Page 26 of Roma King
He roars something unintelligible, then hurls the tube of lotion down the stairwell, clearly aiming it at my head, but he’s always been a shitty shot; he misses by a mile, and the tube hits the wall, clattering to the floor and rolling off into the dark as I run down the remainder of the steps.
I don’t need a light to guide me as I make my way to the doorway at the end of the narrow corridor. I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ve been coming here since I was seven years old, when the Rivin clan set up shop here for the very first time. As I pull open the door, stepping through into the Midnight Fair, I smile sadly upon the familiar faces of all the people I haven’t seen in three full years, busy about their work as they set up for the evening’s frivolities, and I know what I have to do.
* * *
Shelta’s never been an ordinary fortune teller. She never went with the traditional flowing garbs and the gypsy headdress, dripping with tin medallions. When I enter her tent, I find my mother sitting at her card table, dressed in a severe, restrictive-looking pant suit. The dove grey color of the material does nothing for her complexion, and she looks pale and washed out in the hazy lighting. Older. She looks much, much older than the last time I laid eyes on her.
She doesn’t look up from the deck of tarot in front of her, so I make my way across the tent and sit myself down opposite her. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I slouch into the high-backed chair, stuffing my hands in my pockets again.
“Please. Do make yourself at home,” she says softly.
I don’t reply. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to joust with her during this meeting, and this initial barb is hardly worth acknowledging. Instead, I stare up at the roof of the tent, waiting for her to put her cards away and end her nonchalant posturing.
Four minutes pass. Then another two. She’s trying to irritate me and prove her position by ignoring me, but it doesn’t work. I couldn’t fucking care less if she takes thirty minutes or five hours to finally face me. I have all night, and Shelta Rivin no longer possesses the ability to crawl her way under my skin. I desensitized myself to her bullshit games long before I’d even turned eighteen.
Eventually, she draws in a long-suffering breath, sighs heavily, and then collects the tarot cards she’s been staring at, sliding them back into her deck. “Looks like you’ve been doing well for yourself, Pasha,” she says. Her voice carries no inflection. She could be declining cashback at a grocery store right now instead of speaking to her only son for the first time in years.
“I have. Thanks.”
“Patrin tells me you’ve opened up a tattoo parlor. I never imagined you’d fill your days with such an inane pastime.”
“Really? I’d have thought becoming a tattoo artist would have been a fairly obvious choice for me, given how much ink I’ve put into the skin of the men and women out there, setting up the fair.”
At last, she looks up at me, cool, assessing grey eyes picking over me. She’s not happy. Not in the slightest. “The men and women out there, setting up the fair? Do you mean your brothers and sisters? Your aunts and uncles?Thosepeople? The people who have been worried sick about you since you walked out of here and didn’t look back?”
I sit a little straighter, pulling myself up in the chair. “I didn’t walk out, though, did I? I was banished. There’s a bit of a difference there. Don’t act like I abandoned you all, Mother. You’re not that good an actress, and I don’t have the patience for such a weak performance.”
She rolls her eyes. “Did you speak to anyone at least? Shireen? Colm?”
“No. Everyone’s busy. I kept my head down and came straight here. No one knows I’m here.”
“Mmm.” She ponders this. “I suppose that’s for the best. Everyone’s so excited to have you back. But from what Patrin tells me, it sounds as if you have no plan of returning to lead your people. I’d hate for everyone to get excited, only to be disappointed by you.”
“The only person I seem to disappoint is you, Mother.”
She gives me a sad, condescending smile. “If only that were true.”
“You’ve been back in Spokane for a month already, Shelta. If you truly gave a shit about me coming home to accept my role, you would have come and seen me yourself the moment you arrived, wouldn’t you?”
She blinks at me slowly, catlike and calculating. The lines around her mouth are much deeper than before. They aren’t laughter lines, from years spent carousing and playing with the children, or sharing jokes with the other members of the clan. Those lines are a direct result of the many years she’s spent grimacing at everyone and everything in her path. “Yes. Well,” she clips out. “I thought I’d give you the chance to come to me first. As it should have been. But it looks like the stubborn streak you inherited from your father has widened substantially during our time apart.”
I shake my head, tutting under my breath. “Dad gave me the boyish good looks, the massive dick, and the gift of the gab. If I am as stubborn as you say I am, then I inherited that trait fromyou.”
Shelta’s hair, full of thick waves, is still dark, but there is a touch of grey at her temples now. She smooths a hand over it, taming back an invisible rogue strand as she sends a withering pout in my direction. “No need to be crass. You really think I care about the contents of your pants?”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“I didn’t come to you sooner, because I thought there’d be more time, but the clan’s growing more and more restless by the day. It’s time to stop being so childish, Pasha. Time to put away childish things and accept your responsibilities as a man. As the head of this clan, and all other clans on the western coast.”
I frown at her, trying to read through the austere, stiff exterior. “What do you mean, they’re growing more and more restless by the day?”
“Exactly that. It’s not just the Rivins who want their king to step up and take the helm. All five of the clans are waiting for your return, and they want it to happen soon. The banishment’s over. You’ve atoned for your crimes. You’re suppo—”
I tip my head to one side, eyes narrowed into slits. “Mycrimes?”
“Urgh. Why insist on playing stupid? You know what you did, Pasha. Lazlo was loved by everyone around here. He walked on fucking water. Youkilledhim. You took a knife and you sank it into his stomach.”
“You think Leo loved Lazlo?” The challenge in my voice is bold and clear. “What about Sammy? Or Danior, or Motshan? The man wasn’t just sticking his fingers up the asses ofgadjeboys while we were on the road. He violated plenty of our own, too. If I hadn’t walked in and found him pinning Leo to that bed with his pants around his ankles, Iknowwhat would have happened. So do you. I think you knew about Golden Boy Uncle Lazlo’s penchant for little boys long before any of the rest of us did. And what did you do about it?Nothing.”
