“I bet Sierra’s ready to flaunt that cash in her sister’s face,” Fitzy said, waggling his eyebrows.
Sierra clenched her jaw. The producers had been milking the built-in family dynamics since the beginning. Fans had compared the sisters in every possible way, from their skills (Alicia was “gifted and clever”; Sierra was “scrappy and cunning”) to their looks (Alicia’s straight nose and olive skin tone were reminiscent of a Grecian goddess, while Sierra looked like “Hades’s sickly goth stepchild”— thanks for that, anonymous commenter).
Alicia was the fan favorite, and Sierra was the villain.
In Sierra’s earpiece, the director ordered, “Give us something good.”
“I’m ready to slaughter her,” Sierra said, deadpan.
Fitzy choked out a surprised laugh. “We can’t wait.”
Sierra noticed with vindictive pleasure that the makeup team had failed to completely cover the dark shadows under his eyes. He’d been up late livestreaming the show’s time-honored season recap for his Australian fans, and it showed. Perfect Fitzy didn’t look so perfect today.
“This has been one cutthroat season. These teams have fought tooth and nail to be here, and we’re expecting one epic finale.” Fitzy addressed the Game Master. “Here we go, Louis. Any advice for Team Hourglass?”
“Yes,” Louis said, “and I hope they’ll take it to heart.” He paused for dramatic effect. “In order to be victorious, you have to be willing to get your hands a little . . .bloody.”
“Blood, huh?” Cruz cackled and elbowed Sierra in the ribs. “Right up your alley.”
They were given blindfolds, then guided toward the next set. Sierra had gotten used to the chaos of the studio. The constant movement of cameras and lights and set pieces. Interns running back and forth with clipboards and cups of coffee. The makeup team, powder brushes primed and ready, because heaven forbid the general public noticed that Fitzy hadpores.
But then a door closed, and the sounds dulled until it was just their own heavy breathing. Sierra’s heartbeat ratcheted. They were inside the escape room.
“Team Hourglass in position,” someone said through their earpieces. “Finale is a go.”
“Team Hourglass,” boomed Fitzy. “When I say ‘escape,’ you may remove your blindfolds and begin. In three . . . two . . . one . . .Escape!”
Sierra threw her blindfold to the floor. Dim, flickering light came from ensconced torches. A coffin sat in the center of the room. Three plastic skeletons hung on the walls with strings of garlic bulbs around their necks.
“Vampires,” she whispered, thinking of the Game Master’s clue. In order to escape, they would have to get their hands bloody. They would have to slay the vampire.
Cruz had already charged for the coffin and was examining the lid. “Locked. Three-digit code.” He punctuated the statement with a muffled groan, pressing a hand to his side.
Sierra swore, hoping he wasn’t about to spew all over the room’s carefully orchestrated clues. That would be the icing on the cake of this season’s absolute shit show.
The team searched the skeletons and found a crucifix and a velvet pouch, padlocked. The third skeleton had a parchment that turned out to be a map.
“We need to find a key,” Missy said, tugging on the padlock.
“Does this mean anything?” Sierra indicated a row of dark splotches on the concrete floor and what seemed to be tracks in the dust that led to the coffin. The splotches looked like water droplets but could have been paint, or even fake blood.
“Dunno,” said Elijah. “Let’s focus on this three-digit code for now.”
Three numbers. Three skeletons. Three—
“Strings of garlic!” Sierra cried. With that realization, the code worked itself out easily—just a matter of counting the bulbs. Elijah entered the digits and the coffin’s lid clicked open.
On top of a lumpy bed of black velvet sat a long wooden stake, pointed sharply on one end. Sierra inspected it. “No markings that I can see.”
“Maybe it’s for killing Dracula at the end,” Missy said.
“There are words here.” Cruz pointed at sharply scrawled letters on the underside of the coffin’s lid. Sierra had to squint to see them in the torchlight and could picture one of the hidden cameras zooming in at the same time.
WE GET WHAT WE DESERVE
That had to be an anagram. Her mind was already whirling with possibilities as she took a handful of the velvet, which felt cool and strangely damp, and yanked it out of the coffin.
The world stilled. Her blood ran frigid. She blinked several times, sure she was seeing things.
