Raven: Gems of Wolfe Island Two

“Good enough.” He nods to another chair. “Have a seat.”

I sit, but no sooner does my butt hit the plush leather when another young man whisks into the room.

“Morning,” he says jovially. “You must be Katelyn and Lance. I’m Morgan Phillips, Jenny’s assistant. She’s on a conference call, so I’ll be doing your orientation.”

I remember Jenny from the paperwork I filled out when Reid first offered me the job. She’s a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile.

Morgan is no less friendly, though he’s bespectacled and thin. Looks like a classic nerd. Someone you’d see in IT, not in HR, but he has the personality for HR, apparently.

By the time our orientation tour is over, my stomach is growling. Surprising, since I haven’t been hungry since Luke left.

“I’ll be your lunch date today,” Morgan says. “We’ve got reservations at The Glass House.”

My heart drops into my stomach. There goes the hunger.

“Something wrong, Katelyn?” Morgan asks.

“No, of course not.”

“Oh good. You just got a weird look on your face when I mentioned The Glass House.”

“Did I?”

Note to self: be aware of my facial expressions at all times.

“The Glass House sounds great,” Lance says. “One of my favorite places.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Mine too. Zee and I—”

Oops. Not the best time to be mentioning my relationship with Zee.

“I mean… Mrs. Wolfe and I…”

“Don’t worry about anything, Katelyn,” Morgan says. “I’m well aware of your relationship with Ms. Wolfe.”

“Oh. I just don’t want you to think… You know…”

“No one thinks anything.”

“I think a few things,” Lance says with a smile. “I think I’m hungry, and I’m very excited about going to lunch at The Glass House.”

“Good,” Morgan says. “Let’s go down, and we’ll get a cab.”

The Glass House. I have to go to The Glass House. And Luke won’t be there.

I’m here for a job.

Remember that, Katelyn. Remember why you’re here. And don’t screw this up.

21

LUKE

Everyone had a theory about Lucifer Raven.

Word on the street, according to my sources, was that he was brutally murdered by an ex-girlfriend.

Word underground, again according to my sources, was that he turned canary and was chopped up into bits and pieces by King himself.

Word in my parents’ circle, according to my father, was that he went on a trip around the world staying in hostels. Doing things as if he didn’t have any money. Rebelling against his blueblood upbringing. So not me.

And word on the beach was that I went out to surf…and never came back.

Reality, of course, was that I got shot, was handcuffed to a hospital bed, and then made a deal that my father brokered.

Several of my cohorts are now spending their life behind bars.

But not King.

King was too high up to get caught.

Last I heard he was in Mexico, having fled for his life after I turned on him.

But I know better.

King is here. Here in LA.

I can feel him.

Which means I’m far from safe.

I knew coming back to LA would put my life in danger. That was a given.

But now that I know King is here?

I’m not just in danger.

I’ve got a bullseye on my back.

I managed to get to LA without incident. My hair is still dark, and of course I wore my dark contacts. All my papers are in the name Luke Johnson, and my father sent a car to pick me up. I’ve been lying low in his mansion since then.

He and I have been strategizing, figuring out what to do next.

I’ve hated every minute of it. Having to depend on my old man—my old man who visited that damned island.

I haven’t asked him about Katelyn yet. I’m frightened to. What if he says yes? That he was with Katelyn on that island?

Fuck. I hate being beholden to him.

I’ve got my own damned money.

But the truth is that I can’t do this alone. I need someone with my old man’s clout. I gave up that clout when I became Lucifer Raven.

Plus…I have something to live for now. Make that someone.

Katelyn has texted me a few times. I started to text her back once but then stopped. I can’t. I just can’t put her through thinking that I’ll be home anytime soon. That we may have a chance.

Because I know the truth.

I’m a dead man.

A fucking dead man walking.

My childhood room is upstairs on the second floor.

But I’m in the basement. Not just the basement, but an old bomb shelter that is actually below the basement. My grandfather, Lucifer the first, freaked out during the Cold War and had it constructed.

Hell, I never even knew it was here until I was over thirty years old. Now that I know, I’m glad it’s here. I’m safe here. Safe while I figure out my next move.

How do you redeem yourself?

How do you find yourself?

Religion?

Philosophy?

Witchcraft?

For me it’s not that simple.

For me it means confronting my past—the sins of my past—and fixing things as best I can.