Our eighteen well-appointed, themed guest rooms will make you comfortable with fluffy towels, quality linens, and pillow-top mattresses—but not too comfortable! Help yourself to the freshly baked homemade cookies from the cookie jar, and enjoy our full selection of hot and cold beverages, available twenty-four seven in the lobby, if you can make it there alive.
My new guest follows my gaze to the bloody ax.
“It’s um…a prop. I thought you were a wild animal. I was going to pop you over the head. Not really though, obviously,” he explains quickly, touching the blade. “See? Plastic.”
“Prop?”
“Yeah. You know. I’m Jason.” He pulls the hockey mask down and fixes it over his face for a beat, then pushes it back up.
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
He lets out a snort of a laugh. “For Halloween?” I’m staring at him, thinking he must be mistaken—Halloween is weeks away—when he says, “Haven’t you ever seen Friday the Thirteenth?”
Friday the Thirteenth and all its many sequels. In fact, I don’t think there’s a horror movie I haven’t seen. It goes with the territory of being my mother’s daughter. “You mean Halloween is today?”
He looks a bit flustered, and I know that’s all my doing, though I can’t be sure what I’ve done. When I lived in Boston, I could talk all day with Evan Bradley and not even blush. Now, tomatoes have nothing on me. I knew carrying on a normal conversation with someone my age would be hard after all these months, but I didn’t realize I was this out of it. It’s like we’re not even speaking the same language. “Yeah. People ski in costumes at the resort,” he says.
Shit. My siblings are going to freak out. I always took them trick-or-treating around our apartment complex in Boston. I’d assumed we’d be back there before Halloween rolled around again. But if Halloween is tonight, that means my birthday is only two days away. Rachel used to say that I came around on the ass-end of Halloween. We used to talk about how awesome it would be to have a Halloween-themed Sweet Sixteen bash. I swallow the sour taste in my throat. “Oh. Of course.”
He’s on to me. I’ve probably already done a thousand things to show him how weird I am, judging by the way he’s studying me cautiously. If I hope to have any further conversation with him, I have to stop saying so much.
Even so, it’s thrilling. I can’t remember the last time my heart raced so quickly for a good reason.
He snaps his fingers. “OK, you got two names to call me, and I haven’t gotten even one for you. Hardly seems fair.”
“Seda Helm,” I say softly.
“Seda? That’s nice. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You can call me Say. Some people do.” Though not many anymore.
He smiles in a way that drives only one corner of his mouth up, revealing a dimple in that cheek. I could probably spend hours dissecting his quirks. I doubt I’ll have even a minute. He’s looking like he wants to find the nearest exit.
Don’t leave. I point to his forehead. “Is that a…prop too?”
He touches the wound, then inspects his fingertips. “No. That’s from the accident, I guess. We’re all a little beat up.”
He wipes his fingers on his quilted snow pants. A drop of blood spatters on the black-and-white tile. And I have a flash of déjà vu; it’s not the first time I’ve seen blood on that floor. I swallow my panic, pull a dish towel from the handle of the oven, and toss it to him.
“Thanks,” he says, pressing it to his forehead. “Anyway…crazy storm,” he says, peering out the window over the sink. I follow his line of vision to the outside. It’s probably not even three in the afternoon yet, and already it seems to be getting dark.
He needs to leave, wittle Seda. Stop giving him googly eyes and tell him to get out.
“You should probably get going before it’s too late,” I tell him, hugging myself.
He grins. “What?”
I stare at him.
“Was that a warning?” he asks, setting his jaw. “What? Do the dead come to life up here after dark?”
“Oh no. I mean, if you want to get somewhere with a phone before it gets dark or the weather gets worse, you’d better go now. We’re expecting twenty inches…”
“Honestly, Seda, I think it’s already too late,” he says conversationally, leaning back against the counter. I am sure I’ve never looked that comfortable here, even on my very first day. “The Rover’s in a ditch. Becca twisted her ankle, and if there’s anything worse than a drama queen, it’s a drama queen with an actual injury. So we’re probably not going anywhere until the storm is over.”
He doesn’t see how that tears me right down the middle. I want to help. He’s the most life I’ve seen in forever, beautiful, shining, vibrant life. And for that very reason, he doesn’t belong here. He only sees the surface right now. But dig a little deeper, and he’ll wish he never found us.
Me.
Sawyer.
“I’m sorry. You can’t stay here.”
He laughs again, like I’m joking. When he realizes I’m serious, a hint of panic taints his pretty voice. “Wait. So what are you saying? You’re going to throw us out onto the mountain to die?”
No, I think automatically. You’ll die either way.
“I know, I know. I’m being overdramatic,” he says.
No, that’s not what I’m thinking. Actually, the amount of drama was pretty much spot-on.
He continues, “But come on. You’re joking, right? Nobody’s that heartless.”
My stomach is starting to hurt again. I clamp my hands over Sawyer, feeling my blood start to boil as he begins to chant Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, lover boy. “I’m sorry, but it’s really out of the question. It’s not…”
Safe. That’s the truth. But this boy won’t understand that. Act natural, Seda. Act normal.
I knew there’d be a time when I’d cross the line and look over my shoulder and not even be able to see where normal once was. Maybe I’m there now. Because every thought swirling in my head feels like it would be strange to him. Finally, I spit out, “Um, you see, we didn’t really plan on visitors.”
“Well, that’s funny, because we really didn’t plan on visiting,” he says with a smirk. “But if we…”
He trails off when he sees me shaking my head fiercely. “No. You don’t want to stay here. Believe me. You’re better off out there.”
“You really think so?” he asks, the bewilderment thick in his voice. “But hear me out. We don’t have to stay in the main house. There’s a little blue one we passed. Over there? With the weather vane?” He points in the entirely wrong direction, not the first person to succumb to the disorienting effect of Bug House. “That yours too?”
“The carriage house.” It’s down the drive about half a mile, near Carver Hill Road, and has mostly been consumed by vines and vegetation. I’m surprised the rooster weather vane is still standing because most of the roof has collapsed. Other than having a couple of good walls to brace against the wind, it’s not much better than spending the night outside. “Yes.”
“With your permission, we’ll stay there.”
He’s fierce, strong, not the type to give in. I, however, collapse like tissue paper under the weight of his pleading brown eyes. “But not for long. Just overnight.”
“Thanks,” he says, his voice slightly stiff but still pleasant. He’s too nice. I might as well have thrown him out on the mountain. Here I am, the girl in a hundred-room mansion, and I can’t even offer a few of those rooms to him and his friends during a blizzard?
I am a vile, vile person. But I knew that already.
He doesn’t. Not yet. Soon.
I remind myself I’m doing him a favor, keeping him as far away from me—and this house—as possible.
He shoves his hands into his parka and says, “Well. I’d better get back to the others.” His eyes travel over to the crystallized package of stew meat thawing on the counter. “Um…”
I’m already shaking my head.
His eyes widen slightly, and he clears his throat. “OK. I’ll take that as a no.”
“You don’t understand,” I explain quickly. “It has to last us for I don’t know how long. We weren’t planning on staying, but my mother decided that she needs to stay here while—”
“Forget it,” he says quickly. “I saw a lot of firewood stacked up against the side of the house. Do you have that rationed too?”
I swallow. My mother could look through the trees and see the smoke coming from the chimney. But it’ll be dark, and the snow is blowing sideways now in giant smoky waves. I could always say I didn’t know they were squatting there. “Take what you need,” I find myself saying. “I chopped a lot extra.”
He grins, impressed. “You did?”
I nod. Well, Sawyer and me, but I’m sure as hell not telling Heath that. I know he thinks I’m mad enough as it is.