Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series)

by Rogers, S. G.

  Quigley appeared, clad in dark clothes. He offered Ian a smart salute. “Quigley, reporting for duty, sir.”

  Ian gaped. “Beg pardon?”

  The elderly man’s smile was apologetic. “I’m a trifle past fighting age, but as a former member of the Royal Air Force and a Nephilim, I have something to offer this mission.”

  “You’ve been listening?”

  “A butler always has his eyes and ears open, sir. At any rate, it seems to me you will need to draw off the enemy guards before you can penetrate the target.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I’ll enrage the goblins by mentioning the Scottish play. Then I’ll take off on a motorbike. They’ll follow me, leaving the Fairchild mansion unguarded.”

  Raven cleared his throat. “Do you know how to ride a motorbike?”

  “In my youth, I raced them.” Quigley lifted his chin. “I was rather good at it.”

  Ian pursed his lips. “With so many demons in Los Angeles, what happens if you become surrounded?”

  “That is a risk, but I’ve identified several churches in the general vicinity. If I feel threatened, I’ll duck inside one of them to wait it out. Demons cannot cross onto hallowed ground.”

  Raven gave the man an admiring glance. “It’s a brilliant plan. Barking mad, but brilliant.”

  “Quigley, you’re part of the team,” Ian said. “And you have my thanks.”

  Despite his age, the butler bristled with excitement. “Glad to be back in the game, sir.”

  “All right. Let’s get started.” Ian hoisted a black backpack onto his shoulder and moved into the long, dark passageway.

  A small convoy of cars and motorcycles drove through Holmby Hills, parking on a side street just north of Oliver Fairchild’s property. Raven had dressed head to toe in black, donning his jacket outfitted with silver throwing stars, ball bearings, and a Shakespearean dagger gifted to him by his father last Christmas. Quigley, on Fletcher’s motorcycle, was waiting several blocks away. When they arrived, goblin sentries were patrolling the wall. The assault team fanned out around the gate, hiding in the shadows. Raven made certain he was positioned nearest the gate, since he’d been tasked with taking out the security camera. He tucked a paintball into his crossbow and shot it at the security camera mounted on the fence. It took several attempts, but finally black paint exploded over the lens. He signaled to his father to set things in motion.

  Quigley drove up and stopped his motorcycle in front of the gate. He gave the guard a good-natured wave. “Good evening. I’d duck if I were you, old chap.”

  The guard’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “When I say the magic word, those goblins behind you will go completely bonkers.”

  “Which word?”

  “Now you’ve gone and done it. Macbeth!”

  Goblins howled in outrage. Quigley lowered his visor and revved the engine. As his motorcycle peeled off down the street, dozens of goblins poured over the fence like angry gorillas. In the aftermath, the guard was trampled to the ground and his gun went skittering off into the bushes.

  When the coast was clear, Raven and Chase gave Fletcher a boost so he could vault on top of the ivy-covered fence. After climbing down on the other side, he opened the gate wide enough to admit the rest of the team. Decorative bushes served to block their approach until they had a view of the house. Raven took out another security camera along the way with a paintball.

  Although a small army of security goblins had left the compound in pursuit of Quigley, apparently not all the goblins on the property had heard the word. Raven counted more than a dozen, some armed with clubs.

  “There might be more goblins inside the house or around back, by the pool,” Chase whispered.

  Fletcher made a sound of exasperation. “And they’re too far away right now to pick off with arrows.”

  “Agreed,” Chase said. “If we blend in with the shadows, we’ll be able to get closer, but we risk exposure.”

  “The Scottish play will bring them over,” Felicia murmured.

  “Too chancy,” Ian said. “We don’t want to accidentally lure neighborhood demons into the mix.”

  “Unfortunately, the other goblins will notice their comrades are missing before too long,” Felicia said. “That will force our hand.”

  The few goblins Raven could see appeared to be tossing a football between them. As he watched a beautiful spiral pass fly through the air, something heavy—a man—dropped to the ground to his right. The resulting surge of adrenaline made Raven gasp. He unsheathed his dagger to attack, but the man grabbed his arm.

  “Stand down, lad. We’re on the same side.”

  Although Raven strained to make out the man’s features in the dim lighting, there was no doubt in his mind to whom the voice belonged. Lord Birmingham!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Mission

  “THE SHAKESPEAREAN DIRECTORS pretended to form an alliance with Oliver,” Birmingham explained. “He believed we intended to support the blood sacrifice. Of course, once the new world order occurred, he would have had all of us killed, like he assassinated Kenshin Oshiro. News of the plane crash was disinformation that allowed us to operate in secrecy.”

  As he regarded the older man, Ian’s eyes glittered with anger under the moonlight. “Why did you lead us to believe you were dead? Did you ever consider your grandchildren’s feelings?”

  Tears were visible on Felicia’s cheeks and Fletcher’s jaw was clenched.

  Birmingham winced. “I’ve much to atone for, but now is not the time for debate. The others will be here momentarily. Please don’t attack them when they arrive.”

  “Others?” Raven echoed.

  “The Shakespeareans have had the house under surveillance, you see. Quite clever how you rid the estate of so many goblins. That makes our task much easier.”

  Several men and women, clad in black, approached from behind. Chase ignored them as he drew his katana and pointed it at Birmingham’s throat. “You let that murderous vampire kill my father to protect a ruse?”

  “We didn’t let Oliver kill anyone, but we couldn’t prevent it. Your father never trusted me, Chase…possibly because your mother and I had a relationship before she married him.”

  “What?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but I wasn’t always older than dirt. Emiko was far too young for me, of course, but we spent a brief, pleasant interlude together before she met Kenshin. Because your father ran the Tokyo Shakespearean Institute separate and apart from the rest of us, Oliver may have thought he posed a threat to our supposed alliance. In retrospect, I should have found a way to gain Kenshin’s trust.”

  Felicia rested a soothing hand on Chase’s arm. “I know you’re upset, but my grandfather is right; this isn’t the time or place to discuss grievances.” She gave Birmingham a level glance. “When it is, however, I can assure you I’ll be right in line.”

  With a snarl, Chase sheathed his blade and stepped back. “I want to be the one to kill Oliver Fairchild. It’s my right.”

  “Agreed,” Birmingham said.

  Ian exchanged handshakes with the newcomers, most of whom Raven had met in the past. None were especially young, but he knew them to be seasoned demon hunters. I’m glad they’re here.

  Thunder rumbled across the sky, drawing Raven’s attention upward. Black clouds obliterated the stars and moon as he watched, and lightning struck the city like an electric whip. As the lightning continued its frenzied dance, thunderous reverberations made the hair on Raven’s arms stand up. The house, grounds, and streetlights went dark in a rolling blackout.

  “A lightning bolt must have hit a power station,” Ian said.

  The absence of illumination was disorienting, and Raven squeezed his eyes shut against a feeling of claustrophobia. Fletcher, standing directly behind him, made a sound of disgust.

  “A power outage? What a disaster. How are we supposed to attack when we can’t see a bloody thing?”<
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  “Actually, the security system will be off and we won’t have to mask our approach,” Ian said. “The darkness is a blessing.”

  His father’s characterization of the blackout struck a chord, and Raven’s claustrophobia lifted. “I’m all for a little divine intervention,” he said. “After all, we’re fighting evil.”

  “I see dots of light,” Felicia said. “There are solar lights in the planters and along the pathways to guide us.”

  “That’s what I call ironic,” Fletcher said. “Solar lighting at a vampire’s house.”

  Raven exchanged a glance with his father. “Let’s go kill some demons.”

  When the lights went out, Tori gasped. “The lightning storm must have struck the power grid. If the lights stay off, we can escape!”

  “But there’s a security goblin outside the door.”

  “Can he see in the dark?”

  “No.”

  “I can get him to move, but it’ll be dangerous.” She slid off the bed and held her arm out toward Nicholai’s chair. “Take my hand.”

  She tried not to flinch as icy fingers wrapped around hers.

  “When I call the goblin, he’ll burst into the room in a murderous rage. As soon as he moves past, we slip out. Are you game?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  They positioned themselves next to the closed door. A ball of anxiety formed in Tori’s stomach, and she took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

  “Macbeth.”

  The reaction was immediate, swift, and horrifying. The door nearly flew off its hinges as the goblin broke through, roaring like a pack of howler monkeys. The creature flailed around, if the sound of breaking furniture was any indication, and Tori froze with fear. Nicholai yanked her out of the room, down the hall, and to the stairs.

  “Hold on to the railing so you don’t trip,” he said.

  With the sound of destruction and thunder in their ears, Tori and the young vampire ran down the stairs at breakneck speed. Although Tori couldn’t see much in the inky blackness, she kept hold of Nicholai’s hand. He stopped suddenly after they reached the bottom and his fingers convulsed. Something’s wrong. Before she could voice the question on her lips, the entranceway was flooded with strong illumination—halogen flashlights, she guessed. When her eyes focused, she realized she and Nicholai were surrounded by vampires clad in black, hooded robes. Her heart sank.

  Oliver clucked his tongue and stepped into the circle of light. “Where are you two going in such a hurry?”

  Nicholai dropped Tori’s hand, as if it disgusted him. “The security goblin went crazy and I was trying to save the girl’s life. I didn’t think you wanted her dead before the sacrifice.”

  Oliver lanced Tori with an accusing gaze. “Mentioning the Scottish play does have the unfortunate tendency to make demons go berserk.” The roar of the goblin could still be heard, even over the thunder. He sighed. “Somebody put that creature out of its misery. I don’t want his histrionics interrupting the ceremony.”

  Several vampires brushed past Tori, training their flashlights toward the stairs as they sped to the task of dispatching the goblin. Oliver crooked his finger at Tori. “Come along. We’re ready to begin.”

  She blanched. “But it’s not midnight!”

  “Your concern is laudable, but unnecessary. According to Greenwich Mean Time, where you were born, it’s well past midnight. Happy birthday, Tori.”

  Nicholai was pushed aside as a surge of vampires propelled Tori down the hall and through a pair of double doors. The halogen torches revealed a crystal chandelier overhead and several plate glass windows overlooking the pool. The floor was covered with highly polished wood, set in an intricate herringbone pattern. Any furniture or rugs which might have been in the room had been removed, except for one heavy chair. Tori tried to dig in her heels as she was dragged toward the chair, but her athletic shoes could gain no purchase. She drew in a deep breath to scream “Macbeth,” but Oliver clamped an ether-soaked rag over her nose and mouth.

  “None of that, Tori,” he whispered.

  Although she clawed at the back of his hand and rammed her elbow into his stomach, the vampire would not release her. Her struggles became increasingly feeble until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer…

  Raven crept across the lawn. A flash of lightning revealed a massive knot of goblins dead ahead. When the next streak of lightning lifted the darkness, Shakespearean arrows flew. One lucky shot vaporized a goblin immediately, but the others merely yelped in pain as the silver-tipped darts pierced their thick hides. Several shafts of light shone in Raven’s direction. The goblins have flashlights! Although the demon hunters dove to the ground, their prey apparently caught sight of movement and charged. Raven emptied his crossbow of arrows and then reached for his throwing stars. It’s going to be a long night.

  When Raven charged forward along with the others, something caught his ankle and he fell hard. What? His throwing stars and backpack full of weapons flew into the grass as he hit the ground, leaving him vulnerable. Unaware of his difficulty, the others left him behind. He sensed rather than saw the denizen preparing to stomp on his head. At the last moment, Raven rolled to one side, narrowly escaping disaster. He recognized his attacker immediately. “You!”

  The red-mohawk demon cursed and tried unsuccessfully to nail him again with boots.

  “Die. Nasty. Smelly. Mortal.”

  A lightning bolt crackled the air nearby and the stench of ozone filled Raven’s nostrils. The boom of thunder distracted the demon long enough for Raven to scramble to his feet. He dove toward the creature, grabbing him around the waist in a football tackle. Once Raven had the demon on the ground, he walloped him across the face with a powerful punch.

  “You die first, bloody woodpecker.”

  Something stung Tori’s upper arm. She flinched away from the pain, only to discover her arms and legs were immobile. Her eyes snapped open. Misty withdrew a needle from Tori’s bare upper arm, and untied a rubber tube around her bicep. A woozy, warm sensation flooded Tori’s veins and made her muscles heavy.

  “What is that?” Already Tori could barely enunciate, but Misty seemed to understand.

  “Just a little joy juice to calm you down.” She drew a fingertip across the tiny bead of blood raised by the needle, and stuck it into her mouth. “Mmm. Delicious.”

  Tori’s desire to excoriate her former foster mother gave way to a fascination with all the pretty lights in the dark room. Her chair was positioned inside a large pentagram inlay. The lines of the occult symbol were throbbing with a reddish glow. On each of the five points, a large candle burned brightly. Oliver voiced an incantation, in Latin. Although Tori had never studied the language, she had no trouble guessing the blood sacrifice ceremony had begun. I told Raven midnight, but the world will be completely different by then. As Oliver droned on, Tori strained at the duct tape encircling her wrists and ankles.

  One of the hooded vampires offered him a velvet-wrapped dagger. Similar to the lines of the pentagram, the haft of the blade was pulsing red…in time with Tori’s heartbeat. Oliver brandished the eight inch dagger and gave her a wicked smile.

  “I’m afraid this is going to hurt…a lot.”

  Tori couldn’t find Nicholai in the crowd, but Misty was in her direct line of sight. Help me. She couldn’t tell if the plea made it to her lips, but her expression was clear enough. A little line formed between Misty’s eyebrows, but she remained where she was. Oliver licked his lips as his eyes traveled up and down Tori’s arms.

  “I think a nice deep slice from the wrist to the elbow should give us what we need.”

  Misty flinched and stepped forward. “Um…you said only a little blood was necessary, Oliver. Just a drop or two.” She gave him a nervous smile and reached for the dagger. “Maybe I should do it.”

  He pushed her back. “Don’t be concerned. I’ll turn her just before she bleeds to death.”

  Oliver rested the flat of the blade against the sof
t skin of Tori’s forearm for a tantalizing moment. Then he gripped the haft in both hands and raised it overhead.

  “A new world order at last!”

  Nicholai jumped in front of Tori, shielding her with his body. The blade plunged into his shoulder in a vicious strike that surely would have severed Tori’s arm had it connected. Nicholai cried out and slid to the floor with the dagger protruding from his back.

  “Stupid, sentimental boy.”

  Oliver freed the blade. Before he could raise the dagger again, however, the point of a katana appeared in the vicinity of his sternum. Blood sprayed from the wound, across Tori’s face and clothes.

  “That’s for my father, you evil fiend!” Chase cried.

  The dagger dropped from Oliver’s fingers. Chase withdrew the katana, and as the vampire bent double, the Nephilim beheaded him with a clean stroke of his sword. After Oliver exploded into dust, the hooded figure bent to retrieve the dagger. As he straightened, he dropped his hood back to reveal his face. It’s Mime, here with Chase to rescue me! Tori’s relief was short-lived. The warlock beckoned to several goblins in the back, who plowed through the surrounding vampires like charging bulls. Although many screaming vampires managed to flee, the demons trampled the rest. When the goblins reached Chase, he managed to kill two of the massive creatures before he was knocked into the corner by a blow from one of their meaty fists. He didn’t move after that.

  Mime beamed at Tori as he reached for a leather-bound grimoire on the fireplace mantle.

  “Now it’s time for the main attraction. The Apocalypse.”

  Tori tried to scream, but could only manage a breathy moan. As the warlock opened the book and recited an incantation, the fireplace shimmered like the surface of a lit pool. Mime began to call out the names of demons, and as he did so, all manner of hideous demons began to emerge from the curtain of light—a literal parade of horribles. A gateway to the underworld. Every unclean thing Tori had ever imagined slithered, walked, or crawled out of the fireplace. After the demons bowed to Mime in homage, each took its place in the circle surrounding Tori. The scene was so horrible and nightmarish, she felt hysterical laughter bubbling to her lips. Unable to make a sound, tears slid down her face instead.