“The main lodge is strictly off-limits to all tributes unless escorted by staff. Violations will result in immediate disqualification. The perimeter fence marks the absolute boundary of the grounds. Do not attempt to breach it.”
Daisy flinched as Maggie’s hand found hers in the crush of bodies. Her ice-cold fingers entwined with hers. They stared at each other, too afraid to speak and nothing to say to accurately articulate such a surreal moment of fear.
Six minutes. The clock’s ticking grew louder, each second a drumbeat driving them toward the inevitable.
“The bells will toll for one solid minute. When they silence, the hunt begins. You will hear bells throughout the night. A single toll marks a capture. When you hear the bells toll continuously again, it will be sunrise, and the hunt will end.” Aunt V’s smile softened. “What you do until then is between you and your god.”
Five minutes. Her pulse raced.
“Please make your way to the veranda now.”
In unison, white-gloved servants opened the doors, letting in the balmy night air that kicked up the curtains in a great flourish, as if waving flags as the race was about to begin.
They shuffled like corralled cattle through the doors that might as well have been chutes. Turning, they waited like brainless sheep for the slaughter to begin.
“The hunters will be held back for sixty seconds as the bell tolls to give you a head start.” Aunt Vanessa said, following them into the night air. “Use every second.”
“Fuck this.” Trisha appeared, pushing through the river of sequins and silk, already plucking off her heels. She threw them into the bushes and ripped holes in her stockings at the toes, shoving the slick silk up to her ankles, as she moved to the edge of the stone steps, prepared to run.
Daisy was pulled in a tide of bodies as Maggie’s grip anchored her to a fading, fragile reality. They found themselves pressed against the stone pillars. Fifty-seven terrified souls.
The grounds stretched into darkness, green lanterns glowing like scattered emeralds in the distant fog.
“Daisy.” Maggie’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m scared.”
Her hand instinctively tightened. “Me too.”
“What if we don’t see each other again? What if something happens and we never?—”
“Don’t.” Daisy’s grip tightened hard enough to pinch. “We’ll find each other. Get to the grotto. In the northwest section.”
“Which way is that?”
Daisy looked out into the darkness. There was no way to tell. “Just follow the green lanterns. If anything goes wrong… use your safeword and run to safety.”
She looked back at the ballroom, the interior light blazing from the windows like pockets into hell. She couldn’t see the grandfather clock anymore.
The hunters gathered inside the doors, a wall of dark suits and gleaming masks. Some paced like caged animals. Others stood perfectly still, their attention fixed on the tributes with an intensity that made Daisy’s skin crawl.
She spotted Hadrian among them, adjusting his cufflinks under his purple sleeves with casual arrogance. Then she saw Peter, lounging carelessly against a wall, sipping a cocktail. The doctor was in a cluster of men, his white mask glittering like his haunting blue eyes.
She searched for the man in the emerald suit, but didn’t see him in the crowd. Her heart raced. She should be looking at the path, finding a target, a place to hide. But she couldn’t turn away from the ballroom until she found him.
There. Her breath hitched the second his stormy grey stare found hers, far across the crowded room, standing apart from the others on the stairs.
He inclined his head, just slightly.
Daisy’s pulse throbbed in her throat, her wrists, the backs of her knees, and her chest.
Aunt Vanessa appeared, raising a slender glass of champagne and tapping the crystal with her ring. The murmurs silenced.
“My darlings.” Her words were tender, almost maternal. “Whatever your goals, whatever your fears, whatever you’re running toward or running from—may fortune forever favor you.”
Maggie moved to face her, enormous brown eyes bright with unshed tears. There was no time for speeches. No time for promises they might not be able to keep. “Good luck,” she whispered.
“Good luck,” Daisy echoed back.
Aunt V’s voice carried over the breeze like a song. “Let The Feast of the Fallen begin!”
