Most of the kids are gathered in the lobby when we get there.

Most of them.

There are clearly fewer than there were gathered at the beginning. Maybe only thirty remaining now. I wonder what scared them off. I wonder if they saw what we’ve seen in the mirror.

They’ve formed a ring around a fire pit someone has dragged in, and a good fifty candles are dotted around the room, dripping down the staircase or perched atop marble statues. The light flickers on my classmates’ faces, casting shadows that dart and dance on the crimson carpet. Like their spirits are trapped and straining to break free. Or like dark entities are hovering just behind them, waiting to pounce. Despite all the candles and fire, the room feels even colder than the rest of the hotel.

In the center of the ring, facing the fire pit, is Leslie, the girl who lasted almost the entire night.

Rohan and Mira and I walk quietly down the steps and take our places in the ring.

I glance around. Bradley and his cronies stand across from us. Bradley sticks out his tongue when he sees me looking. I take a deep breath and look away. We’ll see who’s laughing when the morning comes.

We stand there in silence for a while. Leslie keeps checking her phone for the time. After a handful of stragglers come and take their places in the circle, Leslie raises her hands.

“The midnight hour is here at last. You are the brave few who have made it this far,” Leslie says, her voice echoing in the empty lobby. “You’ve explored the abandoned halls and peered into the darkness. But now it’s time to invite the darkness to peer back.”

Chills creep down my neck, and I’m not the only kid to shudder.

I look around the circle, staring past the faces of my classmates to the halls and corners beyond. In the fragile firelight, the darkness seems heavier, hungrier. It waits with sharpened claws, ready for the light to go out.

Ready to be invited in.

And that, I know, is precisely what Leslie is about to do.

The moment I think it, the chills turn to a sort of electricity. It simmers on my skin, prickling like plunging cold hands into warm water. It’s almost sort of pleasant.

“Please join hands,” Leslie says. There’s a shuffle as kids nervously take the hands of their neighbors. No one says a word. Mira squeezes my hand tight; Rohan’s fingers tremble against mine, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or excitement. His face is obscured by his hood, and besides, I can’t take my eyes off Leslie.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back. When she speaks again, her voice is louder, stronger.

“Spirits!” she calls. “We summon thee! On this night, the thirty-third anniversary of your demise, we call to you. Stir from your slumber. Tell us your tales. Speak, O spirits. Speak!”

The electricity in me rises. Vibrates in my skin and muscles and bones. My hands shake, or maybe my friends’ hands shake. The fire in front of Leslie crackles higher, and the candles around us flicker in a breeze that shouldn’t exist.

Leslie howls with laughter, and cries out again: “Rise, O spirits! Rise, Grand Dame! We call on you to complete your work! On this, the cursed night, we call on you to rise. Rise, and work your magic. Rise, and let the dead walk again! Come to us, Grand Dame, we call to thee! We summon thee! We offer ourselves to thee!”

“What?” Mira asks beside me. “What is she talking about?”

But I can barely hear her. Because the moment Leslie is done calling out, the hotel responds.

Wind howls around us, swirling around the circle, carrying the cackles and screams of three hundred lost souls.

Candle flames whip and flare bright and blaze out, wax flicking against the floor and walls and statues like splatters of blood.

The central fire pit billows up, burning so bright and hot that we all take a step back, shielding our faces against the blinding light. Leslie screams and runs, hiding behind a statue. But I’m not paying attention to her.

I’m paying attention to the face that appears in the fire.

The fire that’s turning a deep, vibrant purple.

Two sharp green eyes slice through the flames, along with dark lips of smoke that smile and somehow brim with spite.

“Stupid children,” the voice cackles. A woman’s voice. A voice that makes the electricity in my bones jump to full blast, a voice that makes my very nerves vibrate. “Playing with powers you cannot comprehend. Insulting those who came before you. I, the Grand Dame, hope you have enjoyed your little games. Because tonight will be your last!”

The fire explodes. My classmates scream out and scatter.

But I, like Mira, am frozen to the spot. The room fades around me, the screams muted, the slamming doors and windows distant. The electricity is a hum, a noise, like a thousand angry bees in my skull.

I feel my toes lift off the ground.

I feel Mira—our hands still clutched—rise beside me.

Then the buzzing becomes too much, and darkness overtakes me.