“I’m sure it’s just a fuse,” offers Malcolm. “Old houses and old power.”
“This is definitely the start of a horror novel,” says Jaxon.
“A lazy one,” offers Kenzo.
“Not helping,” hisses Priscilla.
“A good one would have started yesterday.”
Sienna finds herself still holding on to Malcolm, as if for balance, finding comfort in the shape of him, solid and warm and familiar in the dark. She hates her body for leaning into him, when her mind is still very, very mad. But she doesn’t let go.
Just then Millie yelps, and everyone jumps.
“Jesus, Mill,” says Jaxon, “it’s just me.”
“Why did you grab me?!”
“You’re standing in front of the drawers. I’m looking for a flashlight.” The rustle of wooden spoons and silverware. “Shit. No luck.”
“The fuse box is probably in the cellar,” says Malcolm. “Some of us should try to find torches, while the rest see if we can—”
“We arenotsplitting up,” snaps Priscilla, and honestly, Sienna agrees, even as she feels as much as hears one of them moving away. Kenzo, she thinks, though she can’t tell. It really isverydark. She blinks, trying to make her eyes adjust, but there’s no moonlight coming through the windows, and she can barely make out the outlines of the other people. Her other senses sharpen, fighting to make up the difference.
Which is how she hears the front door groaning open. A comically loud noise, exactly like a sound effect in a shitty horror movie.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” shrieks Millie, and then everyone is moving, a tangle of limbs as they crash into each other, spilling into the hall, and Sienna thinks they’re all runningawayfrom the sound until she feels a body shove past her, toward the foyer and the front door.
It’s Jaxon, letting out an animal yell, pool cue raised like a sword as he plunges into battle. Sienna doesn’t have the chance to be impressed, because two things happen at once.
The lights come back on, and Sienna hears a collision, a loudthwack, and a strangled cry.
“Oh, shit,” says Jaxon, and by the time they get to the foyer, the pool cue is on the ground, and so is Fletch’s editor.
Rufus Beaumont sits on the foyer rug, dressed in a pair of silk pajamas and groaning in pain. A line of blood trickles down his temple.
Millie’s hands fly to her mouth.
“Oh, shit, man,” says Jaxon again, kneeling beside him.
“Is it bad?” asks Rufus, right before a fat red drop falls onto his silk pajamas.
“Head wounds do bleed quite a lot,” offers Cate.
Millie looks queasy.
“I’m really sorry, man,” says Jaxon. “Instinct took over. You know how it is.” He pats Rufus’s shoulder lightly, wincing as if he’s the one who caught a pool cue to the head, and Sienna can tell by the look on his face that he’s clearly more worried about how bludgeoning the editor will affect his chances than whether Rufus Beaumont is actually hurt.
“It was the generator,” says Kenzo, wiping his hands on his pants as he arrives. “Must be using too much power...” He trails off, taking in the scene as Cate ducks past him, holding a kitchen towel, which Rufus gratefully accepts. He pats at his head, flinching a little as he does, then, realizing he has an audience, puts on a brave face. “Really, I’m all right. It’s my fault for coming in unannounced.”
“Whatareyou doing here?” asks Priscilla, sounding less worried than annoyed.
“The power went out,” he says, as if they didn’t notice.
“Old houses,” echoes Malcolm, shaking his head.
“This whole island runs on that generator,” says Kenzo. “I got it up and working again, but it’s holding on by a thread...” He trails off when it’s clear no one is listening. Their attention is squarely on Rufus.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Rufus says.
