Page 28 of They're Watching You

I get out of bed, wrapping my arms around myself as I flick the light on. Then I stride to the window to wrench it shut. My foot crinkles over something that isn’t carpet, and I startle. Everything is fuzzy, the suddenly bright room still coming into focus. I step back and squint down at the floor.

It’s another card, this time with no envelope. I bend down to retrieve it before glancing out the window. I’m on the fifth floor. How the hell did someone get up here? And did they open my window while I was sleeping? Shivering, I shuffle away from the wall to read.

CONGRATULATIONS. YOUR STATUS HAS BEEN ELEVATED TO MINOR SUPREME. PLEASE ENJOY.

My stomach performs a series of cartwheels, and I dry heave over the trash can. I guess there’s nothing in there to throw up, considering I never actually partook of the society’s appetizers or the ball’s refreshments. Thankfully.

I collapse onto the bed, crumpling the card in my fist. Pleaseenjoy. Enjoy what? The night sweats, the guilt writhing in my stomach like an alien entity, or the paralyzing fear that someone is about to come crashing through my door to read me my rights?

I never asked them for anything.

I grab my phone from the floor by my bed. 4:32 a.m. There’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep, which means I have a mere four hours to sit here, sick with worry. I crawl back into bed, still too freaked out by the open window to turn off the light.

Maybe they were able to revive the girl. But the image of her body spasming on the banquet room floor creeps in, followed by her lying pale and still as Dr. Sandoval crouched beside her, desperately searching for a pulse.

If Remington and I get to Headmistress Koehler before the authorities start to investigate, she’ll hear us out about Annabelle and her deranged society. We were playing a game, that’s all. Annabelle is the one who took it too far. Once the headmistress and the authorities learn the truth, maybe everyone will finally realize that Polly isn’t a runaway. That nausea pushes up in my throat again. I’ve played two games with the society, and both of them were deadly. It’s not a coincidence that Polly joined and went missing shortly after.

Annabelle might know a lot more than justwherePolly is.

***

I flutter in and out of consciousness, trying so hard to sleep that I can’t sleep, trying so hard to block out the memory of the convulsing girl that I think of nothing else. When I jolt up in bed with the sensation of missing my alarm clock, sunlight slants through the curtains.

I fumble for my phone. 7:25 a.m. I didn’t oversleep. The headmistress only has office hours from 8 to 10 a.m. on Sundays before she heads to chapel. I have just enough time to try to look presentable before Remington and I plead our case to her.

After a quick shower, I pad back to my room, shower caddy in hand. I check the time on my phone again, finding a text from Remington.

Can you meet me downstairs in 15?

He sent it ten minutes ago, which means I’ve only got five left.

Down in a sec

I lift a pair of yoga pants from my chair but think better of it. A visit to the headmistress requires jeans, at the very least. After tugging on a hoodie and boots, I comb through my wet hair and dig inside my desk drawer for the Gamemaster’s Society initiation card.

But dread pounds in my chest like galloping horse hooves.

It’s not here.

I rifle through and wrench things from the drawer, tossing everything to the floor. Whoever came in here to leave my reward must’ve stolen the invitation.

Letting out a growl, I snatch that idiotic reward card from the bed and head down.

Below, Remington is pacing behind the garden bench. I greet him, startled by his appearance as he looks up at me. There are dark purple rims around his eyes, and his normally pressed tie and jacket are rumpled like they came straight from the dirty clothes hamper.

I glance down at my own attire, feel the weight dragging down my own tired lids, and for the first time, see exactly how intertwined our lives have become. “Ready to talk to Headmistress Koehler?” I ask, pulling my wet hair into a messy bun. “I hope you found your invitation, because someone—”

“Took yours?” he finishes for me.

“Yeah,” I say, searching the grounds for spies as I near him. “Someone came into my room, left thiscongratulationsnote, and stole the invitation.”

“Same here.”

A tingle dances up my neck. “At least we have the notes and the bottle.”

“Except,” he says, gaze falling to a shrub, “they took the bottle too.”

“Nooo.” My head tips back.

---