“I’d rather die,” Marissa says, flatly.
Jonathan sits down across from me and starts eating, ignoring Marissa, who refuses to even sit at the table. She stands at the end with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at him.
Griffin points to the untouched plate in front of Marissa. “If you’re not going to eat that, can I have it?”
“Knock yourself out,” she snaps.
Agatha, seemingly unfazed by the tension, suddenly brandishes a large knife with a wild grin. “Now,” she announces, her voice filled with excitement, “once you’ve finished your meal, we’ll gather in the kitchen for pumpkin carving. It’s a Halloween tradition here at the manor, and the spirits demand it. Everything is ready for us.”
“The spirits demand it,” Jonathan scoffs, rolling his eyes.
Marissa’s eyes narrow, her glare fixed on Agatha’s. “Do the spirits want to tell me what they did to my clothes?”
“What happened to your clothes?” Tessa asks, mid-chew.
“When we got back from the spa, they were piled in the middle of the room, soaked and reeking of piss,” Marissa snaps.
I choke on my wine, my eyes watering as I try to hold back a cough.
Hayes leans closer, his eyes twinkling with barely contained laughter. “Was that you?” he whispers.
“No, I swear it was just a dream. Unless I was sleepwalking,” I murmur, my cheeks flushing.
He stifles a laugh and squeezes my hand under the table. “Still, pretty impressive,” he jokes.
Wait, is he proud of me because he thinks I actually peed all over Marissa’s clothes? Oh my God, could I have done that?“Iwasunder the influence of Tessa’s gummies,” I say low.
“That’ll do it.” He chuckles.
“It’s not funny, Hayes!” Marissa whines, her voice sharp with frustration. “My clothes are all Chanel!”
An uncomfortable silence settles over the room, everyone avoiding eye contact. Then, without warning, Agatha slams the knife down into the table with a loud thwack. The sound reverberates through the room. She twists the blade, causing it to rattle back and forth against the wood.
Everyone freezes, the air thick with tension, the knife still quivering in the table like a silent threat.
“You’re all making the spirits very restless,” Agatha warns, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “The dead have their rules here, and if the guests don’t follow them, there’s hell to pay. If I were you, I’d change your attitude.” She yanks the knife from the table, holding it in her hand like a threat.
The air in the room thickens, and the once-delicious food turns heavy in my mouth, the taste sour and metallic. I force myself to swallow, trying not to choke.
Tessa’s eyes widen as she grips her fork tightly, like it’s a lifeline. Marissa and Jonathan’s argument fades into the background, their faces paling as they fixate on Agatha.
Griffin, of course, is smirking. Hayes holds back a laugh.
“Right,” Jonathan says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”
Well, then. That’s a word I’ve never heard come out of his mouth before.
Agatha smiles, but there’s no warmth in it—just a cold, harsh glare that makes a hair-raising sensation skitter up my back. “That’s better,” she purrs, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “Now, finish your meals. You wouldn’t want to keep the spirits waiting.”
A low, distant creak echoes from somewhere deep within the chateau, followed by a faint, almost imperceptible whisper that seems to snake through the room. I glance at the others, their eyes reflecting the same mix of confusion and disbelief. What was that noise?
“Well, I’m going up to my room to clean my clothes,” Marissa barks.
“What about carving pumpkins?” Tessa asks.
“I’m not ten, Tessa. I don’t want to carve a stupid pumpkin,” Marissa retorts.
Agatha’s eyes narrow as Marissa storms out of the dining room. “Oh, she’s going to regret that,” she murmurs in a tone that makes it sound less like a warning and more like a promise.
