About halfway through the class, Ms. Castor had the students partner up. A stocky trombone player named Herman stepped in front of Tori. “Wanna be my partner?”
She knew Herman from science class and liked him well enough. “Sure.”
After a bit of jockeying, the class was paired up. Ms. Castor cast a critical eye over the couples. “Hold on.”
Ms. Castor moved through the studio, silently moving people around until they were matched by height. She took Herman by the arm and escorted him to the far side of the room, where Raven was paired with an operatic singer named Genevieve. Oh, no! No, no, no! Herman became Genevieve’s partner, and Ms. Castor sent Raven toward Tori.
He approached her with his chin lowered, as if he was a bull ready to stampede. Awkward much? Raven has every reason to hate me.
“Let’s see you stand in hold, and Mr. Boone and I will come around to correct you,” Ms. Castro announced.
Albeit reluctantly, Tori lifted her arms. Raven stepped closer, seemingly reluctant to touch her.
“Take my right hand with your left, and your right hand goes on my upper back,” she prompted.
“Thank you.” His tone was icy.
She bit back a retort. Don’t antagonize him any further! After a bit of jockeying, they waited for the instructors to come around to check their hold. Contact with Raven was terribly distracting, Tori discovered, but she tried to focus. Apologize and get it over with.
“Um, I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” she said. “I’m not usually like that.” A muscle worked in his jaw, but he said nothing. Undaunted, she pressed on. “I would’ve apologized at lunch, but I didn’t see you.”
“I was working out.”
Mr. Boone approached and adjusted Raven’s hand higher on Tori’s back. Moments later, Ms. Castor started the music. After a moment of concentration, Raven finally got the beat. They began to move together, but Tori knew something seemed off. Raven must have sensed it too because he shook his head slightly.
“You’re trying to lead,” he said.
Astonishment. “I am not. I’ve been dancing all my life and I know better!”
“Let me put it another way. Knock it off and let me lead.”
His hand pressed more firmly into her back and his left hand tightened its grip. She hesitated. Am I really trying to lead? I don’t want to fight with Raven, I want to dance with him. Her gaze met his and she mentally relinquished control. Almost magically, their movements fell into sync.
Ms. Castor paused to watch. “Very nice. You two work well together.”
During history class, Raven’s attention was only partly on the lesson. At first, dancing with Tori had been like a wrestling match. After she let him lead, however, he felt as if he were dancing with a goddess. He wracked his brain to come up with a word adequate to describe the graceful way she moved. Sinuous might come close. In the end, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d won or lost the wrestling match. Perhaps a little of both? His attraction to the girl was undeniable—despite her insulting behavior earlier in the day. Nevertheless, he vowed to put her out of his mind. Once bitten, twice shy, and I’m no masochist. Felicia and Tori were very different types, but one broken heart in a lifetime was enough. It’ll be a long time—if ever—before I’m ready to try again.
As he was walking across campus for his final period, George joined him. “Heading to the music room?”
“Yeah,” Raven replied.
He suddenly had an odd feeling of disorientation. The ground is shaking! Shouts of “Earthquake!” rang out, but nobody seemed particularly concerned. He glanced at George, disconcerted. “This is weird. Should we do anything?”
“Nah.” He chuckled. “First quake?”
Raven nodded. “You have a lot of them here?”
“Oh, yeah. That was just a tiny tremor. Maybe a three point two on the Richter scale, tops. You should stick around for six or higher. That’s when things really rock and roll.”
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter Four
Hell is Empty
OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, Raven managed to avoid interacting much with any of his classmates at school. Lunchtime was spent working out, after which he was careful to use deodorant and change clothes. Tori was still his dancing partner in movement class, and he tried to keep his mind on the dance. For her part, she spoke to him as little as possible. Although her reticence made his life easier, he was conflicted on whether to be relieved or insulted. It’s for the best.
On the first Saturday of February, Raven and his father sparred together in the basement at Blackfriars, which had been made into a gym and training facility. Interlocking mats covered a large square in the center of the sprung wood floor. On one end of the room, various targets were set up for throwing stars or knives. A heavy bag hung on the far side, next to a collection of free weights and a work bench.
Clad in a black karate uniform and sparring gear, Raven fought to get past his father’s guard. Time and time again he was knocked back, suffering crippling blows to the shins, ribs, and forearms. Finally he sensed an opening and aimed a sharp kick at the side of his father’s padded helmet. When Raven’s instep found its mark, Ian staggered to one side and dropped to the mat on one knee.
Shocked, Raven froze. “Dad, are you okay?”
His father looked up at him, furious. “You had the advantage. Why didn’t you finish me?”
Bewildered, he stepped back. “Because you’re my father!”
“Out here on the mat, I’m your opponent. You should’ve followed up with an ax kick and knocked me flat. Either finish the match or don’t step into the ring.”
Breathing hard, Ian stood, took off his helmet, and grabbed a towel from a chair. After he blotted his face, a grin found its way onto his lips.
“What?” Raven asked.
“Even without the ax kick, you did well.”
“If you look past my new assortment of raised lumps and painful bruises as ‘well,’ then yes.”
“Quit whining. You’re fast, strong, and you wore me down, Raven.” He nodded his approval. “You’re more ready than I had anticipated.”
“Ready for what?”
“It’s time I tell you the truth about why we’re here.”
Raven was dumbfounded. “The truth?”
“Nearly eighteen years ago, I helped somebody very close to me break a very important rule. Now I’ve got to make sure the world won’t pay the ultimate price for my actions.”
Open auditions for Saltare Ballet Theatre’s summer engagement were to begin at eight o’clock at a rehearsal studio near Highland Avenue and Melrose in Los Angeles. Tori drove past the building entrance at seven, and already thirty girls and a handful of boys were queued up to get a number. Kirstin and her demon were near the front of the line. Although it was early February, temperatures were in the upper seventies. Many dancers were stretching while they waited, hoping to intimidate the competition with their flexibility. Tori found a parking spot on the street, and hastened to join the back of the queue. As she did so, several girls turned around to give her hard stares. Whatever. After years of training, she was used to the competitive nature of dancers. She unzipped her dance bag and pulled out her application and photo to give to the audition coordinator. Tori’s eight by ten featured her in a beautiful arabesque en pointe. On the reverse side was stapled her professional dance résumé, which listed her dance training, performance roles, and vital statistics. Printed in the corner was an inset photo of her face.
It didn’t take long before the number of dancers waiting in line doubled, then tripled. When she reached the coordinator’s table just inside the door, Tori handed over her headshot and application and was given the number forty. The hallways were lined with dancers at that point, but she staked out a spot to wait. A ripple of fear gripped her stomach, but she shook it off. This is really it! I’m going to hold nothing back when I dance. She stripped off her jeans and athletic shoes, revealing the pale pink tights a
nd black leotard underneath. After donning her toe shoes, she pinned her number to her leotard and tried to relax. When Deborah arrived, Tori waved her over. Jenny came in a little while later, looking especially pale. Despite their nerves, the three friends managed to make small talk. Fifteen minutes before eight, the SBT audition committee filed into the largest rehearsal room with a box of applications. Tori craned her neck to get a better look. “I don’t see Mr. Saltare.”
“Maybe he isn’t coming,” Jenny said.
“I bet he’ll come later for callbacks,” Deborah said. “He’d only bother with the strongest candidates.”
Jenny sighed. “We’re going to be here awhile.”
“If a Nephilim born on Leap Day is sacrificed in a demonic ritual on his or her eighteenth birthday, it will result in the Apocalypse.”
“Er…okay.” Raven stared at his father, perplexed. “That would be inconvenient.”
“It’s no joking matter. Almost eighteen years ago I helped my best friend and his wife disappear after they gave birth to a daughter on Leap Day. The Shakespearean Institute—Lord Birmingham specifically—warned them ahead of time that preventative measures would be taken in such an eventuality.”
“What sort of preventative measures?”
“Ian and I believed the baby would be killed to keep her out of the hands of demons.”
“Killed by Lord Birmingham?” Raven had difficulty squaring the image he had of Fletcher and Felicia’s grandfather with that of a cold-blooded murderer.
“Or another Shakespearean, at his direction.” Ian sighed. “I sent Gerald, Hannah, and Elizabeth to live with a family friend in Los Angeles, complete with new names and identities.”
“So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”
“The Merchant of Venice. Unfortunately, Gerald and Hannah died in a car accident eight years later and the little girl was orphaned.” Ian looked stricken at the memory.
“That’s awful.”
“It’s worse than you know. Her whole life has been a lie. She doesn’t know she’s Nephilim, or even her true birthday. I’ve looked in on her occasionally over the years, disguised as a social worker. She’s grown into a real beauty.”
“So, if nobody knows where or who she is, what’s the problem?”
“When the stakes are this high, I can leave nothing to chance. If Birmingham tracks her down, it will prove fatal to her. And if she should fall into demon hands, it would be disastrous for us all.”
“But neither scenario sounds terribly likely.”
“It’s not, I hope, but I feel responsible all the same.”
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. How do I fit in?”
“You’re to befriend her and act as a secret bodyguard…at least until the second day in March. She attends your school, so that should make it easier. Have you met a girl named Tori Moss?”
Raven’s heart sank. “I’m afraid I have. We’re dance partners and she hates me.”
“You’ve been in school less than a month! She can’t possibly hate you.”
“She mocked me the first day.”
“That doesn’t sound like Tori. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Obviously I set the sweet girl’s teeth on edge.”
Inexplicably, Ian laughed. “Ha! I expect you make her nervous.”
“What do you mean by that? I don’t bring my weapons to school.”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re a fine strapping young man who makes the girls’ heads turn. Try being friendly and I expect you’ll break through the ice.”
Raven shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve no choice, lad. The fate of the world may depend on you keeping Tori safe.”
“Don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?”
“You want to take that chance?”
“I suppose not. Are we going to tell her the truth?”
“If you were in her shoes, would you want to know?”
“Considering everything her parents sacrificed to keep her safe, yes I would.”
Ian nodded. “Maybe you’re right, but let’s take one thing at a time.”
Tori’s stomach fluttered with nerves, but promptly at eight o’clock, the first group of fifty dancers were called into the audition room. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined the walls, and the sprung maple floor spread out in invitation. A long table had been set up for the judges, who were infinitely more relaxed in their chairs than the candidates. Still, I prefer moving over sitting in the hallway and getting more nervous. The audition began with rote barre work. Afterward, the group moved to the floor, where the company dance mistress demonstrated a series of increasingly more difficult combinations. Tori soared through the combinations, substituting double pirouettes wherever a single one was called for.
The dance mistress clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Number Forty? Please stick with the combinations and stop substituting your own choreography. This isn’t the time or place to act the diva.”
Titters roiled the room. It wasn’t fair, of course. Several dancers had been turning doubles—including Kirstin. Since Tori was the tallest, however, she’d drawn focus. She felt a painful blush turn her check rosy, but nodded her head. Thereafter, she demonstrated the combinations exactly as demonstrated. One girl pulled a calf muscle as she traveled across the floor, and limped out, sobbing. When the audition was finished, the dancers waited while the poker-faced committee conferred with one another. A short while later, one of the judges called out the numbers of those asked to stay. Both boys made it through, plus Kirsten, Tori, and one other girl. Thrilled beyond belief, Tori returned to the hallway while the second expectant group of fifty filed inside.
With adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pulled on a sweater to keep warm while grim-faced dancers gathered up their things and left. Many could not hold back tears. Tori averted her eyes from their pain. I’m sorry for them but I’m so very, very glad it’s not me. In the end, Deborah and Jenny were asked to remain too, which made it easier for her to revel in her success.
An excited commotion began when Mr. Saltare entered the building. Star-struck, Tori stared along with everyone else as the world-famous artistic director of the Saltare Ballet Theatre walked through the hallway and disappeared into the audition room.
“Mr. Saltare is so elegant,” Tori murmured. “He moves like a poem.”
“I’m in awe,” Deborah said. “I thought he’d be a little taller in person, though.”
“I’ll die if he hates me,” Jenny said.
“That won’t happen,” Tori said.
“This whole audition is worth it just to see him in person,” Deborah said. “The man is a legend.”
“He makes me nervous,” Jenny moaned. “I wish I’d gone to the bathroom during the break.”
The dance mistress gestured for the remaining dancers to return for their callback audition. Tori gave her friends a smile. “Let’s all be brilliant.” Her heart was hammering against her chest as she trooped into the room and took a spot on the dance floor. Her eyes were glued to Saltare. I can’t believe I’m this close to him! The man kept them waiting as he sorted through the eight by ten inch photographs, glancing up from time to time to identify which dancer was who. Although Tori was nervous, she was also filled with joy. I get to dance for Xavier Saltare!
The dance mistress dispensed with the barre work this time and demonstrated the same combination as before. She nodded to the pianist to play, but as Tori prepared to dance, a commanding voice rang out.
“Wait!”
Saltare rose, came around the table, and walked onto the dance floor. The dancers stepped back as if he were Moses parting the waves. He came to a stop in front of Tori.
“You can go.”
A rushing sound filled her ears. “W-What?”
“What are you, five foot ten? You’re a moose. In the corps, your height would draw too much focus. As a soloist, we have no one tall enough to pa
rtner you. Although your features are quite beautiful, you’re far too big to be a ballerina. Classical ballet is not in your future.” His gaze flickered to her chest. “You may, however, find future employment as a Vegas showgirl. You have all the necessary attributes.”
He turned on his heel and glared at the wide-eyed committee. “I don’t care how well the girl danced, you shouldn’t have let her stay. It was cruel to encourage her.”
Stunned, Tori moved off the floor. As she left the room, the piano began to play and the audition continued. Out in the hallway, her trembling fingers made it difficult to remove her toe shoes. After she was dressed, she left the rehearsal studio with the shreds of her dignity left behind. She ran toward her car, ignoring the curious glances of passersby. Never mind me. My dream of dancing with SBT was just destroyed. After she reached her car, she sat behind the wheel and sobbed. For the next fifteen minutes, she was too numb to do anything else but sit and cry. During that time, two other rejected dancers rushed past, their faces wracked with grief. Another bubble burst. Another dream obliterated. I want to curl up into a ball and die.
Anya poured Tori and Misty cups of tea. After the housekeeper gave Tori a sympathetic glance, she returned to the kitchen. Her eyes swollen from crying, Tori rested her head in her hands.
“After I made it past the first elimination round, I never imagined Mr. Saltare wouldn’t let me audition.”
Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) Page 4
