Darkmagic - Blog Posts

John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

Act Two || Scene Two || Concurrence

Bobby woke with a start!

A loud thump in her room caused her to bolt upright with a panicked shout atop her bed. Her blurred eyes took seconds to adjust to the low light of the room and even as her sleep blurred vision clarified, the unfamiliar surrounds did nothing to lessen her anxiety. If anything, she cast her sight about the furniture, unsettled, displaced. Slowly, recollection dawned upon her. No, this was not her dorm room in Oxford, nor was it her old bedroom in Essex. The wallpaper was too elegant and the cornice moldings were too ornate. This was not even her bed.

No, it took a few long moments to pull herself together but given time she realized this was her Uncle's hotel and she was once more a guest to his rooms. This was not England, but the United States of America. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:34pm. And that thump that she swore came from within the room was certainly her doing. In her sleep she must have thrashed about and swung her arm out, knocking the brass bedside lamp clear off its table. It lay upon the carpet beside the bed with its pale lampshade askew.  She could not remember when it was that she had gone back to sleep after her frenzied writing earlier that morning. Only that she found herself extremely tired afterwards and laid down for what she promised herself would only be a half hour. The sound of the rain so soothing and the hotel so impeccably quiet it seemed. So much for that! 

Swinging her legs free of the bed linen, Bobby bent to set the lamp back upright and found her phone flashing face down on the carpet. The lamp cable had also knocked it free when it came crashing down. 

Sliding her thumb along the slick glass screen, she noted a half dozen messages from her friends Connie and Nate. All which followed the same pattern. 

'Bobby?! Are you awake!? Charon tells us you're fighting jetlag and we don't believe him.' That was Connie at 9:17am.

'Ahoy Bobbette! We're coming to The Continental at midday for lunch and your elusive company. Make yourself decent. Or not, you know I'm kinky.' Read the message from Nate at 11:12am. 

'Bobby! New York doesn't sleep and nor should you, idle princess. We demand your company, and a glass of lemonade, to douse you with.' Connie at 12:15pm. 

'Shall we send Mario round with a plunger? Did you fall in again or have you discovered Narnia?' Wrote Nate at 1 o'clock.

Bobby could not help but chuckle at her friends and their teasing. 

'Heaven forefend Roberta Kent! It's 1:30pm! If you're in bed with a man, throw him out at once and come downstairs! Your Uncle is making eyes at me and I'm feeling conflicted. If you're not down within the hour I'm coming up to get you!' Wrote Connie. And no sooner did she read the last word than she jolted sharply, for there came a powerful knocking at her room door. Connie's clear British accented voice could be heard from the other side. 

"Bobby? Bobby, it's Connie, won't you let me in?"

"Yes, yes I'm coming! Give me a moment!" Called Bobby rushing from the bedroom and out into the lounge. 

In moments she was at the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open to reveal her friend, colleague and confidante, Constance Blakehurst in a chic deep blue pencil dress and black patent leather heels. Her mane of shoulder length blonde hair had been curled into elegant waves and her ice blue eyes assessed her friend in her pajamas although it was well past two in the afternoon, with gracious good humor. 

"Good Heavens, Bobby Kent! Have you any idea what time it is? Do not for an instant tell me you were still abed this hour?"

"Well...I, uh-"

"Read your messages? Yes, I know, your phone's in your hand and still in one piece which is miraculous considering Nate and I blew it up every hour since this morning. Well? Are you going to let me in so I can greet you properly or are we going to continue this conversation in the hallway?"

"Oh, Connie! It's so good to see you again! I missed you dreadfully!" Said Bobby brightly, stepping aside and letting her friend enter before shutting the door behind her. The two women exchanged an excited school girl's hug that was complimented by many cheek kisses and hair caresses. 

"And I you, to be sure! And Nate hasn't shut up about you since you emailed to say you were coming back to New York! You should hear him darling, every thirty seconds he repeats your name. He's positively beside himself in joy. You really should change your mind and date him already!" 

"Connie! Won't you give up the match maker game?! I've told you before, Nate and I are just good friends." 

"Then can I assume that along with the destruction of your walking cane, you've regained the confidence for other prospects?" 

"No! Honestly, I'm not looking." 

"And even if you were they'd abandon your room in screams of terror if they saw you in that choice not sleepwear!"

This drove a flush of colour to Bobby's cheeks and peel of laughter to follow.

"What's wrong with these pajamas? You were the one that bought them for me to begin with!"

"That was four years ago, Bobby darling. I'm surprised you've not worn holes in them by now, you wear them so often."

"Well, you should be honored that I treasure your gifts so intently and make such good use out of them."

"And I am!" Exclaimed Connie, taking her friend's hands adoringly in her own and beaming in pride.

"Oh, even with your hair a mess and your those old PJs, you're still a picture of loveliness! Go on, give us your runway swagger, sweetheart! Everyone's been absolutely raving about how the magnificent Roberta Kent has gone from wheelchair bound with partial spinal paralysis to walking unassisted on heels! You should hear your Uncle rave about you!"

Bobby complied to her friend's request turning a graceful pirouette on the ball of her foot and then taking to strolling a lap about the living room, circling the coffee table twice in a figure eight before coming back to stand before Connie with a graceful bow. Well! Connie was beside herself in pride. She applauded loudly, cat-calling in the most unladylike fashion and rushed her friend to smother her in a multitude of kisses. The two girls were in fits of laughter.

"Oh Connie! Don't, you're smudging your lipstick, I'm sure of it."

"Don't be silly darling, that's what kiss proof is for! Oh my God! Two years and nine months to the day and I never thought when I saw you in that hospital, that I'd ever watch you walk without assistance again. Oh my sweet God! It's a miracle, I swear it."

"Shh, Connie, sweetheart, don't cry now. There's truly nothing miraculous about it. Honestly. I just got lucky that they didn't damage something irreparable. The rest was all science and dedication."

"And you're truly not in pain at all?" Asked Connie sniffing and wiping at her nose for she could not stem the flow of happy tears.

"No, thank goodness. I mean, not like I used to be. It comes and goes intermittently and I'm more sensitive in the cold. And I'm stiff in the mornings getting up and moving about but once I get going for the day I'm right as rain." Bobby replied, pulling a tissue free of its box on the side table and seeking to wipe at her friend's eyes.

"Oh, Bobby! I'm so happy for you! Truly! You wait till Nate sees you walking. It's all he could talk about the entire trip from Ireland."

Again the girls crushed each other in another warm embrace.

"Well, I'll be more than happy to show him my walk in person. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, honestly. It was a long journey over and you'd think I'd be used to travel by now. This stupid injury has slowed me down somewhat. But never mind that, you look stunning, honestly! Did you tint your hair? It appears a lighter blonde than before."

"I did, you charming girl, do you like it?" Connie beamed, caressing her tresses.

"Oh most certainly! It sets off your eyes! And that dress! It looks so expensive!"

"Vivienne Westwood my darling, only the best to walk about in such a swanky hotel." Now it was Connie's turn to spin a circle allowing her companion to admire her fully.

"Startling! Honestly!" Bobby exclaimed. "Hey, is it true what you said in the text? About Uncle Winston?"

"Coming on to me? No of course not, silly girl. I was just trying to get you downstairs sooner. He's as charming as ever. He ages so regally in his silk cravats. Honestly, what a perfect gentlemen he is. I can't believe he never married."

"Well, you could always propose yourself as willing."

"Roberta!" Connie cried, "He's like, what? Thirty years my senior?!"

"Don't let him hear you say that! I made a casual reference to it last night over dinner and he fixed me with the most wounded pout."

"I'll bet he did! Now come on, girl, out of these bedclothes at once and into that bathroom. We need to have you presentable inside of fifteen minutes or the boys are likely to drink themselves to death waiting for us. And I've a million things to tell you, but first, please tell me you were good enough to pack a few decent dresses. I'll kill you if you're going about a classy place as this dressed in nothing but your tactical gear."

"What's wrong with jeans?" Bobby complained with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Are they designer labeled?" Connie asked with an arch of her brow and her hand on her hip.

"What if they come from Target?"

"Then your obituary will say you were strangled by cheap, poorly made denim."

The girls shrieked with laughter and sure enough, Connie rushed her friend back into the bedroom.

As good friends do, Connie helped pick a pretty blue and white dress with laced sleeves and shapely contours out of Bobby's wardrobe. She was greatly relieved that her companion had the foresight to bring an array of casual and formal day and evening wear that was certainly not cheap, poorly made denim and simple t-shirts. Within twenty minutes Bobby was washed, brushed, made up and dressed, looking every bit the alluring young woman Connie remembered her to be before her tragedy had befallen her. And all throughout her toilette, the girls exchanged vivid chatter and gossip. For they spoke frequently on the phone, via Skype and even exchanged letters and post cards whilst on their travels around the world; but nothing compared to being in the same physical room with each other. Connie kept tearing up and wiping at her eyes, having to readjust her eyeliner and hair before finally taking her friend by the arm and guiding her out the door.

On the way down the hall and into the elevator, Bobby turned the conversation round to the dream she'd had the night before and had written about extensively in her dream diary that morning. Connie was accustomed to listening to and attempting to decode Bobby's dreams over the years. Both ladies had taken on a particular interest in the intermittently reoccurring nature of the dream wherein Bobby found herself walking a suspended bridge that seemed to have no ending in sight. Connie had noted that the dreams seemed to occur more so in times of duress. Especially, it seemed, after Bobby had reported to having had a panic attack. They appeared to be the aftermath of symptoms associated with post traumatic stress as a repercussion of her trauma for which Connie was exceptionally sympathetic towards. Naturally, Connie questioned her friend about her general health and made a mental note of her assumptions. That Bobby had just undergone her longest flight across the globe since her recovery in years and was attending her Uncle's domain whom had a disinherited hand in the events that had befallen her friend's ill fate. This, she reasoned, was likely the cause of the dream's resurfacing.

What Bobby had not gotten around to explaining was that this time the man she'd seen on the bridge in her dream had taken on distinct and ominous features. What's more, she'd not had the opportunity to express that she had been overtaken by some inexplicable dizzy spell that was seemingly detracted by the black dressed couple on the stairs that she had met the night before. Or that the gentlemen in question shared the face of the man in her dream. That for the first time ever, she felt positive she was making some sort of connection to something, somewhere. Only she had absolutely no idea what or where. But that couple was haunting. She'd almost forgotten about them in Connie's company. At last, when they exited the elevator and meant to cross the lobby's ground floor to attend the dining room, Bobby could not help but stop and stare at the staircase, alarming her friend.

"Bobby? Is everything alright dear? You look positively pale. Are you going to be ill?"

Bobby shook her head slowly. The stair case was being attended by bellhops and hotel guests that came up and down in orderly lines about their business.

"No, not at all. I just... I'm being silly. Let's go, we've wasted enough time already and I'm sure Nate and Uncle will be put out." Taking a deep breath, Bobby smiled and took her friend's arm warmly.

As they passed the reception desk and its moderate line of patrons, Charon and his neatly dressed lady assistant were busy attending to their bookings. Even so, Bobby called to the Concierge over the sweet melody of classical music and guest chatter. The dark gentlemen in his pristine suit looked up from his monitor and fixed Bobby and her friend with a gentle smile and a polite incline of his head in acknowledgement before returning to his work, booking in his latest client.

"My goodness! Are they always so busy?" Connie asked as they made their way to the dining room doors.

"I imagine so. I've never known it any other way. But it does quiet down at night." Bobby responded.

"Welcome back, ladies." Said the maître d'hôtel, gesturing the two friends within. "The manager and your companion has been awaiting your company."

"Thank you so much, that's very kind of you." Bobby replied, smiling at the young man with his sparkling hazel eyes and exotic features. Generally, Winston was renowned for housing much the same staff in his hotel. His turn-over was infrequent at best. But this gentleman who was the same fellow that hosted front of house at dinner last night seemed to be a fairly recent addition as far as Bobby could recall. All the same, he was gracious and neatly uniformed, gesturing the two ladies into the dining room where a number of tables were filled with other guests enjoying their afternoon repast.

"Oh my goodness! There she is!" Called Nate, rising to his feet and rushing a beeline toward Bobby. Winston too was on his feet, beaming in his tan sports coat as his niece was once again reunited with her two friends. The two men had been chatting amicably while the girls were upstairs. Winston was such a sharp witted and well spoken gent, that conversation came easily between the two men. They had much to discuss and much in common with regards to Bobby's fortuitous good health. They were each enjoying a glass of rich French cognac before Nate spied the ladies being led in.

"Well, hot damn, lil' mama! Look at you! Walking!"

"Shh, Nate, not so loud, you'll embarrass her!" Connie urged, squeezing her friend's arm.

"No more than she should be, surely!" Nate replied brightly, hugging Bobby tightly and kissing her cheeks. "Oh, but you look wonderful, babe, for real! How are you feeling? No more walking cane! I can't believe it. I'm so proud of you! Hard road, eh?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, I tell you. But look! I'm in heels and everything!" Bobby beamed, looking down at her dainty black point-toed shoes. Nate nodded appreciatively and turned to give each lady one of his arms to escort them back to the manager's table.

"You certainly are darling, but were it up to me, heels or not, you'd never walk unescorted. Now, come on, your Uncle was sharing the most riveting tales of his guests with me."

The trio crossed the floor happily rejoining Winston who came forward to kiss his blushing niece on her cheeks.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Why, we thought you'd never join us." Winston greeted.

"I did warn I was tired, and your beds are remarkably comfortable." Bobby returned warmly, reaching to take her Uncle in an embrace. Nate meanwhile sought to help Connie into her seat whilst Bobby whispered against her Uncle's ear. "I'm sorry about last night, Uncle. Will you forgive me?"

"For what? Having an opinion? Perish the thought. It's all been forgotten darling girl, now sit with me and your friends a while and have something to eat." The elder gentleman whispered back, breaking away to give his niece yet another kiss upon her cheek before helping her into her seat.

"And here we have her, our lady of the hour, Bobby Kent. In the flesh." Winston introduced to the table as he took his seat. Connie and Nate could do nothing if not smile appricitively. They'd been waiting for their friend's company a good long while and were delighted to have her in their grasp once more.

"Waiter," Winston called, getting the attention of a passing gent in this spotless white apron, "a bottle of wine for the table if you please. The '97 Pinot Gris from South Australia I think, considering the occasion." The waited bowed his head at the order politely before dispatching to the bar.

Bobby put her hand on her Uncle's arm, raising her brows in alarm.

"But Uncle, it's so early in the day."

"What? It's past two o'clock, my girl. Did you have pressing plans that required your express sobriety?" Winston replied with a laugh.

"No, I suppose not." Bobby returned, shifting in her seat and feeling very suddenly like a child being permitted to sit at the big people's table. She must have blushed for Nate and Connie both took each of her hands adoringly and laughed.

Between them, the four set to amicable and lively conversation. Their meal was served in relatively short order. Both Connie and Nate were in awe of the expansive seasonal selection of platters and delicacies, heaping great praise upon Winston, whom directed it all back to his international team of passionate and creative chefs whom took it upon themselves to curate a spectacular rotating menu that was always fresh and complimenting of the season. Outside the New York storm seemed to have passed and finally the wet weather had given way to the first rays of afternoon sunshine that cleared away the dreary grayness and picked the colours from the leaves in the garden window.

Winston was delighted to hang back in conversation, watching as his niece and her friends brought a constant smile and a ring of bright laughter to her lips. She looked happy. Happier than she had been in a very long time. And his heart ached for her. He had left New York and stayed on with her in Essex for a long as business would permit during her recovery. What he saw of the young woman disturbed him entirely. In spite of her tan, she grew pale and sickly even after being discharged from the hospital. Her eyes took on a vacant gleam and she spent much of the day and night crying bitterly in his arms. She had become a struggle to feed and only took the smallest amount of food with the highest amount of persuasion until at last he'd returned her to the doctor to have additional medication added to her roster. Something to open up her apatite, for she had lost weight whilst in the coma and was not doing her health any favors by continuing to refuse food.

He'd slept close by in the guest room beside her own in the country manor house. And it was often that he lay, by lamp light, reading into the night and listening out. Bobby would cry into the night, weeping in pain or at the demons that plagued her mind. Often she would wake to screams of nightmares and he would rush back into her room, laying with her whilst she wept and whispered gentle placations in her ear. That she would be alright. That he was there and he would not leave her. That she would grow strong again. That she needed faith and time to heal her. That he was so sorry for her suffering. She'd sleep fitfully in his arms and he would eventually sleep beside her. His heart broken. Terrible things should not happen to good people. But they did. And he ached within, for he was at fault.

When he could no longer stay away from the hotel because business demanded his attention, it was Connie and Nate that returned to Essex and took to living with Bobby permanently adding new life and colour into the old house. They bought books and films and music and study with them. They bought wine and laughter and encouragement that lead the young lady to eat and take to her recovery with vengeance. He was satisfied, she would be well given time. These two dear friends provided more to her than he could. And so Winston withdrew with a promise to come and visit again regularly. To write and call often. That when she was better, he'd arrange to have her visit and stay at his hotel. That Charon would be delighted to see her in person. Charon was so tender, after shifts he would call in and ask for her. Bobby would weep at his kindness, thanking him for his attention that he would wave away. He insisted, they were family now. And he had just as much a vested interest in her recovery as did her Uncle.

What a remarkable difference two years and nine months made to a person.

Now Bobby ate her plates clean happily. She laughed and joked with her friends. Her blue eyes gleaming, her skin and hair lustrous. She'd gained weight again. Her features filled out away from that cadaverous expression she had previously worn. She was on her second glass of wine and was keen to take on cake and coffee much to the cheers of the table. On a few occasions Winston excused himself from the table to take calls and confirm requests from his darker professional patrons. Contracts were opened. Contracts were closed. Names were rubbed off the boards. New names were added. The High Table, as it seemed, were bent on tying off loose ends. And his phone was a constant stream of information that added to the current of order and chaos. He checked in on Charon at the desk who was finally getting a reprieve from the stream of visitors that had attended in the morning.

"Take a break, old friend. Stephanie, take over for Charon, won't you? Have five p.m. hand over competed once your done with next week's reservations."

"Yes, sir. Immediately." Answered the pristinely dressed brunette who was the Concierge's booking assistant. Charon was grateful of the break and thanked his employer graciously.

"Is Bobby well?" He asked after her.

"Oh, splendid!" Winston replied. "Enjoying a long lunch with her friends. Hasn't said a word about her research yet, bless her heart."

"She did say, last night, that she was sorry for a disagreement with you at dinner." Said Charon quietly as the two men made their way through the lobby and back to the dining room.

"I was partly at fault for it. We've made amends now. It's just this talk of the Raven King and he's resurfacing has her obsessed. It seems our associate at the Bowery has some definitive lines of information he's been feeding her. If you don't mind, we'll go pay him a visit later, just before dinner say?"

"Certainly, sir." Charon replied. His features becoming drawn sharply. He'd read all of Bobby's letters and had noted her references to their "mutual friend" with interest.

Now however, the two men returned to the manager's table, the trio of friends were laughing and sharing an amicable exchange but were quick to rise as Winston and Charon approached.

"Charon! Finally! You work far too hard out there!" Bobby exclaimed, rising from her seat and coming forward to hug the dark gentleman tenderly.

"Of course. The weekends are always exceptionally busy."

"Charon will join us on during his break, I trust this is agreeable?" Asked Winston of the table.

Much to the good hearted cheers and calls of "of course" and "by all means".  Nate rose to shake Charon's hand heartily and Connie also rose to press a polite kiss to the elegant gentleman's cheek.

The observant waiters who noted Winton's re-entrance to the dining room with Charon at his side and were quick to set an additional place at the table, taking the Concierge's order for a strong cappuccino and a slice of chocolate torte.

"These desserts are so decadent!" Connie exclaimed, "Are they also made in house?"

"Daily, by our French pâtissie." Charon replied proudly.

"And tell me, Charon, is it some pretty, available blonde girl that's currently looking for a willing suitor?" Nate teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

"He's forty-six, married for eight years and has a two small children, putting him directly out of your range." Charon replied curtly, his lips curling in jest. The table took to laugh as Nate smacked his hand upon it with mock disappointment and a cry of,

"Damn! Bested again!"

Now the table settled with seconds for coffee, tea and sweets, accompanied by Charon's masterful knowledge of city, took to conversing rapidly about all of New York's finest sights and sounds. It seemed the friends were keen on taking Bobby out and away from her expansive research and allowing her the opportunity to simply have fun. Bobby immediately chimed that she wished to visit New York's Public Library for she had heard they had very particular books in the stacks that were available for limited reading sessions that she was absolutely bent on viewing. Nate and Connie both groaned insisting they instead attend an array of vibrant bars and night clubs. Teasing her about finding a boyfriend before spinsterhood set in.

"Connie!" Bobby cried, giggling and blushing profusely.

"Well, it's true, isn't it, Nate? Tell her! I mean, look around you, there are so many charming gentleman in his very hotel. Isn't it true, Winton? I dare say you're conspiring to have only the most elegant men and women stay on. There's not a badly dressed man about."

"She's got a point there, Bobby, I'm starting to feel dreadfully deficient." Nate agreed, sipping at his coffee cup.

"Oh, you're both impossible. See what I have to deal with, gentleman? See how they try to twist and pervert me?" Bobby complained to Charon and Winston whom looked at each other knowingly with deep smiles.

"So go on," Nate pressed, "For the sake of the girls, because none of them will look at me with a yard pole, which of these guests of yours are eligible bachelors?"

The ladies giggled profusely and Winston and Charon set to give each other yet another knowing glance.

"Well, which one takes your fancy?" Winston asked with a raise of his brow, sipping at his coffee cup.

"How about that gentleman over there in the sports coat on table seventeen?" Connie began inclining her head and whispering conspiratorially.

Amused, Charon sought to play the game.

"That is Mr. David Macavoy. He's thirty-six and said to have a sweetheart who works as a dental hygienist and is currently dating her employer. Just as well. Mr. Macavoy keeps a string of causal mistresses as he travels to and from stock broker's offices securing stocks and trades."

This made the table "ooh" and "ahh". Bobby simply rolled her eyes.

"The torn adulterant businessman is not my forte."

"Then what about the fellow leaning on the bar?" Connie laughed raising her brow in his general direction to a smart dressed young man in a tweed coat that had the air of a dandy and was drinking a nip of scotch whilst checking his phone.

"One of our frequent, fly in, fly outs from Italy." Charon explained. "Antonino Borguesso, son of wine importer for Borguesso Limited. He's waiting on his companion as we speak."

Winston chuckled to himself at this admission, shaking his head knowingly. For shortly thereafter, Mr. Borguesso's companion came through the balcony doors at the far end of the dining room, having finished his cigarette and returned to Antonino at the bar. The two men embraced warmly and kissed.

Nate fell into a fit of laughter, reclining back into his chair.

"Rotten luck, Connie, your radar's right broken, love. Give it up!" Connie pouted huffing at her friend whilst Bobby simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Her radar's not the only thing that's broken." Bobby admitted.

"Oh, Ha! Ha! Laugh it up why don't you!" Connie returned sarcastically, ignoring the laughs of the table and casting her eyes about the dining room for other prospective suitors.

It was at that moment, just as the clock stuck four in the afternoon that a very particular gentleman wearing a dark Italian suit and tie, his coat unbuttoned, and his long dark hair framing his face; came strolling into the dining room casually. He was tall and classically handsome. His beard and moustache impeccably groomed. He had dark eyes and an easy smile as he nodded to the maître d'hôtel who gladly waved him toward the bar.

More than one of the guests in the dining room looked up from their meals or conversations, fixing the gentleman with polite glances that seemed to boarder on knowing familiarity. Connie could not help but look him up and down and audibly gasp as she elbowed Bobby's ribs and inclined her head in his direction.

"Bobby! Bobby, shut up a minute and look at him."

"Ouch! What? Who?"

"Him, at the bar. Be discreet, it's like the whole room's watching him. God, he's handsome!"

Bobby followed her friend's gaze, for she was caught in conversation with her Uncle and did not see the gentleman arrive. Now however she watched him ease himself with effortless grace against the bar some three stools away from Mr. Borguesso and his lover. He leaned in quietly and ordered a drink of the bar tender who smiled and set to serve him.

Bobby swallowed thickly watching him... And the world... slowed down.

It was as though time it's self was reluctant to move forward. Every moment seemed to hang in suspended animation, dilated in space and time. Hanging like a droplet of water to a flower petal and clinging to the edge... Unwilling to let go.

That ringing in her head cascaded forth once more to the beating of her pulsing heart. Growing in volume so as the sounds of the dining room around her became muted and inconsequential. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The chatter of the guests, the sounds of the staff as they set down plates or spoke instructions to each other in hushed voices.

The air seemed to grow colder, for her skin edged with goose bumps against her arms and across the back of her neck.

It was him.

It was certainly him.

The same gentleman she had met on the stairs last night escorting that beautiful woman in her dark dress and opera gloves.

That face... that was the face of the man on the bridge in her dream.

This ringing in her head... As if she were underwater and all sound was now coming back to surface. She closed her eyes a moment and gently shook her head before asking,

"Uncle... who is that gentleman at the bar?"

Winston followed his niece's line of sight and exchanged a quick glance with Charon. Both men lost their gracious smiles. Winston hesitated to answer but his niece pressed him.

"Uncle Winston? Please, his name at least?"

The tone of the table seemed to grow darker. Now Connie and Nate read the changing vibes and stilled in their seats.

"That... my dear girl... Is Mr. Johnathan Wick. Retired ex-military man for the U.S. Marines once stationed in Hawaii. Widowed, recently, to our great regret. He was once one of The Continental's most exquisite professional retainers. Unfortunately, poor circumstance and bad choices have inadvertently lead him back to my doors. Our professional relationship is rocky, to say the least. I would highly advise against crossing his path. Some men, are best left to their own devices. Mr. Wick is just such a man."

"He's too mature anyway, Bobby, you need the attentions of a younger man." Connie whispered to her friend regretfully. Bobby however, ignored her friend's misguided assumptions and pressed on.

"I saw him last night as I was going up to my rooms. He was escorting a lady with him down the stairs. Who is she, Uncle Winston?"

With a deep sigh, Winston answered, draining his coffee cup first before rejoining,

"That was the Lady Judeth Clayton. Marchioness of Exeter and head of one of England's most powerful families."

"Royalty? Here?" Bobby asked, aghast. Whilst she was no royalist, she could not recall the Clayton family name having such a distinguished title in recent British history.

"My hotel caters to many of rank and title, dear girl. You know this."

Bobby nodded to this admission. Her Uncle had more than once admitted to accommodating traveling Barons or Dukes. Now Bobby wondered how many of these established men and women of title were as corrupt as the governments for which they served. She pressed on,

"They seemed very close to each other. I only met them for a moment before attending the lift."

"Mmmh. Afraid so." Winston replied. "Mr. Wick serves as Lady Clayton's royal consort. Engaged in her personal service, under protection of her family name."

"Consort? Does this mean they're romantically attached?"

"The title implies similar connotations, I would imagine. Yes."

"I see."

"Right out of your league, love," Said Nate apologetically, patting Bobby gently upon her shoulder. The contact seemed to bring her back into the present moment. Connie nudged her knee with her own under the table cloth. A polite reminder to look away for she must have been staring, transfixed.

Even so, all she could think of in that moment was the irrepressible urge to look into his eyes once more.

'Look at me.... Look at me...' Whispered her thoughts.

Mr. Wick however, did not turn to face her. Rather, he settled himself comfortably against the bar, thanking the bartender who served his bourbon over ice. He gave the rest of the dining room his back, as if disinterested in their existence and content to be left alone. Lady Clayton was not at his side. And his gentle terrier was upstairs in the penthouse napping comfortably upon a lounge in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that shone through the balcony windows.

"Bobby? Bobby, are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Asked Connie, leaning forward to take her friend's hand which she fixed with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes...sorry... I was miles away for a moment there. What were we saying?"

"We were saying, we were about to excuse ourselves for the afternoon, my darling. An infinite pleasure as it is to languish with you, business unfortunately needs our attention." Said Winston affably, rising from his seat, Charon at his side.

"It was a delight to see you again, Mr. Savoy, Miss Blakehurst." Said Charon, shaking hands with each of the friends in turn and taking Bobby's hand in his own, smiling at her tenderly before fixing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you for joining us, Charon. Your company has made the day even greater." Now Bobby turned to her Uncle who also said his goodbyes of Connie and Nate and came forward to hug his niece warmly.

"Thank you, Uncle, once more. For everything." She whispered against his ear.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Always." He held her there in his embrace a moment. Breathing in the flowery, fresh scent of her classic perfume. And wanting to give her a stern warning which he held in check, for he saw the way his niece's eyes lingered, unfocused upon Mr. Wick. A gaze for which he did not approve. His heart hammered in his chest in nervous anxiety. If only the timing had been better. If only his niece would not have set eyes on him. But what could he do? Large as the hotel was, he could not sequester a member of The High Table nor her esteemed consort to their rooms indefinitely. And so he pulled away, saying his final goodbyes for the day and inviting the trio to return on his treat for dinner at The Continental that evening. He regretted, he'd not be joining them that night as he had other affairs for which he must attend, but he hoped whole-heartedly that they would enjoy themselves entirely on his account. That hospitality was his greatest pleasure in life and seeing them reunited in good health filled his heart with good cheer.

"Oh, and Charon, before I forget." Said Bobby, as the Manager and Concierge made to walk away.

"Yes?" Asked Charon with a smile, turning to face the young woman once more.

"I don't mean to make a fuss, it's certainly nothing of any pressing importance, only, I couldn't help but notice this morning that my dressing table mirror seems to be broken. There's a large crack that I was sure wasn't there yesterday. Unless it was, and I'm very much mistaken. But I'm concerned with the way the mirror seems to be splintering, that the glass might give way from the frame entirely and smash all over the carpet. Could you, perhaps?"

"Of course." Said Charon, nodding earnestly. "I will arrange to have a pair of servicemen attend your room within the hour and have the mirror replaced while you're out. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes, more than anything, thank you. Please, ask them to take care. The glass appears to be cracked strangely, as if it was forced outwards from its backboard. I fear any movement may make it come away badly. I wouldn't want anyone hurt on my account."

"We'll take that into consideration when we tender our report." Winston replied, Charon also nodded in assent. The two gentlemen said the final goodbyes and retreated from the dining room, leaving the trio of friends behind.

No sooner, did they make the grand lobby once more than Winston's gentle smile dissipated into an expression of aggravated tension.

"I want every glass mirror in her room, ornamental or otherwise replaced immediately with iron backed plastic imitation. We're not taking any chances." Winston commanded in a low murmur that only his friend could hear.

"She said the mirror appeared to be forced outwards. I'll go investigate at once."

"And be quick about it! If she's challenging her energies as a conduit seer, then it's only a matter of time before her very presence starts to bring forth occupants whose relations we can do without."

"And Mr. Wick?" Charon asked quietly, his own features tight as he scanned the patrons sitting about the fireplace or attending their friends and family. Winston sighed heavily, taking his phone from his coat pocket and readying to make a call.

"It appears that die has already been cast. We've no choice now than to enter damage control."

"I understand." The Concierge acknowledged.

"When you're done with your inspection, Charon, bring a car round to the front. We're going to pay the Bowery a little visit."

"As you wish, Sir." Charon replied.

Thusly, the two men separated to attend their duties. Their minds clouded in warring concern.

The Continental, it seemed, would not remain the oasis of calm and civility they had hoped to foster indefinitely for much longer.

Within the dining room, Connie and Nate had reseated themselves and sought to chatter vibrantly with suggestions of places the trio might go together that very evening for drinks and entertainment. Bobby however, continued to cast sideways glances at the gentleman at the bar, much to her friends amusement.

"Bobby Kent... Since Mr. Wick's arrival you've been as attentive as a goldfish." Connie teased. "Look at you, you're positively smitten."

"It's not like that at all. It's... the dream I told you about earlier." Bobby replied, waving away her friend's inappropriate suggestion.

"What's this?" Nate questioned, coming close with a raise of his brow.

"Bobby's endless bridge dream seems to have come to the forefront again as of last night." Connie explained.

"There's just something about him. I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him somewhere before."

"And have you?" Nate asked quietly, setting aside his wine glass.

"I... I don't know. I can't be sure. But... In the dream I had last night, I could have sworn... It was his face. For the first time in what seems like forever, the man at the foot of the bridge in the distance had a face I could see clearly and a voice. And I heard it clear as a bell, as clearly as I hear you two speaking with me right now."

"Bobby..." Connie whispered, taking her friend's chin in her fingers and gently redirecting her eyes away from Mr. Wick's turned back.

"Bobby listen to me, darling. What are the chances of you being wrong, hmm? These dreams of yours. They seem to resurface under times of stress. Now, think about it clearly for a moment. You've traveled out of the United Kingdom for the first time in years. You've done nothing but bury yourself in research and the mind has a way of playing tricks on us. Loneliness and longing can-"

"I'm neither lonely, nor longing for anything aside from the answers for which the world around us is too blind to perceive, Constance Blakehurst." Bobby snapped sharply, cutting her friend's conversation off cold. Connie pursed her lips and lowered her eyes.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection that is definitely coming to surface and its closer than anything we've ever known before." She lowered her voice, leaning closer toward the centre of the table.

"I have a feeling, deep intuition, that screams that the Raven King is closer to the physical plane than we have ever known him to be in at last half century. Now, you swore to me, when I set down this path that you would both stand at my side, come what may and you would assist me in bringing to bare the magic for which our mortal nature has long since suppressed from human knowledge. Now, I know, I've been wheelchair bound and out of my mind with madness these past two years, I was there. It happened to me. I've not forgotten. And I'm not likely to anytime soon. But you saw it yourself that day what came out of that mirror when we enacted the Rite of Exquiro."

"We, know Bobby. We all saw it." Nate murmured "And we're as with you today as we were back then. But, the Rite.. it's not reliable, there are too many pieces missing, lost in translation. We may have bungled it, for all we know."

"Our mutual friend, says he has the answers we seek. That I'm to wait here at The Continental until he sends word for my arrival." Bobby returned.

"And when will that be?" Connie asked, her brows furrowed together as she sought to shake the memory of the creature in the mirror away.

"I don't know." Bobby admitted at last. "But what I do know... is that I should take this clear opportunity to make my acquaintance with that gentleman at the bar."

"Wait! Bobby... You heard your Uncle, love. He clearly said that bloke is not someone you want to tangle with. I mean, look around you. These people. Well dressed and finely mannered as they all seem on the surface, they're like hand-grenades. Just waiting for an opportunity to go off at any moment. We don't know what they're capable of. And after what happened to you...." He let the thought trail heavily between them.

"This is consecrated neutral ground, Nate." Bobby replied sagely,  "My Uncle has assured me that the laws that govern the people in this premises are irrefutable mandates. Their very lives might be made forfeit if they so much as consider attending to their business within these walls."

"So what happens when you go outside?" Connie asked, searching her friend's eyes deeply.

"What happens to anyone that goes outside?" Bobby returned. "We leave ourselves to the hands of the Fates. To the Wheel of Karma. To the laws that govern man in ethical and moral code. We cross our 'T's and dot our 'I's and do our best to live out our days without provoking the wrath of the gods and weather the force of nature as only humanity can. Our days have always been numbered and death does not discriminate. It waits. Patiently, at our shoulders with an ever-draining hourglass. Just watching for the right moment."

"Then you are surely familiar, that if ever a gatekeeper to the fates and all their ill temptations ever existed, this very establishment and your Uncle are it. I'd take his word, if I were you." Nate intoned, his smile vanished. His dark eyes flashing in worry.

"But you're not me." Bobby replied, rising to her feet and straightening her dress. "You can't be. So you'll stand by and watch, whilst I go have a conversation with the fates and see where they lead me. Because I swear it to you, I've seen this man before. And I can't pinpoint how or where. But I'm going to find out, with or without you."

Silence fell upon the table as Connie and Nate exchanged tense glances. They both nodded, reluctantly and watched as Bobby Kent excused herself and walked away.

Many of the guests that had partaken of meals earlier had since paid their cheques and excused themselves to other pursuits, leaving the dining room a great deal quieter than it had been but an hour prior. In fact, Mr. Borguesso and his companion had also departed the bar and sought to seat themselves in a quiet corner to take their drinks and talk amongst themselves. This left Mr. Wick as the last remaining attendant seated at the bar, sipping at his drink and idly casting his glance over his mobile phone.

Bobby considered the timing fortuitous, yet realized with every advancing step closer to the dark dressed gentleman, that she was decidedly under-prepared for the conversation she hoped to undertake or the means by which she would establish the exchange. None the less, she had made up her mind in the passing half hour, and turning back now no longer seemed an option.

And so, with a deep breath and a quiet step, Bobby sought to attend the empty stool beside the gentleman, but did not presume to sit down. Instead, with a quiet voice, feeling the eyes of her companions at her back, she sought to engage him in conversation directly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wick?" She began gently. The dark gentleman set down his glass slowly, turning his attention away from his phone on the bar. He regarded the younger woman with docile, warm eyes.

"Yes?" His voice quiet, deep. He sought her eyes with his own. And the moment seemed to again still the air around her. Heartbeats passed between them until at last Bobby answered in almost a whisper.

"Forgive me... for intruding on your privacy. I don't mean to disturb you, only... I know... This is going to sound completely absurd but, we did meet, briefly last night on the staircase as I was entering the elevator."

"We did." The gentleman replied, quietly once more. His expression unreadable. "And you were wearing quite a beautiful rose coloured evening dress." He continued, turning now in his stool to face the young woman more completely.

The compliment brought a smile to Bobby's lips.

"Thank you, you're too kind, sir. And you were a escorting perhaps one of the most exquisitely beautiful ladies I have ever set eyes on. She really is quite remarkable. I'm sorry I did not get the opportunity to greet you properly then... And you'll forgive my boldness, but... Seeing you again now, I... I can't help but feel as though we've perhaps met somewhere before."

Silence passed between them for long moments as the weight of this admission hung in the air. Bobby searched the gentleman's eyes, ensnared by the way in which the light seemed to be drawn into them, like pools without reflection. The colour of deepest ochre. He seemed to be thinking. Weighing her words for long moments. Grateful of her compliment for his companion. For she was a rare beauty, that much was true.

At last he replied, his tone as measured and quiet as ever.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't think we have." He said. But his eyes... His eyes continued to draw her.

"Are you sure?" She breathed, almost without thinking, she took a step closer. Stepping it seemed, directly into his shadow.

"I never forget a face." He replied. "And I wouldn't forget one such as yours."  

"Would you forget a name?" She pressed.

"No."

To this she nodded, slowly. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Then perhaps, I should introduce myself. My name is Bobby Kent. I am... or was... An English cartographer and travel journalist. Up until a few years ago when I was met with an.... accident." She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"I take a different line of work now. Research, academics mostly. You'll forgive the forwardness of my address, only, I asked my Uncle for your name. Silly as it sounds, I could have sworn we'd met in the recent past. I'm sorry I appear to have been mistaken and disturbed your peace." Here, she put out her hand.

"I'm Winston's niece." She concluded.

The gentleman, with his dark eyes leaned forward very slightly and sought to take the young woman's hand in his own. His grip was warm, firm. And sent a shockwave of energy riveting through her veins and up the length of her spine. The air around them grew cold... still.

"John Wick." The gentleman said.

The mystery unfolds slowly, like a flower unfurling its petals in the night. Who is The Raven King and what dark secrets does Winston and The Continental hide from the world around Bobby and her friends? Mr. Wick has finally been brought to the forefront. And you dare not look away. Be mindful, when you step into the shadow of a damned. Can you hear the beating of a butterfly’s wings?

Join us next week to for the third and final scene in Act Two - Blood of the Raven King.

Write us to have your name tagged in the reader’s list below and never miss a chapter.

Act One || Scene One & Two

Act  One || Scene Three

Act Two || Scene One

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