I suppose a show of gratitude was too much to expect. “I got the job done, all right? That’s more than you were able to do.” I lift the garbage bag. “Wanna burn it?”
Sondheim takes a step back, eyeing the sack like it ate his grandmother. “Uh, no way, man. I’m not touching that.”
Figures.
“You’re sure it’s not going to come back?” Trish speaks up uncertainly. “I mean, really sure?”
“Positive.”
“My mom’s vase.” Sondheim moans. “And the painting’s got a hole in it!”
“It’s only a Manet reproduction,” I say. “And kitsch is in nowadays.” The side effect of being a spoiled rich kid is that I know how much things cost.
The jock glares. Okiku stops by the vase’s corpse and begins counting the broken pieces.
“I should never have listened to you,” Sondheim snaps, turning on his girlfriend. “Why the hell did you want to play some stupid ghost game anyway?”
“Beth and Lisa played it,” the cheerleader whines, tugging at a strand of golden hair. “Nothing happened to them.”
“That’s because you didn’t follow the rules.” I speak up, not feeling particularly sympathetic. One-man tag is a ritual that has no real purpose other than to mess with nearby spirits. Invite one into a doll’s body, fool around with it for an hour to prove your manliness, then—hopefully—send it back to where it came from without repercussion. It’s supposed to be a test of courage.
“You didn’t use salt water, you didn’t bother cleansing the place with incense beforehand, and worst of all, you didn’t finish the game. You might have gotten away with that if you’d been in a public place, but by summoning a spirit here, you might as well have drawn a large exclamation point over your house.”
Both stare blankly at me. “How the hell could we finish the game after seeing that…that thing stand up?” Sondheim demands.
“Beth and Lisa said the doll just lay there when they tried it,” Trish chimes in.
Inwardly, I groan. About the only smart thing they did tonight was call me for help, though being woken up at two in the morning by people who never give me the time of day isn’t something I enjoy. I don’t even know how they got my number.
“Yeah, well, if you’re not prepared to see things go bump in the night, then don’t go playing with dolls in the first place.”
I heft the garbage bag over my shoulder, knowing this will be the first and only time I score one over on Andrew Sondheim. “And one last thing, not that I’d recommend there be a next time—but at least pick a better name than ‘Dumbelina.’ You don’t want to anger the creature before the game even starts. You might not wanna take it seriously, but believe me: it takes you very, very seriously. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a doll to burn and classes in the morning.”
I walk out, Okiku trailing after me. I can hear bits of an argument starting up again after the door closes behind me. The two of them will probably tell everyone what happened here tonight, stirring up new rumors to cement my status as a freak, but I don’t really care. Trish has a fondness for hyperbole, so it’s not like anyone in school will believe her.
It’s 4:30 a.m. and I’m tired—but glad I only live a few blocks away. I bike back to my house and let myself in, not bothering to be quiet about it. Dad’s away on business and won’t be home ’til late afternoon, so I’ve got plenty of time.
I burn the doll in a metal trash bin I found in a junkyard several months ago. Most days it sits half hidden behind some bushes in the garden. Dad probably doesn’t even know it’s there. I’ve used it about thirty-five times.
It’s a quick and easy bonfire. I empty the contents of the garbage bag into the can, making sure I don’t leave anything out, then strike a match.
The doll burns easily enough. Its beady black eyes watch me until its face disappears into the flames and smoke. Soon, nothing will remain of it but black soot and angry memories.
When there is nothing left of the doll, Okiku smiles. She always does.
It’s not that I have to do these exorcisms. I’m not responding to some higher calling that insists I don a cape, cowl, and tight spandex to rid my city of crime. I’m not about righting wrongs. All these creatures I’ve been trapping and killing during the last several months—there’s no real purpose to it. I tell Sondheim not to meddle in things he has no understanding of, but I’m just as guilty. I mess around with spirits, test the boundaries of my fears, see how far I can step over the line without falling over.
Besides, Okiku delights in the hunt. She ended life as a victim and started death as an avenger. She doesn’t kill for any higher purpose. She doesn’t need a reason to take someone’s life. She does it because she can. And I get that. I’ve been a victim for most of my life. She changed that.
I tell myself I’m doing this—ridding the world of these things that go bump in the night—because I want to. I tell myself I’m doing this because I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as prey.
I tell myself it’s an adrenaline rush.
And, admittedly, that’s where the stupidity comes in.
Okiku senses where my mind is wandering, and curiosity crosses her dead, mottled face.
“I’m all right. Let’s finish this.”
She smiles again.
Together, we stand and watch the night burn.
Chapter Two
Girls
I used to forget it was Okiku and not the masked woman of my childhood in the room with me. I used to wake up screaming with nightmares. The only times I’ve ever seen Okiku look helpless are when I buck out of bed covered in sweat and crying. She’ll wrap her withered arms around me; she’s not used to comforting anyone, but she tries all the same.
Then a miko of Chinsei shrine, Kagura, offered to teach me the rituals, teach me how to exorcise the demons in my head and the demons around me. “To protect you,” she said. Everything I know about containing spirits, I learned from the former priestess.
The first exorcism I performed on my own was nine months ago in Japan. The ghost had appeared to be a kindly old lady, asking for something sweet to drink. When I produced the doll and apologized, she was no longer kindly. Or old. Or, after an unexpected transformation, a woman.
Kagura scolded me, said she wasn’t teaching me these traditions so I could go out and be proactive without supervision. If she’d had her way, it would have been at least two more years before I could execute these rituals on my own.
I pointed out the need for constant practice and that Okiku was there to make sure I got out with my skin intact. It took a lot of convincing—and stretching the truth about how frequently I use these talents and on what—though Kagura has never stopped worrying. Between her and my cousin, Callie, I’ve got all the mothering I could ever need.
After I caught my first spirit, I slept like a baby for the first time in months. Most mornings arrive easy like that now.
This morning, I wake sputtering out tangles of hair. Sometimes I suspect that Okiku’s dark locks have their own sentience. They slip beneath my pillow and burrow into my blankets. A chosen few wrap around my arm like a protective cocoon.