They found the poem eventually. Of course they did. It was placed exactly where the killer knew they would go.
On the inside of the fuse-box door, on the first floor, east wing of the house.
Peach had found it, taking it down to read,
Her poems and astrology were crap,
but mockery is why she got zapped.
“Wow, that’s succinct. And tasteless,” Peach said. She dropped the note to the floor and flipped the ancient levers, and the steady hum of power returned to the dark villa.
“I mean, writing a poem after murdering someone isn’t what I’d call classy,” Cici murmured. Even though she sounded vaguely like she was joking, her lower lip trembled.
“At least that one was short. And rhymed,” Jalen said.
The lights flickered on.
They all shuffled back into the ballroom. The dark of night pressed against the glass windows and doors.
The lights within made the glass a reflection, showing the inhabitants their wide eyes, , their hands grasping each other as they waited, and waited, for the killer to make the next move.
Shelley was dead. Warix and Dude were dead. Sean. And maybe Brittlyn.
It was too much. Plum felt her brain shy back from thinking about any of it, recoil from the memories of the aftermath of the explosion, the grisly body parts, gore, blood.
Best not to think about it.
Poor Shelley. Poor Warix. Poor Dude.
She couldn’t take her emotions any deeper. It was like a gauze bandage were carefully cocooning her emotions. She was terrified. But it was at a remove somehow. As if held only in her intellect and not in her body.
The others must have felt something similar. Shocked and exhausted eyes peered out of mostly slack faces.
Plum’s eyes circled the remaining attendees of Pyre Festival. Jude, Jalen, Cici, Peach, Marlowe, Sofia, and herself.
That was it. Seven people.
Jude was the first to crack.
“Something’s moving!” he gasped, pointing out the double doors.
Plum whirled around. All she could see was her own reflection.
Jude looked terrified. His smudged muscle shirt, soot-streaked face, and tear tracks, his greasy hair flat in his face. “No, I saw it!” he shouted. He moved sideways, a sudden lunge, as if trying to catch the lurker with the sudden feint.
“Dude, we can’t see anything out there.” Cici’s voice was tight with nerves.
“DUDE would BELIEVE ME!” Jude yelled. Then he sobbed and brought the back of his hand up to swipe at his face. “We’re sitting ducks.”
On the floor, Henrietta clucked in agreement and helpfully began pecking at Jude’s shoelaces.
“Well, I’m not going to stay a sitting duck!” Jude ranted, yanking his foot back. He edged to the doorway that led into the hall.
“Wait!” Plum urged. “We have to stick together!”
“Yeah, ’cause that keeps not working,” Jude snapped. “This whole place could be rigged already.” Jude put his hand on the door, turning back to look at them. “If it is, then it doesn’t matter if we’re careful. It doesn’t matter if we stick together. And if one of you is the killer, I’d rather not make it easy for you.”
He turned and headed into the hall.
Sofia scooped up Henrietta and followed him. “Wait, Jude,” she called.
The rest of the group slowly trailed Jude into the atrium. “You guys can do what you want.” Jude started climbing the stairs. “But I’m barricading myself in my room and getting some sleep.”
He stopped at the top landing and turned a sad smile down at them, like a member of that singing family in that movie, sorry to say good night. “And if the killer planned for me to do that, then I guess they get me.” Jude turned and walked into the hallway beyond.
A few moments later, they heard him slam and lock one of the bedroom doors. Then the heavy scrape of a piece of furniture being dragged across the floor.
Then silence.
Jalen sighed deeply. “He’s right, in a way.” Jalen stepped away from the group, following Jude’s path to the stairwell. “I don’t know if it’s the shock, or the exhaustion, but I’m going to do what he’s doing.” Jalen jabbed a finger in the direction of Jude’s room. He turned and smiled tiredly at them. “Good night.” The pleasantry was profoundly at odds with the rest of their reality.
Jalen climbed the steps and disappeared down the hall. They heard his door close and the scrape of furniture being moved.
“I’m not going back into that room,” Peach said. A shudder shook her.
“The body’s still there,” Cici agreed.
“And who knows what other trap,” Plum added.
Cici grabbed Peach’s hands. The shorter girl tilted her ponytail toward the stairs. “At least up there we can sleep in a bed,” she said.
Peach nodded.
“Hey,” Plum called after her sister. “Maybe you want to go with us? You know?” She gestured to herself and her friends. Shouldn’t Peach stick with her? They were family, after all.
Peach gave an apologetic wince. “Oh, thank you, but you snore.”
Plum felt her mouth hanging open. Sometimes she snored, like anyone. But not habitually, except for when she was in third grade and kept getting strep so bad she had to get her tonsils out. Was Peach remembering that?
Peach turned to Cici. “You don’t snore, do you?”
Cici shook her head. She gave Plum an apologetic shrug and followed Peach up the stairs.
Before she disappeared into the hallway at the top of the curving stairwell, Peach looked back at Plum. Her expression was . . . Was it sad? A pretend regret at leaving her for a stranger she barely knew?
Plum heaved a sigh and tried not to feel hurt.
A door closed. The familiar noises of lock and barricade followed.
Plum turned to her two best friends. “Well, my sister has decided to bunk down with someone she just met, so that’s not at all hurtful.” She blew out a breath. “Not that it matters, relatively speaking.”
Sofia and Marlowe stepped in close, giving Plum the hugs she didn’t know she needed.
“What do you want to do?” Plum asked them.
Marlowe pointed at the stairwell.
“Go lock ourselves in,” Sofia said.
“Right. If we can’t all be together in the same room, at least we can all be in the same part of the villa,” Plum said.
The three friends climbed the stairs and locked themselves in their room. They shoved the heavy chest in front of the door.
Marlowe started knocking on the walls at regular intervals. “Looking for secret doors or passages,” she explained at Sofia’s quizzical look.
Plum nodded and went to the windows. They were still painted shut, like the French doors onto the Juliet balcony.
Sofia carried Henrietta into the bathroom, closing the door on the hen in the shower. “I’m sorry, I just need a break.” She looked both guilty and defiant.
Plum climbed into the saggy-centered bed. She lay down with a sigh.
Marlowe climbed in on one side of her, and Sofia on the other.
“Here, wait,” Sofia said. “Hand me your phones. We should keep them charged in case anything happens and we can actually use them.”
Plum and Marlowe thrust their phones out for Sofia. Sofia winced for a moment before plugging them in—maybe remembering what had happened to Shelley. But nothing happened. Then Sofia crawled back on the bed, on Plum’s other side.
Before her eyes were even closed, Plum felt a floating sense of fatigue setting in. “I’m sorry, you guys,” she murmured.
“Don’t start that,” Marlowe murmured back.
At the same time, Sofia answered, “Yeah, you are.” But there was only fondness in her tone.
They fell asleep.