Kelley Armstrong - The Gathering

The house had been painted this summer and it seemed like the window hadn’t been opened since. I whaled on it, then looked over to ask Rafe for help. He was standing in front of Daniel’s dresser, holding our drinks as he looked at the photos shoved in the mirror frame.

“You guys really have been friends a long time.” He pointed the beer bottle at one. “What are you there? Six?”

“About that.”

He grinned. “I like the pigtails.”

He leaned in to look at a few others. Someone yelled something downstairs, and I said, “Come on,” suddenly realizing I really didn’t want to be found with Rafe in Daniel’s bedroom, however innocent the explanation.

Rafe took his time, still checking out the room. He gestured at a pile of textbooks on the floor.

“What’s he use those for? Weight lifting?”

“If you showed up in class more often, you wouldn’t be asking that. Daniel’s not a dumb jock.”

“No kidding.” He leaned over to read the titles. “Pre-law? Please tell me those belong to his older brothers.”

“An uncle. They’re Daniel’s now. A little outdated but …” I shrugged.

He looked at me like he thought I was kidding. Everyone in town joked about Daniel taking over Chief Carling’s job, and when he was little, even he thought he wanted to be a cop. Then he spent a year in cadets and realized paramilitary careers weren’t for him.

Daniel had his own very firm ideas of right and wrong, and didn’t like following anyone else’s. So he’d set his sights on law. It wasn’t a sure thing. Daniel was a solid A-minus student, but he really worked for those grades. Harder than I did, which made me feel bad sometimes.

I finally got Rafe over to the window and held the drinks while he yanked it open. Then I handed them back and told him to wait.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” he said.

“Up.”

He grinned. “Should have guessed. After you then.”

FROM THE WINDOW, I swung over to the porch roof. I took the drinks from him, set them down, and climbed onto the main roof. By the time I was there, Rafe was on the porch roof, holding the drinks up to me. I grabbed them and he clambered up. Then I stood, carefully, and walked to my usual place—the flatter roof on the storage space above the garage.

Rafe sat beside me. I handed him his beer and looked out into the dark forest. As I inhaled the smell of it, I closed my eyes and relaxed, but I didn’t feel that usual slow stream of energy seeping in. Maybe it was too late for that and I was too tired. If anything, the energy seemed to be flowing out, leaving me blissfully relaxed, even a little light-headed.

When I glanced over at Rafe, he was staring into the night, sipping his beer, looking just as calm, happy even. Neither of us said a word, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. Just … nice.

After a few minutes, he said, “Better not let my thirty minutes slip away, huh?”

“I’m not wearing a watch.”

His grin sparked at that, and I felt this tingle in my gut, a slow heat, as if there was more than Coke in my glass. I glanced away and took a gulp. It didn’t help. I felt weirdly disconnected. Like when a summer boy sneaked rum into my Coke on our first and last date. I knew what booze tasted like now, though, and my pop was fine.

“So, you wanted to get to know me …” he said.

I laughed, and the fuzzy feeling evaporated. “Um, no, I don’t think I ever said that.”

“Close enough. Here’s your chance. Ask me anything and I’ll reply with relative honesty.”

“Relative?”

“I’m the mysterious new guy in town. You like that. You just won’t admit it. So, yes, relative honesty. Ask me anything.”

“Fine. What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”

He laughed. “Wow. Straight for the jugular.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Scariest thing? Scariest thing I’ve ever gone through was my mom dying. But you said scariest thing I’ve done . That would be coming here. I’m used to moving, like I said. But this was different. I’m not a legal immigrant, obviously, but we needed to get away, and we knew we’d inherited this cabin, so we had to take the chance and hope nobody asked too many questions.”

“You had to get away because of Annie. Because you were afraid she’d lose custody of you.”

“Partly, and partly …” He chugged his beer, as if shoring up his nerve. “The scariest thing I’ve ever done was coming here, and the dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the reason I had to.”

After a minute of silence, I said, “Are you going to tell me or was that just a tease?”

I expected a smile. Instead, he drained the rest of his beer in one long, almost desperate swallow.

“I took money from the wrong people,” he said.

I stiffened, certain he was pulling his bad boy crap again. But he’d gone very still, watching me, his eyes anxious, like he wished he could take the words back but was glad he couldn’t.

I’d asked for honesty. He’d given it, more than he should, because he wanted to earn my trust, wanted it badly enough to offer this. I wondered why, but I couldn’t seem to hold on to the thought, couldn’t seem to care as that lazy, drifting feeling returned.

I knew he was waiting for me to say something. But what? I was dying to ask what he’d done, but even for me, being that blunt crossed a line.

“So I was wrong,” I finally said. “You are a bad ass.”

He laughed at that, a long whoosh of relieved laughter, the spark returning to his eyes. “That’s right. I’ve earned my rep the hard way. I’m as bad as they come.”

He leaned in, until his breath tickled my hair. “Seriously? That’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, as well as the dumbest. Otherwise, I’m strictly minor league.”

He lifted the empty beer bottle. “First drink I’ve had in about six months. I’ve been drunk once in my life. It was after my mom died. I went to a party, and I started drinking, and I didn’t stop until I woke up covered in puke. Which, let me tell you, is a serious turn-on for girls.”

“I bet.”

“I’ve smoked pot once.” He leaned in again and whispered, “You’ll notice a lot of firsts and lasts in this confession.” He set his empty bottle aside. “I was fourteen, in a new place, trying to make friends. Annie caught me. Dragged me away and said if she ever caught me doing that again, she’d tell Mom, who was sick then, so it was the last thing she needed. I found new friends.”

He shifted, getting a little closer but subtly, like he was only restless. “What else? I’ve shoplifted. Small stuff, years ago. Another new school, more bad choices in friends. You’ll notice a lot of that pattern, too. I almost broke into a house once. A guy told me this other kid swiped his iPod and he wanted me to get it back. I almost fell for it. At least he bothered lying to me. Most times, kids just figured I’d be happy to help them do something illegal.”

“Because you look like the type?”

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean. A lot of the places we went—small towns and that—were very white. You’re lucky here. I mean, I’m sure you get some problems, but you’re …”

“Sheltered.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay. I know I am. When I leave Salmon Creek, there’s a distinct change in tone.” I motioned to his arm, now covered by his jacket. “I saw your tattoo. Hopi, isn’t it? The crow mother?”

“Very good. Yeah, Mom was Hopi. Annie and I got the tattoos after she died.”

He went quiet, then snapped out of it and tugged his jacket sleeve up to give me a better look. It was a gorgeous tattoo. Before he pulled the sleeve down, I touched the cat’s-eye bracelet.