Noah stands when Lyam comes over to our table. “It’s time?”
“It’s time,” Lyam says with a grin. “All right. Everyone up.”
“Okay, what are we doing?” I ask Noah, but he only puts a finger to his mouth.
We all follow Lyam through the corridors, twisting and turning until we end up in a game room. A bar lines one wall, liquor bottles backlit and glowing against dark wood. There’s a pool table with crimson felt, a dart board, various playing tables, and a sitting area with sofas.
Lyam holds a black bag, then he lifts his arm and gives the bag a shake. Something rattles inside. “A long-standing tradition atLa Danse des Monstresis the final and most exciting part of the event.” He scans the room, brown eyes lingering on each of us, the dramatic pause meant to heighten suspense.
“It’s time,” he finally says, “for the dark hunt.”
A cold pit opens up in the bottom of my gut, a pit that absorbs what little enthusiasm I’d started to build.
The dark hunt? My mind conjures terrible images.
What kind of games do these people play?
I shuffle my feet and glance at Noah. He doesn’t look worried, so I breathe deep and try to keep an open mind.
Lyam reaches into the bag and pulls something out, keeping it tight in his palm so none of us can see. Then he makes his way from person to person, allowing each to slip a hand into the bag.
When he comes to me, I do the same. Flat, round objects rest inside the silk. Cool, hard, and rough. Like stone. I take mine and keep it curled in my palm.
When the last person takes their turn, Lyam tosses the bag aside. “For those of you who are new to theLa Danse des Monstres, let me explain the rules. We will all look at our stones at the same time. Not yet, Luci,” he teases his cousin.
“Your stone will be either white or black. If it’s white, you are a victim. If it’s black, well, let’s just say you’ll be doing the hunting.” His laugh is a sadistic rumble, and now I turn to Noah in surprise.
“So, my costume doesn’t make a difference?”
“Not for the game.”
“We will have two winners,” Lyam continues. “The monster who catches the most victims, and the last victim standing. The one who survives.”
“A final girl,” Luci calls, sending me a look when she uses the American term.
I try to return her enthusiasm, but the reference doesn’t make me feel better.
“Or we might have a final boy,” André says, giving Luci a playful elbow. “Because I’m going home the winner this year.”
From across the room, Ric groans. “Can we get on with it?” He and his date lean against the pool table. His arm hooks around her neck, and her hand rests on his stomach, just above his belt.
Their body language reeks of foreplay and sends sticky shivers over my skin. Thoroughly revolted, I refocus on Lyam.
“Right,” he says, extending his hand, fingers up. “Everyone, on three. Ready?”
The rest of us lift our arms.
“One, two, three!”
I uncurl my fingers and stare at my stone. It’s white.
“Oh, bad luck.” Noah winks and holds up a black disc between two fingers.
Around the room, people squeal or laugh, several hurrying from the room.
“What’s happening?” I ask. “What do I do?”
Noah doesn’t answer, but André grabs my hand. “Come on,” he says, dragging me through the room.
