And it sounds to me as if I was right about his identity, too.
I have to tell Hunter.
There has to be something we can do to stop this.
I squint harder at the faces in the crowd, wishing yet again that my eyesight was better, because I’m sure Hunter must be here somewhere, but I still can’t see him. Just as I’m about to go and see if he’s in his apartment, though, there’s a commotion from the hallway outside the ballroom, and a small boy comes bursting through the double doors, his eyes wild with terror.
‘Ghost!’ he screams, his voice surprisingly loud for his size. ‘There’s a ghost in the lobby!’
Chapter 28
Without hesitating, everyone rushes for the doors, piling out of the ballroom in a way that’s really quite strange to me, because shouldn’t we all be runningawayfrom this ghost – or whatever it is – rather thantowardsit?
But, then again, there are no such things as ghosts; and I, of all people, should know that, after my encounter with Hannah just a few days ago. So, as the last person goes thundering past me, a foil-wrapped jacket potato clutched firmly in his hand like a grenade, I give myself a quick shake, then follow along behind them all.
I reach the hotel lobby a few seconds behind everyone else, and am just in time to see a tall, ethereal figure in a long, bloodstained silk dress, come gliding down the wide staircase, its dark hair cascading down its back in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of .?.?.
‘Bex?’ says Zara, pushing her way to the front of the crowd, who’ve all stopped short at the sight of the apparition. ‘Bex, what on earth’s happened? Is thatbloodon you?’
Bex – because it’s blindingly obvious even to me, without my contact lenses, that the ghost is none other than everyone’s favourite influencer, Bex Foster – takes a step towards us, making someone behind me scream.
‘Shhh, Millie,’ says Yasmin’s voice reassuringly. ‘It’s just Bex. It’s OK.’
‘It isnotOK,’ shrieks Bex, in a tone that sends the children in the crowd rushing for the safety of their parents’ arms. ‘Look at my dress! It’s ruined! It’s completely ruined!’
Sure enough, the pale green silk of her dress is splattered with something red and sticky that looksexactlylike blood. It’s the prom scene fromCarriecome to life. It’s every Gothic horror movie I’ve ever seen. It’s .?.?.
‘Ketchup,’ says Zara, dabbing at it with her finger, and then licking it experimentally. ‘Yeah, that’s definitely ketchup. What happened, Bex? Were you trying to open a new bottle or something?’
‘Of course not,’ replies Bex sharply. ‘Why would I be trying to open a bottle of ketchup in my room? No, I laid the dress out on the bed, ready to change into it after my shower, and when I came out of the bathroom, it looked like this.’
‘So .?.?. you put it on and came downstairs in it?’ says Zara, sounding like she’s in a courtroom drama. ‘I mean,why? Why wouldn’t you just, I dunno, wear something else?’
Bex glares at her. ‘For your information,Zara,’ she snaps, ‘Ihadto put it on because all of my other clothes were covered in this .?.?. whatever this is .?.?. too.’
‘Ketchup,’ supplies Zara again. ‘It’s ketchup. But wait – seriously?Allof your clothes are covered in ketchup?’
‘Yes! I just said that. Someone must have crept into my room while I was in the shower. And now it’s ruined! It’s all ruined!’
Bex’s voice breaks on the last word, and Zara pats her comfortingly on the arm as, all around us, people start talking again; some of them wondering aloud what’s going on, and others mildly disappointed that the ghost drama has turned out to be just some woman in need of a washing machine and a bottle of stain remover.
‘Where’s Sabrina?’ says Zara, looking around the packed lobby. ‘And Dante? We’re going to have to get to the bottom of this; it’s getting out of hand now. And I really want to go and check my room, too, just in case whoever’s doing this is going after all of us.’
‘Oh, right,nowit’s getting out of hand,’ I blurt, annoyed. ‘It was fine when it was justmebeing targeted, but now that Bex is involved, we’re “going to have to get to the bottom of it”?’
Zara gives me a steely kind of look that makes me think she’d make a great cop; or maybe a high court judge.
‘You only told us about your turnip thing a few hours ago,’ she points out, sounding annoyingly reasonable. ‘And we’ve been out at the fair since then. But, yeah, we’re going to have to get to the bottom of it for sure. Look at the state of her.’
Everyone looks at Bex, who obligingly does a slow pirouette, showcasing the ketchup-stained dress in all its glory.
‘I’ll go and find Hunter,’ I say quietly. ‘He’ll know what to do.’
I turn around on the spot, trying to find him, but although most people have started to drift back to the ballroom and the feast that awaits them there, the lobby is still too crowded for me to be able to make much headway.
‘What is the meaning of this ruckus?’
The room falls quiet as a loud voice goes booming across the lobby, silencing even Bex. Standing at the top of the wide staircase is an elderly gentleman looking dapper in an old-fashioned velvet dressing grown and a pair of smartly pressed pyjamas. He’s leaning on a walking stick, and his pure white hair is standing on end, as if he’s just got out of bed.
