Lillyanne Plume's Arc

Chapter 14 of 22

Scott caught her hand before the applause finished. He pulled her off the balcony at a run. Lillyanne stumbled once and caught her stride. She didn't ask where. His grip said there wasn't time. They came out of the tent into cold air and gold lamplight. A tall building leaned over the path, purple and cream, windows stacked at odd angles like someone had shuffled the floors. Scott shoved through the double doors without slowing. People crowded behind them, but they made it to the counter first. A woman stood behind the front desk. Her face didn't quite settle. Every time Lillyanne looked, the features moved a fraction. The woman slid a brass key across the wood. "Room 103," she said. "One room?" Lillyanne asked. "One," Scott said, and took the key. He pulled her toward the stairs. She counted landings. One. Two. Three. He stopped on the third floor. "This is the third," she said. "The key says one." "Stay close to me." His voice had dropped. "Nothing here is what it says." She kept a step behind him down a hallway that curved where it shouldn't. Doors with mismatched numbers. A, 47 next to a 12, L5. Their door read 103 in gold paint. "Scott. I don't know the rules." She hated saying it. "I don't know what tonight brings. If I walk in blind, I'll get us killed." He stopped with his hand on the knob. His eyes moved down the hall, then back to her. "Two hundred teams," he said. "Fifty victims hidden across the grounds. First team to find a victim, solve the clues, and bring the murderer back to the tent wins. Teams will kill each other to get there first. You don't trust anyone in a hallway. You don't open a door someone else opened. You stay behind me until I say." She made herself breathe. "Murder?" "I told you someone always dies." He watched her face. "We need to get in our room and find the clue. That will lead us to the victim.” "Okay." She readied herself. He turned the key. The room smelled like copper. A lamp burned low on a side table. The bed was made. On the rug between the bed and the window, a woman lay on her back. Red dress. Silver hair. Her eyes were open and fixed on nothing. A clean line ran across her throat. Lillyanne knew the face. Her throat bobbed and her stomach dropped. Marjorie. The postal worker she blackmailed for information. “I guess the victim found us.” Scott closed the door behind them without a sound. He locked it. The wristband on his arm settled to green, then held. He grabbed Lilly’s arm but she pulled away. Tears brimmed her eyes. She crouched. The blood on the rug was still bright at the edges. Minutes, not hours. Whoever did it had been in this room before them, and had left knowing which door they'd been given. She looked up at Scott. His jaw was tight. He was already listening at the door. "I know her, Scott.” She swallowed and looked back down at Marjorie. “This is my fault.”