Rituals

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Ferris wheel?" I said. "I'll climb up and then you can release the brake."

  "I have several important cases going to trial this winter and absolutely no time to replace a dead investigator."

  "You're so sweet." I hopped out and shielded my eyes against the sun and the blinding layer of fallen snow. "Oh! There. Perfect!"

  I broke into a run.

  "Olivia! Watch out. The pavement is still--"

  My boot slipped. Gabriel ran to grab me, glancing around as if fearing he'd be spotted. I was about to laugh at his dignity-check when I saw a blur between a concession stand and a dart game booth. Lloergan's head swiveled toward it.

  "Did you see that?" I said to Gabriel.

  "See what?"

  I vaulted over the game booth counter. The rear door was cracked open, and I gave it a shove, hoping to startle whoever lurked behind it. No one was there. And no footprints marred the pristine snow.

  Lloergan walked to me, her nose working overtime as if to say, Huh, could have sworn I saw something.

  I backed into the game booth, where dead balloons still dotted the pockmarked board. I plucked out a dart.

  "You ever try this game?" I said to Gabriel. "Yes, they're all rigged, but if you know the tricks, you can pick up some sweet prizes."

  "Stuffed animals that aren't even worth the cost of the tickets to win them?"

  "Hardly the point. Didn't you ever--"

  Didn't you ever bring a girl to a county fair? A girl you wanted to impress by winning her a prize?

  No, he hadn't. I knew that without finishing the question. There'd been no time for that in Gabriel's teen life, no point when he could afford game tickets just to make a girl smile. The only reason to win a prize would be if he could pawn it for a profit. And the only reason he'd come to a place like this was if he could pick enough pockets to make it worthwhile, given the cost of admission and transportation.

  I heard fake-Seanna's voice again, mocking me for thinking I was a badass. I didn't. But where I came from, I had been the wild one, the girl who made "shocking" suggestions, like breaking into an abandoned park. When I compare that to Gabriel's life, I am ashamed. Yes, he'd have broken in. To steal food. To find shelter. To survive. And me? I'd plotted silly rebellions from my Inglewood bedroom, chatting on my cell phone, planning to borrow one of my dad's classic sports cars for the excursion.

  When I think of Gabriel's young life, I grieve for what he lost. What he can never get back. For experiences he cannot even imagine, ones the average American teen takes for granted. And it is all Seanna's fault.

  "Olivia?" he said.

  "Sorry. Where was I? Right!" I leapt over the counter again. "I had a mission, and that mission is...this way."

  I dashed through the booths, startling a stray cat that had ventured forth. Spotting me, it wheeled to zoom through a hole in a concession booth. Then it saw Lloergan and froze, saucer-eyed. We raced past, and I skidded to a halt beside a two-story building so garishly painted that even on a midway it looked like a hooker in a convent.

  In three-foot-high letters, a sign overhead announced that we'd arrived at the fun house. Or, the FUN HOUSE!!! Gabriel's expression suggested he was already prepared to sue for false advertising.

  "Hey, at least I didn't propose that." I jabbed a finger toward the haunted house. "Given our track record, we'd probably find actual corpses. Then we'd need to report them and explain, again, that we just have a knack for that sort of thing, and if I was following in my parents' footsteps, I'd hardly be reporting my crimes." I pursed my lips. "Though that might be rather ingenious."

  "It's not," Gabriel said. "I had a client who tried it. He killed his wife and called it in, and then after he was charged, he killed his mistress and called that in, too, reasoning it would somehow prove he wasn't guilty of either. Just terribly unlucky in love."

  "You're admitting he was guilty? Bad defense attorney."

  "Hardly. He's the one who admitted it. He insisted on taking a plea bargain."

  "Against your advice, I presume."

  Gabriel made a noise in his throat, evidently still insulted over the situation. He would suggest clients accept the bargains in unwinnable cases. Otherwise, he took it kind of personally when they did.

  "Coming?" I said as I climbed the steps to the doorway. "Or are you acting mature and waiting out here?"

  His eyes narrowed, offended by the suggestion he wouldn't join in my silly adventure.

  "Remember how I said you need a pair of jeans?" I said as he glanced down at his pressed and pristine trousers. "I'm serious about that. I'm storing jeans and a T-shirt in your car for all future adventures."

  A faint eye roll.

  "You've worn jeans before," I said. "Jeans, T-shirt, Saints jacket...You make a very convincing biker."

  His look said I knew very well it was borrowed emergency clothing.

  "Hey, it still happened. I have proof. Ricky forwarded me the photo. Don't worry. I filed it in a secret folder, so no one will see it but me."

  Which was true, though that wasn't the real reason I'd filed it away. When I had it in my main photo file, every time I passed it, I'd kind of forget what I was doing. Gabriel in worn jeans, a too-small T-shirt, and a leather jacket, with dark stubble and damp, wavy hair...Which was not to say he didn't look good in a suit, but then I kept imagining getting him out of it and into something more comfortable. Like a bed. Or couch. Or any conveniently located horizontal surface. Even a vertical one would do. I wasn't picky.

  "Olivia?"

  "Onward," I said. "Lloergan? Do you want to come in or--"

  She plunked down in front of the door. I gave her a pat and then went inside. Beyond the entrance, hanging plastic strips curtained a doorway, like a car wash. When we went through, we found ourselves in darkness. Gabriel turned on his cell phone and shone light down the corridor, with black-painted walls and a ceiling so low he had to duck.

  "This doesn't seem safe," he said.

  "It's not supposed to." I flicked off his cell phone, took his hand, and pressed it against the wall. "Feel your way. If you hit something soft, it's me, and you probably want to stop feeling around." Not that I'd object, but only if you did it intentionally, which seems unlikely to happen anytime soon.

  I set out, each hand on a wall as I followed the twists and turns of the dark maze. I kept up a steady stream of chatter. If I'm not talking, Gabriel's going to presume I've been rendered unconscious.

  When I paused for a response, silence answered.

  "You stopped listening five minutes ago, didn't you?" I said.

  I expected a chuckle. He'd say something like, "No, I'm always listening," and he was, even when I blathered like a toddler who'd just learned to speak. But this time, there was no answer.

  "Gabriel?"

  My switchblade has a penlight, and I fumbled to turn it on and then shone it down the hall. The empty hall.

  I hurried back. After a few steps I heard deep, panicked breathing. I tore around the corner and there was Gabriel, his chest heaving. When the light hit him, his head jerked up, the blank look in his eyes evaporating with a blink.

  "Are you okay?" I said.

  "What?" Another hard blink as he pulled himself up straight. "Yes, of course. I just..."

  He looked around as if he'd see an answer in neon on the wall. I caught his hand, giving it a light squeeze and saying, "Let's go--"

  The room went dark, and suddenly I was crouched in a small, pitch-black space, the walls pressing in from every side. There was one single moment where I realized I'd fallen into a vision, and then that awareness evaporated and I was in the vision, thinking another's thoughts, feeling what another felt.

  It's all right. It's all right. She'll be back soon.

  But I couldn't hear her anymore--hadn't heard her in a long time--and I could always hear her when I was in the small place. Everything had gone quiet and stayed quiet and now my legs hurt, and I was so hungry and cold and I had to use the bathroom.
/>   Maybe if I knocked--

  Remember the last time.

  I shivered at the memory. I'd had to go badly, so I'd knocked and been very polite about it.

  I need to use the bathroom. Please may I come out?

  I'd said it exactly right. I knew I had. Sometimes, when other people took care of me, they'd ask if I had to use the potty, and if my mother heard, she'd sneer and say, "My son doesn't use that baby talk." Which meant that I was not permitted to use it.

  I'd made a mistake once, after my mother left me with a neighbor and her children for five days. Later, I'd called my stomach my tummy, and my mother made me sit in the corner and told me not to talk like a baby, and the man we were staying with said, "Geez, Seanna, he is a baby," and she'd said, "Then he'd better grow up fast. Because I don't have time for that shit."

  After the last time, I knew not to ask to be let out of the small place. I had to wait, and when she was ready, she'd open the hatch. I could come out, and I could have anything I wanted to eat. Then we'd go to the shop down the road--the one that smelled weird--where I'd find a book that didn't have pages falling out, and she'd buy it for me.

  I just had to wait. Had to be patient. That was the word. Patient.

  Except I had been patient. I'd sat here, and there'd been noise and talking and laughing and then more noise, and I'd been completely quiet, even though she'd forgotten to give me a blanket and I was cold, and I was getting too big to be here without curling up and that hurt, curling up so small when I was not so small anymore.

  I had just turned three years old. For my birthday, I'd gotten a special gift. First, I had to play a game, which was special, too, because my mother did not play games. Those were for babies. But this was a grown-up game. There'd been a man in the apartment--one of her friends--and when they were talking, I had to find his jacket and his wallet and take out one bill marked "20." No more than one.

  If the man caught me, I could not say my mother told me to do it. That was the rule. It hadn't been easy, because the man put his jacket on the sofa, and I had to wait until he went into the kitchen and then quickly take the money. But I won, and my mother had been happy, and she'd let me buy all the books I could with a five-dollar bill. Then she bought me a candy bar and said that I could play the game every time a man came over and if I won, I'd get books and a candy bar. If I lost, though--if the man caught me--then my mother would not protect me from a beating. Those were the rules. That was fair, she said. Just like it was fair that if I waited in the small space quietly, I'd get a reward when she let me out.

  Be patient.

  But I had to pee so bad it hurt. Everything hurt, and I was cold. I was hungry, too, because she'd forgotten to give me lunch again, and I knew not to ask, or she'd cuff me and say she was getting to it, even though I knew she'd forgotten.

  What if she'd forgotten me? I couldn't hear anything. I hadn't for a long time. For a very, very long time, and what if she'd forgotten? What if--?

  "Olivia."

  The room lit up, and for a second I couldn't figure out where the light was coming from or why I was standing or why someone was holding my arms and calling me Olivia. That wasn't my name. My name was--

  I looked up, blinking, into Gabriel's face, felt his iron grip on my forearms. When he saw me focusing, he exhaled and slapped a hand to my forehead.

  "You aren't even warm," he said, frowning--my visions usually came with fever.

  No, I'm not warm. I'm cold. I'm very, very--

  "It wasn't a vision," I said. "It was..."

  I looked up at him and mentally tumbled back to that place. I started to shiver, and then I glanced aside, sharply. That was what gave it away, and he let go of my arm so fast I staggered.

  "Memories," he said. "You were seeing what I..."

  "I wasn't trying. I would never--"

  "Yes, of course. I know that." His voice snapped with impatience. Then he cleared his throat and straightened. "We should have spoken to the Elders after you accessed memories with the lamiae. We'll do that later today."

  He took out his phone and tapped in a note. Just add it to the list. Nothing personal here. And if I thought his fingers trembled slightly as he typed, clearly I was distraught and a little wobbly myself.

  I swallowed and struggled to reorient, to slough off what it had felt like, being in that tiny space, alone and cold and trying so hard to--

  Another hard swallow.

  "It's physical contact," I said, working for the same matter-of-fact tone. "I've only had those episodes when I'm touching someone. I don't know what triggers it."

  "You access a memory they're accessing," Gabriel said. "At that moment of contact."

  "How long did Seanna leave you--?" I started without thinking and stopped short. "Okay, so let's mark that down and--"

  "You are allowed to ask, Olivia," he said, his voice dropping as the snap slid away. "You did not intrude intentionally. While the thought of sharing that memory is hardly comfortable, the question is understandable. I believe it was several days. There was no way of knowing at that age. It was after Rose tried to take me, and Seanna punished her by moving. There was a storage cubby in the new apartment. Sometimes her men didn't mind me being around, but if she suspected my presence would create tension, she'd put me in the cubby. That particular time, the man invited her to a party. Whether she was too high or drunk to remember me--or simply making too much money to hurry home--I only know that I was unconscious when she returned. The next time she attempted to put me into that cubby, I...did not respond well. She began instead taking me to a park and leaving me there, presumably to play, though I could never quite understand the attraction."

  "I--"

  "I'm explaining to provide context. Nothing more. I understand sharing that memory is awkward for you as well. We can alleviate some of that by me simply saying that it doesn't require a response. So let's..."

  "Move on?"

  He exhaled audibly. "Yes. Please."

  I understood what he was saying. For those few minutes, I'd experienced the hell of his early life, and I could not now just brush it off to goof around in a fun house.

  "I'll just...I'm going to go see Lloergan for a second."

  "To give yourself a moment to react privately, knowing I mishandle emotional responses." That chill seeped back into his voice.

  "Gabriel, please? I'm..." I clenched and unclenched my fists.

  "Upset."

  "I hate her," I blurted. "I have never hated anyone the way I hate Seanna. And if there's any chance she's...No, she isn't." I took a deep breath. "Sorry. No. She isn't. Someone is impersonating her. That's all."

  "I agree. But if we're wrong?" He met my gaze and lowered his voice. "I'm quite certain I wouldn't fit in that cubby anymore."

  He was trying to lighten the mood. But when he said that, all I could think about was how terrified he'd been, what it must have been like, trapped in there for days.

  I burst into tears. They started streaming down my face as I frantically wiped at them, blathering, "Sorry, sorry."

  I was still babbling and trying to stop crying when he pulled me into a hug. It was a Gabriel hug--an awkward embrace that feels more like restraint.

  I swore he counted to three before letting go. But then he reached out and patted my back, the kind of "there, there" comfort you give a child who has scraped her knee, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing through my tears.

  "Thank you," I said when I could manage a straight face, and he nodded, obviously relieved that he'd done the right thing. Also glad it was over.

  "If it's her, I'll deal with that," he said. A wry twist of a smile. "She can't hurt me anymore."

  I threw my arms around his neck. He stiffened in alarm. I gave him a fierce squeeze, careful to keep my embrace even shorter than his. But when I went to pull away, he hugged me back, and by the time I realized that, it was too late to stop withdrawing. He felt my hands falling away and quickstepped out of my embrace, and by then the
moment had passed and...

  The moment passed. There was nothing more to be said. It always passed.

  I took a deep breath and shone my light around. "This is silly. There's obviously not going to be a working phone in the fun house."

  Gabriel shook his head. "Something drew you here."

  "Did it?" I threw up my hands, penlight beam pinging over the walls. "Maybe I'm using my visions as an excuse to knock off work for a while because..."

  Because of this morning. Because I don't want that bitch to be Seanna, and I'm afraid, I'm really, really afraid, she might be.

  "Between your parents' appeal and our normal workload, you haven't had a day off in weeks," Gabriel said. "You're tired, and you need a break. I propose that we agree--both of us--to take this weekend off."

  "Uh, didn't you tell me not to make plans because you needed me?"

  "I only asked if you had the weekend clear."

  "And then said to keep it clear."

  "Yes..." He seemed to flounder before coming back with, "Because you need to rest. Ricky is away, so you won't have plans with him, and I would suggest you don't make any plans at all. In fact, I insist on it."

  "Okay..."

  "You will rest. All weekend. That's an order."

  "Uh-huh..."

  "For now, though, you will explore this fun house."

  "Which is also an order?"

  "No, it's a very strong suggestion, backed by the warning that I'm the one with the car keys, and if I stay here, you'll be stranded."

  "We're already stranded, remember? You can't drive your car until the air bags are reset."

  "Good, then that's settled." He waved down the dark hall. "Onward."

  CHAPTER SIX

  I left my penlight on as I led us out of the dark maze. It opened into a room that was supposed to have a moving floor. Except the floor, obviously, wasn't moving. Nor was it staying still. With the motor off, the boards slid as soon as I put my foot down.

  We crossed slowly and exited into the inevitable mirror maze. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my adoptive dad. I turned fast and saw myself, at eight, when I'd been here with him, both of us making faces in the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away--even two years after his death, it still hurt too much. Yet a part of me wanted to keep looking, to get my fill of that memory. Then it faded, and I saw only myself, as I was now.