I elbow the person at my back, both their arms around my waist. They jolt behind me but their laughter rings louder and they grip me tighter.
I stomp down on where I think their foot is in the dark and my aim is true. They hiss between their teeth and I try to jerk away. If it’s an employee, they can’t hold me against my will, right? Castle Morack is a respected local establishment. They host family nights for fuck’s sake. But just when I think I’m free, their grip slipping, they jerk me back by my hair.
A scream leaves my lips this time. Something isn’t right. This might not be an employee. What if it’s Jackson’s killer? Will’s? Mitchell’s?
Yet the pain in my scalp vanishes almost as quickly as it started. The manic laughter transforms into a screech.
Then there’s a thud against the opposite wall.
And Sylvan Connor asks, “Do you want to die tonight?”
The person who grabbed me screams. A man, I think. Then I hear footsteps, like he’s running away.
There’s another voice. Familiar. “Neve?”
Ace.
For some reason, fear twists my heart and I grope around in the dark, trying to find the exit but my palms keep smacking into solid walls. I glance over my shoulder, but I can see nothing in the gloom.
A wretching sound, like a person… gagging?
Oh, God.
Ace has gone quiet.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
A thud. Someone hit the floor?
It’s Sylvan, isn’t it? And I’ve known all along.
I smack my palms against the wall but I don’t scream. I don’t ask for help.
Not even when I hear a squelching sound. Not even when Sylvan’s words hit my ear. “Time to leave, baby girl.”
FORTY-SEVEN
NEVE
“What did you do to him?” My words come out hoarse and my heart is still thrashing behind my ribcage.
With his arm around my shoulders, Sylvan isn’t looking at me. We’re not out of the maze yet. AfterFrostbitepulled me out of the chaos of the previous room, we’re in a silent black tunnel of sorts, only pinpricks of light at sporadic intervals dotting the ceiling.
I inhale deep, trying to calm the shakiness in my limbs. Instead, I only catch the scent of fog machines, bleach, and whatever Sylvan is made of—something like mint and smoke and soft leather.
Is it the haunted castle making my heart race, or the haunted boy beside me?
Where’s Ace?
Sylvan’s arm is strong along my back and as I try to catch a glimpse of his expression in the dark, I notice again howtallhe is. Being under his arm feels safe in a way that doesn’t make sense to me.
Not when I think of Jackson.
Will.
Mitchell.
And what did he say in that room?
