Page 67 of They're Watching You

Annabelle motions for Remington to take a seat beside me on the couch. Once the headmistress has disappeared down the hall, Annabelle folds her hands and places them on her lap. “It seems you two failed to learn your lesson about refusing the society’s tasks.”

“Why?” I ask, rubbing my sleepy eyes. “Why us?”

Annabelle shrugs. “By now you’ve likely ascertained that the Gamemaster’s Society is no ordinary high school club. It’s no coincidence the academy was built directly on top of the catacombs where the society has met and held its semi-annual tournament for two centuries. Torrey-Wells is where we scout our potential members. And this year, you two were selected as champions.”

“Selected?” Remington asks.

“Of course.” She notices the tray on the coffee table. “Drink your tea, Maren. We wouldn’t want you dehydrated.”

I stiffen, and she rolls her eyes. “You worried about poison? If we killed you, there would be no one to compete tomorrow night. Anyway, as I was saying, you two are the society’s champions, and yes, you were selected. You two are shining examples of the qualities we esteem: competitive spirit, athletic skills, intelligence. You’ve managed to surpass all of our expectations thus far. Though at times, when we needed to makeabsolutelycertain”—she tilts her head slightly—“we helped you along.”

“Helped ushow?” I ask.

“Maren, you didn’t honestly think you beat me at our game of Texas Hold’em.”

“I did beat you,” I argue. “I had a straight, and you had…” But I don’t know what she had. “You folded. You left your cards facedown.” Suddenly, I’m dizzy. My head sways, and Remington wraps an arm around me, wiping stray hairs from my forehead.

“Here, maybe youshoulddrink something. The tea is fine. I’m still alive.” Remington hands me my cup, and I sip the now-lukewarm chamomile brew. Remington continues to run his fingers softly through my hair, and I let my elbow rest on his thigh.

“You’re cute together.” Annabelle muses, but she’s frowning. “As I was saying, your final task is to win tomorrow night’s tournament. Make your patrons proud.”

“So, tomorrow night, you want us to compete for the lives of our friends,” I say. “If I lose, Polly becomes the sacrifice.” Across from me, Annabelle remains expressionless. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” she says lazily. “Just play the game. Be the pieces.”

“Be the pieces?” Remington repeats, lifting a hand in frustration. But the image from the book in Headmistress Koehler’s hallway whips and flaps in my mind, and suddenly, everything fits.

“Game pieces.” I cross my arms, sidestepping in front of her. “The society—the higher-ups—think they’re gods, and they’re playing with us like pieces of a game set. Lately, our actions have felt predetermined. That the society knew what we were going to do before we did it. They want us to feel that way. They’re trying to take away our sense of choice, our sense that our choices even matter. They want us to fall into place in this bizarre, fatalistic establishment that’s been right under everyone’s noses for centuries.”

I glance down, meeting her eyes. “Championmeans we’re like hired knights for the society. Fighting to determine the night’s events.”

“I thought we were fighting for Polly and Jane,” Remington mutters, running a hand through his curls, sights still trained on Annabelle.

“They were the bait,” I say. “Annabelle lured us in and kept us here by dangling them in front of us. And when our game is done, they’ll sacrifice one—maybe both—of our friends in their ritual.”

“She’s insane,” Remington says. Suddenly, he’s on his feet, lunging at her across the table. She lets out a noise before Remington’s massive hand covers her mouth, the other pinning her down on the floor. She thrashes, kicking the table leg and knocking my teacup to the floor. “Maren, get something to tie her up,” Remington growls.

“Wha—we—” But it’s the only way. If we let her walk out of here, Polly, Jane, and Gavin will be left to her diabolical devices. I yank a shiny pink table runner out from under the tea tray and rush over to gag her. She snaps at me, letting out another scream before I secure the knot.

Steps thud down the hallway, and I move to grab a poker from the fireplace. “What’s going on in here?” Headmistress Koehler calls, entering the room.

“Sit down,” I command, brandishing the poker at her.

She hesitates, clearly considering disobeying and making a run for the door.

“Do it!” I shout, swinging the iron rod in a full circle. Finally, she consents as Remington forces Annabelle back into the chair, wrapping her arms around the back of it. I tear the ribbon off some sort of bird ornament hanging from the wall and help him bind her wrists.

Now Remington turns on the headmistress. “Don’t make a move,” he snarls. “You two are going to tell me where Polly, Jane, and Gavin are being held. Right now.”

Headmistress Koehler’s eyes widen. “I—I don’t know,” she says. “Only the Gamemaster knows.”

“Of course she’s the only one who knows.” I glance at Annabelle, not wanting to touch that gag and give her another opportunity to bite off my fingers.

“Oh,” the headmistress says, blinking. “Annabelle isn’t the Gamemaster. Is that what you thought?”

A cold, numbness washes over me.

I reach for the armrest of the couch to steady myself. Across the room, Remington’s forehead wrinkles.

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