Page 26 of They're Watching You

“Did we just win this thing?” Excitement buzzes through my teeth.

“I guess we’ll know if a game fairy awards us a third coin,” he says nonchalantly. But a victorious grin pulls at his lips. And a fine set of lips they are.

My mind trips back to Gavin. What happened to him? I glance back to his graffitied corner, but an unnerving shriek cuts through the room, disrupting my focus. Over by the punch table, an inhuman howl continues over the music as several students gather around, forming a ring.

Some of them peer down at whatever’s in the center—whatever’s making that unnatural sound; others turn their heads away, faces distorted.

The howl turns into sounds of choking, retching, and a splattering of liquid. Gasps and cries erupt from the onlookers in turn. The rest of us flock to the scene, where a boy—no,the boywho just passed us on his way to the punch table—is crouched on the floor, face pale and eyes wide. “She only had one sip of the punch,” he says in a hollow voice, almost to himself. “That was it. One sip.”

Remington and I maneuver closer, until I can see the full form of the retching girl who is now convulsing on the floor. Red vomit paints the wood around her. I shudder as Annabelle’s words from last night slither into my brain:You’d be writhing and spasming on the floor. Your lungs would essentially be melting…

With one horrendous heaving swell, the girl inhales a wheezing, groaning breath.

Then her spasms cease.

Dr. Sandoval pushes through the crowd to check the girl’s pulse. He leans down, presses his ear to her chest. “She’s not breathing. Somebody, call an ambulance,” he snaps, waving a hand in the air. “And nobody touch a thing on the refreshments table.” As he turns her over, ripping off her mask and trying to clear her mouth and throat to make room for air, I recognize her now from the catacombs earlier tonight.

I run my hands through my heat-tamed hair, my body wracked with a feverish chill. My legs suddenly numb, I back up, away from the crowd, away from the girl who isn’t breathing. My hands—the ones that gave the bottle to Remington moments ago—feel like they’re on fire. I keep backing up until I hit a chair, slumping into it. The room is a shifting blur of glittering fabrics and flickering lanterns. The cries turn to deafening silence as I watch teachers usher students from the building.

Overhead, the red lights on the cameras are still blinking.

Ten

The music is a haunting anthem of cries and sniffles as ball-goers proceed out the doors in herd formation. I’ve lost Remington in the shuffle. My heart thrums like a battalion in my ears, competing with the buzz. My body is so heavy, like I’ve been superglued to this chair.

The cameras witnessed everything.

Soon, the administration will see Remington pour the mystery liquor into the punch bowl. They’ll see the way I stood guard. The way I turned to watch him do it.

Sweat builds on my forehead. My body aches. Maybe I am coming down with something. Or maybe this is what it feels like to watch someone suffer—possibly even die—as a result of your actions.

But I didn’t know the secret brew was poison. Did the society orchestrate the task that ended in this girl’s demise? And not just any girl’s demise—one of its own. We know the society isn’t above using poison for the purposes of its games. Butwhydo it?

An unsettling thought presses into the outskirts of my mind, one I try unsuccessfully to block:And what did they do to Polly?

Then there’s Remington. My partner, who’s now missing. He seemed just as clueless about the contents of the brew. But I barely know him. Did he know about the brew? Or could he have added something to the bottle when I was trying to get rid of that group of girls?

I scan the masses again for his tall frame, spotting his dark curls a few yards away. He looks around frantically until his eyes meet mine, wide and unblinking. His face is ashen.

I make my way toward him, and he pushes through the bodies until we face each other.

“What happened?” he whispers, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“I don’t know, but we can’t talk about it here.”

“We certainly can’t,” comes a voice from behind us, smooth and composed in the midst of the cacophony. Annabelle’s face is hidden behind a gilt Venetian mask as she slithers between us. But her red gown and perfect updo are dead giveaways. She tucks a gold coin into my hand. “Congratulations.”

Is she serious?Before I can ask, her arms hook onto ours—Remington on one side and me on the other. I look past her at Remington, wanting to wrench my arm away. But he’s busy glaring daggers at Annabelle. “What is going on?” he demands. “What did you do to that girl?”

“What didIdo?” Anabelle flinches, like he slapped her. “I don’t remember adding poison to the punch bowl. I guess it’s a good thing the academy has security cameras. So that if I did poison that poor girl—and simply suffer from a case of amnesia—there will be proof.” Flashing a wicked grin from him to me, she leads us through the doors, out into the cold night air.

“This is blackmail?” I ask. “You set us up. For what?”

“Blackmail?” she repeats with a laugh. “Oh Maren, you misunderstand. You’ve won tonight’s game, and the only thing I want now is to award your prize.”

Our prize. The next station. What Gavin described as the ability to call in a favor. “What are we going to do with your damn prize when they lock us up for murder?” I snap.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she says, withdrawing her arms to tuck a windblown strand of hair behind her ear and button her coat. “As long as you accept your winnings.”

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