I check my app. Demi is in Purgatory. She’s still in the game.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Five shots go off in quick succession. A real bullet waits in my pocket to be loaded into my gun. This is going to be a long night.
* * *
I WATCH FROM above as the foyer is destroyed. I should have known these boys would take any opportunity to make a mess. They seem more interested in destroying the house than in killing one another.
They form alliances and wander around in packs, taking shots at paintings and chandeliers, then covering one another to reload. The idea was to have people take a round at a time, but Graham and Mark, who have teamed up, decide to take all the bullets they can carry. Someone shoots a member of the staff.
“Sorry. Just wanted to test it out!” I hear their protest.
The air fills with gold-tinged powder. It has a weird metallic odor that probably isn’t safe to breathe. The lights are out except for a few flickering gas lamps that bounce off the mirrors and reflect in the windows. My heart is pounding, even though no one can see me, let alone shoot me, up here.
Demi is still in the garden. She must be hiding in Purgatory. There is a gazebo there. She’s probably made it her fortress. I wonder if she is out there alone, or if she joined up with Posey or one of the men. I think she must be alone. She’s always alone.
I should go out there and take care of her, but there are still too many players in the game. I didn’t think this through, didn’t realize how chaotic and scary it would feel. I might not be able to get to her. I might get shot. I feel as if anything could happen.
Henri starts up the stairs leading to the west wing. He’s alone. No one wanted him on their team. If he gets to the top of the stairs, he might see me. I don’t know why he’s going this way. It’s a dead end. There is a red rope strung across the top of the stairs. It’s obviously out-of-bounds. He’s probably trying to cheat. I should shoot him before he sees me, but then he might realize I’m cheating. He is so the type who would rat me out.
I will him to stop but he keeps going. He reaches the rope. He’s about to duck under. I back inside the curtain. He’s been to the house many times. He might know about my spot. He might want it for himself. I tighten my grip on my gun. He’s going to take me out of the game.
Bang!
A bullet hits him square in the back. “You fuck!” He trundles around, then slips. He tumbles down the stairs, then lands on the marble floor with a sickening snap. His leg is bent at an odd angle. I think he broke his fucking ankle.
“You fucking— What?” He tries to sit up, screams. “I think I broke my fucking ankle!”
“Oh, shit, oh, God. I’m sorry!” Nigel appears from behind a pillar below me. I didn’t even know he was there. “You’re not serious, are you? You’re okay—”
Bang!
A bullet slams Nigel in the back, shooting him forward. He staggers, nearly tripping over Henri. No one appears to claim the shot.
Nigel finds his balance and wheels around. “That’s not fair! I was trying to help him!” His voice echoes through the hall. Henri whimpers on the floor. “You’re all a bunch of dicks,” Nigel spits. “Come on, let’s go,” he snaps at Henri, helping him up. “I’ll get someone to take you to the fucking hospital. Where is the staff?”
“I think they shot you,” Henri says, stumbling up beside him. “I think they’re playing, too.”
“What, really?” Nigel says. “Well, thanks a fucking bunch for breaking your goddamn leg. We’re going to miss all the fun!”
Their voices echo down the hall as they head toward the terrace.
I check my app. Demi has left the garden. I jump when I see where she is: right behind me. I swivel my head, searching for her. I order myself to be calm. She’s not here, but she’s close. I use my fingers to zoom in. Inhale sharply. She’s worse than close; she’s in Margo’s room.
Bang!
The chandelier rattles over my head.
LYLA
Demi is cheating. She is clearly out-of-bounds. She’s in the west wing. No one is stopping her. Henri was right: The staff is playing, too. There is no one to stop her. What is she doing in Margo’s room? She must be checking in, getting her instructions. They must be plotting to take me down. What if tonight is the night? It’s Graham’s birthday, after all. What if I am their present? I have to get to her before she gets to me.
Down below, another group races through the foyer. The shots are less frequent now. I can’t see into the gallery but I’m guessing the ammo has all been taken. When the foyer is empty, I peek down, stretching to see all the gold splatters on Margo’s walls. It’s kind of beautiful, a work of the avant-garde. She could sell it like this: Very Bad Rich People. She could turn the whole house into a shrine.