Ritual Sins Read Free Page A

information.”
    “How very odd,” Luke said, swinging his long legs around and rising from her bed. He was very close to her in the small room, and she realized he was quite a bit taller than she’d realized. She didn’t like tall men. But then, she didn’t like short men, or average men either, she reminded herself. There was nothing to be nervous about. “They must have divined somehow that you wanted to know. There are no coincidences in this life. No accidents.”
    “Life is nothing but one long accident,” Rachel snapped, immediately regretting her impulsiveness. “If my mother hadn’t met you, she wouldn’t have fallen under your influence, and I wouldn’t be a pauper.”
    “Yes,” Luke said gently, reaching up and touching a strand of her short-cropped hair. It was an oddly intimate gesture, one that left her frozen in place. “But you still wouldn’t have your mother, would you?”
    She was still standing there, minutes after the door closed behind him.

2
     
    T hey met in secret, the Grandfathers, with solemn faces and dignified demeanor. All of them, men and women alike, sat cross-legged on the rough floor, hands turned upward toward the sky as they waited for enlightenment. Even the outsider, the one who would never belong to their exalted group, sat in respectful silence.
    They could be seen, perhaps, if someone tried hard to find them. But they couldn’t be heard. The Grandfathers met often, to discuss the financial well-being of the Foundation of Being, the uncertainty of the future, the wondrous change Luke Bardell had wrought in their lives.
    As they did now. Alfred Waterston looked at the Grandfather next to him, his jowly face serene and determined. “How are we going to arrange Luke’s death?”
    And the outsider carefully, politely, raised his hand.
    So he’d won the first encounter, Rachel thought, staring at the rough wooden door. It made no difference. If she were a quitter she wouldn’t have come to Santa Dolores in the first place. There were things she couldn’t let rest in peace, and the occasional setback was nothing she didn’t expect. Besides, somewhere among these happy smiling people she had an ally.
    He was right, of course, there were no locks on the doors. She wedged the straight-backed chair under the door handle, closed the shutters on her deep-set window, and began to strip off her clothes. If she viewed it objectively, it might not even be considered defeat. She hadn’t responded to the mesmerizing effect Luke Bardell was supposed to have on most people. She hadn’t even been tempted. She’d faced the enemy and survived. That in itself was a triumph.
    The bathroom was small and utilitarian, a stall shower, toilet, and small sink, but the hot water was plentiful, and she stood beneath it for long, sybaritic minutes, letting it sluice over her, trying to soak away some of the edginess that threatened to consume her. She didn’t want to lose the tension and anger that fueled her, but she needed calm and control above all things. Luke Bardelland the Foundation of Being were formidable enemies. She needed every advantage she could muster.
    The pastel cotton pajamas had disappeared during her foray, and she wondered who had taken them. The mint-green had never been her color in the first place, and she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt with a certain amount of defiance, finger-combing her short-cropped hair. The rooms at Santa Dolores didn’t come equipped with mirrors, probably to discourage vanity, but Rachel knew exactly what she looked like without having to check. Her clothes were deliberately shapeless on her too-thin body, her face pale and makeup-free, her eyes viewing the world with doubt and suspicion. There was nothing to inspire interest or desire in any but the most desperate, the most perverse.
    She was out of place in this dream world. That in itself was nothing new. There was no longer any place on this earth that felt like home to her. From her