. “Better late than never.”

She squeaked. “Vampires and werewolves exist?”

“Absolutely, although we don’t get many werewolves in Los Angeles. They prefer a more mountainous region.”

Gulp. “So…are
all
the myths real?”

“There’s no such thing as an Abominable Snowman.”

Her laugh was more nervous than sincere. “That’s a relief. I-I think I’ll buy a copy of your book. I have some studying to do.”

As she drove home, a sense of calm descended.
Seeing demons doesn’t make me crazy, it makes me Nephilim!
The photograph seemed to indicate her father had belonged to the Shakespearean Institute in London before she was born. She didn’t know who Gerald Arthur was yet, but perhaps Mr. Mime’s research would uncover something of significance.
What I don’t understand is why my parents never told me anything about any of this.

She was further relieved to realize Raven wasn’t insane either. In fact, they had something very important in common. He was like
her
, a Nephilim…but he seemed to understand far more about demon hunting than she did. If he was aware of the secretive Shakespearean Institute, would he tell her what he knew? How much did Misty know about all this?

Misty’s car was parked in the garage when Tori pulled in. She found her foster mother resting in her room with the television on and an icepack on her face. Tori gasped at the sight of the spots of discoloration on the older woman’s skin.

“What happened!”

A dismissive wave. “I had filler injections and Botox today. You know how I always bruise.”

“But the bruising is worse than usual.”

“I had more injections than usual.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Getting older isn’t fun. Did you get what you needed at the store?”

Tori found she wasn’t ready to discuss the actual reason behind her errand just yet.

“Er, yes. I bought a reference book about supernatural creatures. I have an English paper to write.”

“Young people are always fascinated with werewolves, vampires, and ghosts.”

“You don’t believe in the supernatural?”

“Well…I wish I had a magical spell to look younger. Now run along. I took a sleeping pill and it’s beginning to kick in. Anya has retired for the night, so you’re going to have to get dinner for yourself.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Not to worry. Before too long, I’ll be dead to the world.”

In the kitchen, Tori helped herself to the crustless chicken salad sandwiches Anya had made. She poured a glass of milk and brought her dinner into her room so she could eat and study for her math quiz at the same time. As was her habit, she checked her email first. To her surprise, she had an email from Mr. Mime, which included links to an English newspaper article eighteen years prior. The story about how young Gerald Austin and his pregnant wife Hannah Paige Austin had gone missing without a trace was mysterious and sad, but the photograph of the couple made her nearly spray a mouthful of milk all over her computer screen.

My parents.

In stunned disbelief, she read and reread the story, trying to make sense of the words. In the article, a police spokesperson said there were no obvious signs of foul play. Tori sat back, mystified. Her parents had left England, traveled to Los Angeles, assumed alternate identities, and began a new life…but why? Furthermore, the story listed her father’s profession as an analyst for a security agency, and Hannah Paige as a retired prima ballerina. Her mother had told her she’d studied ballet, but never mentioned dancing professionally.
Did I really ever know my parents at all?
A family spokesman, Ian Cassidy, was quoted as asking for the public’s prayers. The spokesman’s name echoed in Tori’s mind for a few moments as holding some particular significance. Ian Cassidy…
Cassidy
…
Raven Cassidy
.