But it’s too late now. I knock on the door, but no one answers. I have a key. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the guesthouse. It wasn’t like this. There’s a tent in one corner, a cardboard rug, a stack of penis collages.
What the fuck is Demi playing at? Who is Michael? Her boyfriend? Her patsy? Her strategy?
I don’t have time to figure it out. I have to plan. I have a party to attend and a person to kill, and what does it matter who she is or what she’s done? It doesn’t change the game. I have to win so I can keep playing. If I lose, no amount of money will bring me back. I have to win, or the game will end for me for good.
LYLA
Every rich person has at least one Versailles-themed room. Margo’s is the ballroom. It’s where she hosts her most important parties and it’s where I host Graham’s birthday dinner. The dinner party guests are reflected again and again in Margo’s Ballroom of Mirrors. And because it’s Margo, it’s done with a twist—emphasis on “twisted.” Hung among the mirrors are macabre works of art: Judith Beheading Holofernes, The Massacre of Standing Creek and a larger-than-life portrait of Marie Antoinette dressed in her most frothy, flounced pastel gown, holding her own bloody head on her lap.
Normally I find this room a little gauche. But tonight, it’s perfect. Normally, I would serve Graham’s favorites, but because I respect his perverse streak, I make a meal of everything he hates: caviar, truffles, brussels sprouts. I make sure that everything tastes divine.
He doesn’t seem to notice. I placed seating cards, but Graham ignored his and sat next to Demi. He leans over to whisper something in her ear. She blushes. Her neck twists in his direction and I see Elvira’s neck. How did he kill her? Did he plan all along to make it look like an accident?
Posey moves her place card next to me.
“I’m excited for the game!” she says too loud.
I don’t want Graham to hear. I want it to be a surprise. Not that he’s paying any attention to me. He caught my eye on the way in. His face was a persistent blank, so I know he remembers what he told me last night. Knowing this scares me.
Graham is sick but he doesn’t like to be seen that way. He doesn’t like to be seen for what he is, which is possibly the only human thing about him. Maybe that’s why he’s turned on me, turned away from me. Not because he’s bored with me but because he doesn’t want to be known, especially not to himself.
Demi’s already wearing the black dress I bought her, even though we were supposed to change after dinner. There’s a little tracking device sewn between her breasts that connects to an app on my phone. I don’t want to kill her. But I don’t have a choice. It’s her or me. There’s no other way out.
I turn to Posey. “You’re not playing. Only the men are.”
“You’re playing.” She stabs a truffle. “And Demi is.”
“Shut up.” I elbow her. “You’re going to spoil the surprise.”
“I’m just saying.” She gulps her Mo?t. “Equal rights.”
Mitsi and Peaches and Grenadine and Margarita are all sitting together, gossiping like this is any other party. Their husbands, who are mirror images of them, are talking loudly in their section, swearing and making inappropriate jokes, competing to see who can say the most outrageous thing.
“That Marie Antionette is fit. Would you fuck her?”
“Head off or on?”
“Wherever you want it.”
Watching them, I feel the fluttering of anticipation. I can’t wait for them all to get shot.
“Fine,” I snap at Posey. “You can play if you want to, but you’d better not shoot me.”
“A game’s a game.” She shrugs and tops off her glass.
* * *
AFTER DESSERT, AND drinks, and cigars, the other ladies go home. I lead all of our players into the foyer to explain the game. The gaslight fixtures flicker pleasantly. I wanted the lights to be dim. I want it to feel surreal. It will only make my job easier.
“Everyone, listen up!” I wait for the boys to stop talking. Then I give up. I raise my voice so it is magnified in the stone foyer. “This is important: The boundaries extend across the entire grounds, all nine levels of the garden. The only portion of the house that’s out-of-bounds is the west wing, where Margo is staying. You’ll see it marked off with a red rope. There are staff members stationed everywhere to make sure no one cheats.” I don’t mention that these staff members are armed with Simunition, too, and under orders to shoot anyone who cheats. Except me. I have paid and instructed them to look the other way so I can hide in the west wing until I see my opening.