Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) (4 page)

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 to 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.”

“This is a load of tosh. You can’t force me.”

“Can’t I?” Ian got to his feet, crushed the rejection letter into a ball, and lobbed it at his son. “The way I see it, you’re out of options.”

Chapter Three

Trying to Lead

New Year’s Day. Los Angeles, California

A R
USH
O
F
A
DRENALINE
pumped through his veins as Raven zipped west through the canyon pass on his newly renovated Indian motorcycle. Behind his helmet’s visor, he grinned as the bike hugged the curves like a champion. Cresting one last hill, the ocean finally revealed itself in all its sparkling azure splendor. When the road hit Pacific Coast Highway, he turned right and sped north. The temperature felt oddly warm for the dead of winter.
How different the weather is here than in London!

Since it was late afternoon, the expanse of shoreline was deserted. In a few months, however, he supposed the beach would be covered with gorgeous bikini-clad California beauties.
Some measure of solace, I suppose, for being forced to leave England. Never having to see Fletcher or Felicia Harrington again might come in a close second.
He found a place to park near the beach, and he took a stroll on the sand. To his disgust, he spotted a horn-covered demon hunched over the carcass of a dead dolphin, chewing. Anger traveled down Raven’s spine. His father had told him demons often lured beautiful creatures like whales and dolphins onto the sand for a seafood dinner. The sad event was often blamed on sharks, unfortunately.

Raven loped toward the creature. “Hey, you…stop it!”

Since the demon assumed he was invisible, he paid Raven no attention. Of course the shadow world denizen
was
invisible to most people—but not to the Nephilim. He’d been warned against engaging the enemy, but this abomination couldn’t go unpunished.
What Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Raven drew a Celtic throwing star from a pocket in his leather jacket, and spoke the word guaranteed to call the demon to him.

“
Macbeth!”

The demon’s three eyes widened and his head snapped toward the sound of Raven’s voice. Like a rabid, snarling dog, he streaked across the sand—his maw opened wide. With expert precision, Raven hurled the throwing star into the demon’s moist crevasse. Howling with pain, the evil creature flipped onto his back. After a few histrionic convulsions, he exploded into dust and disappeared.

“Into the air; and what seem’d corporal melted as breath into the wind.”
Good riddance, foul fiend.
The shadows were growing long, so Raven retrieved his weapon, returned to his motorcycle, and retraced his route through the Santa Monica Mountains. Finally, he turned off the main road until he reached the ornate gate of what used to be a monastery. His father had renamed the place Blackfriars West. After punching a key code into a small box to one side, the gates swung open and he rode inside.

While Raven scrubbed his hands in the sink, the aroma of dinner made his stomach gurgle with hunger. He dried his hands on his jeans and emerged from the lavatory into his bedroom. Several trunks and suitcases were stacked against the wall, with the airline tags still attached. Any lingering hope his father would change his mind and send him back to London had long since faded.
I suppose I should accept what’s happened and make the best of it.
The vintage motorcycle his father had given him as a birthday present had been an obvious bribe, but an excellent one. Raven had spent all his time in the garage working on its renovation, with little opportunity to brood.

He made his way down the stairs and followed the sound of clattering crockery until he reached the huge kitchen. His father’s hands were encased in quilted mitts as he pulled a casserole dish from the oven. Raven tried to think of something pleasant to say.

“Smells good. Is it shepherd’s pie?”

“Actually, it’s supposed to be Lancashire hotpot,” Ian replied.

An awkward silence followed as father and son regarded one another.

“Well…how go the repairs?” Ian asked.

A grin. “I just took her out for a test drive, and the motor purrs like a tiger.”

His father’s brows drew together. “You drove your motorbike on the public roadway? You haven’t applied for your California permit yet.”

“Nothing happened, Dad. I even remembered to stay on the proper side of the road. Believe me, I can handle myself.” As Raven recalled the exploding demon, he fought to suppress a laugh.

His father peered at him. “I don’t see what’s so amusing. Set the table, lad. Dinner is ready.”

While Raven positioned placemats, plates, napkins, and eating utensils on the table, his father poured two glasses of water and one of milk.

“Not milk!” Raven protested. “I’m eighteen, for pity’s sake.”

“You’re still growing, and you’ll drink milk to keep your bones strong.”

“You sound just like Mum.”

The two slid into their chairs. “Well…let’s tuck in.” Ian picked up his napkin and draped it across his lap. “The new school term is coming up. You’ll enjoy Performing Arts Prep, I hope.”

Raven shot his father a look of reproach. “The miserable have no other medicine but only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.”

“
Measure for Measure.
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child?” Ian retorted.

“
King Lear
. And I’m not thankless. I just liked where I was.” Raven stabbed at his casserole with a fork. “What’s the assignment you’d planned for me?”

“Before we get into all that, I want you to settle into your new school first. You should enjoy a sense of normalcy while you can.”