Page 68 of They're Watching You

“What do you mean, she’s not the Gamemaster?” he demands. “Who is?”

I peek again at Annabelle. Above the gag, her blue eyes glint nefariously in the firelight.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” The headmistress draws her elbows inward, inching herself back toward the far corner of the couch.

I stomp over, ripping the gag from Annabelle’s mouth. “Who is it?”

Her lips settle into a thin line. “I’d rather die than betray the Gamemaster,” she coos with the air of someone lounging on the Caribbean sands.

“Then tell us more about thesepatrons. I’m assuming they’re the reason for the camera in the cell.”

“Smart girl you have there, Remington. Perhaps I was wrong to select you as my champion.”

Remington’s chiseled jaw slackens. “What does that mean?”

“We’ve all chosen sides,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I’ve backed you, whereas the Gamemaster has backed Maren. Our beloved hostess and fearless academy leader”—she tosses a knowing glance at Headmistress Koehler—“well, I won’t give her allegiance away. Every society member supports a champion. They like to watch from their place on high. They interfere. Like Athena and Zeus in battle, they meddle. Perhaps you’ve noticed?”

A sick feeling rolls through my stomach as I think back to the security cameras stationed everywhere. How the one at my dormitory door fizzled out at just the right moment. To Dr. Yamashiro’s class.They like to watch. We’re their entertainment. “Every society member?” I ask, the words barely audible over the roaring fire.

“You’re wondering if your precious Holt has been helping or hurting,” she says, mouth poised in a frown of pity. “Don’t worry so much, Maren. He’s been on your side from the beginning.”

The sickness pushes into my throat now, and I choke back a gag. All that talk about finding the Gamemaster. Playingfreaking cornholeto get an invitation. He went so far as to hand me pebbles on my way into the meeting. Gavin made it seem like he was trying to help me find Polly when really, he was helping the society.

He set me up.

“That’s why I had to remove him from the situation tonight,” Annabelle continues. “He was working against my champion.” Her eyes brush over Remington possessively.

“Do they all know? About the sacrifice?”

“They’ll know tomorrow night.”

“They won’t go along with it.”

“Won’t they?” Her lip curls. “Now that they’ve felt divinity in their veins? The taste of ambrosia lingering on the tongue? They wouldn’t do anything to keep it? They wouldn’t do whatever I asked of them, for another taste?”

I think of my father, of his failing business, of his shame and disappointment that he couldn’t provide for me. If Polly had never been in the equation, and the society came along, offering to fix it all—if they’d assured me that neither one of us would ever have to worry about money again, would I have been sucked right in? Like Polly was? My thoughts whip to Gavin next, of his sister, suffering. One win away from Major Supreme, he was already on the path to saving her. He’d already experienced things no mere mortal could possibly fathom. If he had a choice between going along with all of this to cure his sister, and giving it up, what would he choose?

Suddenly, I can’t hold back the sensation any longer. Dropping the fireplace poker to the floor, I rush from the room.

In the bathroom, I hover over the toilet. But my stomach is so empty, I only retch until the acids start to tear holes in my stomach lining. I pull myself up, catching the broken blood vessels in my eyes in the mirror on my way out, and return to the living room. My gaze scans the walls for cameras, but there are so many paintings and knickknacks, like that bird decoration I dismantled and used to bind Annabelle; you could hide a camera anywhere.

“You don’t look so good, Maren,” Annabelle says in a voice that would fool anyone she hadn’t locked up in a cell.

“Don’t force me to stuff the table runner back in your mouth,” I growl, flopping down onto the Persian rug because there’s no way in hell I’m sitting next to Headmistress Koehler.

Before I know what’s happening, Remington is using Annabelle’s gag to secure the headmistress’s hands behind her back. “If either of you move a millimeter,” he says, grabbing the poker and wielding it at them, “I’ll use this on your legs.”

Headmistress Koehler nods emphatically. Remington flicks his head toward the doorway leading to the kitchen and I follow, so out of breath I have to steady myself against the doorframe. But even that isn’t enough. My knees start to buckle, and Remington grabs my waist before I can collapse.

“Maren, let’s get you something to eat.”

“You just tied up the headmistress,” I say, my vision tunneling.

“I needed to talk to you in private. You know she would’ve called someone.”

“How is this happening? Can we call our parents?” If I called now, my parents could be here in a couple hours.

“We could…” he says. “But what if the headmistress wasn’t bluffing? No one but Polly and Jane is actually in that video. The society—headmistress, cops, mayor, whoever’s in on this—could easily say we were the ones filming.”

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