Forbidden (46 page)

Despite how freaked I am about the effects and his familiar look, I get right to the point. “I don’t like being manipulated, Dante.”

He smiles and says, “Nobody ever does.” We stare until I remember how handsome he is, how his faint green eyes and salacious grin make me numb inside. When I blink and look away, Dante throws back his head and laughs. I’m horrified to be blushing. “Just look at you,” he continues once he’s settled down. He takes in the lavender dress and wreath. “I cannot describe how beautiful you look. And we selected the same period in time. It was a great century, no?” He is wistful and dreamy and looking deep into my eyes. I feel swept up by a sense of déjà vu. There is a memory on the tip of my brain but I can’t … quite … reach it.

Lizzanne, in her ravishing Bride of Frankenstein costume, slides her pale thin hand into the crux of Dante’s arm and croons, “This is a
dance
party, right?” She is the sexiest ghoul that ever lived.

Dante pats her hand and gives me a dark grin, letting me know I was a fool for dumping him. He turns to his guests and announces, “My home is yours. There is alcohol to your right, music to your left, and death all around.” He nods to Vaughn, who thrusts open two side doors. “Before the dancing begins, we’ll have some games, a few ‘intrigues’ from the old country. Please follow me.”

The others shuffle into the next room while I hang back. The house is dark and shadowy, and I’ve lost sight of the front door so I maneuver precariously through the smoke in search of my escape hatch. I am stopped by a mountain.

Wolfgang is looking more nefarious than usual, like maybe he ate a plague for lunch. With beefy skeleton arms crossed over his chest, he stares down at me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I step back to look up at him. “Listen, Mount Macho, I’m leaving. I don’t have to stay the entire night.”

“
You’re
not leaving.” He smiles without any humor. “In fact, I bet you don’t
ever
leave here.”

I demand to know what he means but he won’t say, and then Rachel is beside me, begging me to stay longer. I don’t want to stay, but I don’t want to leave my friends here with that glint in Wolfgang’s eyes.

Overhead, the gargoyles screech, so Rachel and I look up. Our jaws drop; the creatures have gotten loose and are clawing the air. They launch themselves from their perches, wings snapping open as they dive down. Their jaws elongate and their fangs drip some ectoplasmic drool. Talons reach out like hooks and Rachel and I scream, grab each other, and take off running. We burst into the side room where the others have gathered, and slam the doors behind us. There is a crumpled bang on the other side, and I imagine the gargoyles collapsed in a heap.

Vaughn is applauding and laughing hysterically.

“Your idea?” I growl at him. “Very lifelike.”

He bows like it was a compliment. “You have no idea.”

“Good, then. We are all safely inside.” Dante shoots Vaughn a disapproving look, and then returns his attention to the crowd. “Now, about these intrigues. The object of the game is to … well, to save your souls, of course,” he says with a light chuckle, and then explains that no souls were harmed in the making of the haunted house. Everybody gives a complimentary laugh. We are clueless.

Dante’s face is alight with mischief, and I think he’s never looked more striking. He is in his element and seems almost giddy to have us here. This alone worries me more than any special effects.

“Now, you may go in groups or pairs or individually, depending upon your level of bravery. Each of you is allowed three souls.” Dante snaps his fingers and a dark monklike figure appears from the shadows. A black hood hides most of his face, but a white chin with crude stitching hints at a Frankenstein motif. He is holding a black cauldron. Dante reaches in and pulls out a small metal cross. “Your soul,” he says, holding up the cross. “You must navigate a labyrinth of five events or
intrigues
and return here with as many souls as possible. If you do not care for a particular intrigue, you may forfeit a soul to the soul catcher.” He nods toward pasty face. “Then you shall pass through to the next intrigue. If you are helped by someone in your group, you must forfeit a soul to them. Understand?” The group nods, and then Rachel timidly raises her hand.

“Um, so, no Boo Bingo or Pumpkin Bowling?” The tense group breaks into snickers, and Holden wraps an arm around her shoulders. Bailey navigates to the front of the crowd.

“Okay, okay. If we’re playing Extreme Haunted House here, I wanna know what the
real
prize is. I mean, seriously, what do
we
win in the end?” Everybody nods in agreement.

“Ah, greedy little beggars, are we?” Dante says derisively. “I suppose keeping your souls is never enough. Very well, what would you like?”

Casey, in his blue English bobby uniform and black helmet, suggests the winner gets to drive Dante’s car. “For a week!”

Dante folds his arms with a doubtful look. The guys confer, and then Freddy Krueger aka Pacer asks, “How ’bout three days?”

Dante blinks.

“A day?”

“A slave to your materialist proclivities, I see.” Dante seems disappointed by their predictability and lack of ingenuity. He eventually agrees but there is a mixed reaction from the group. “What? You ladies object?”

Lizzanne tosses her long Bride of Frankenstein hair. “If the winner is a girl, she gets a date with you.”

Dante registers appropriate surprise and then gives me a smug look. I roll my eyes. All narcissism aside, he says, “I hardly see the value in that.”

“That’s for us to decide,” Lizzanne says.

Harper Rose and Sarah chime in, “Sounds good to me,” and it is settled.

The soul catcher distributes three souls—or metal crosses—to each of us, and then Dante motions for us to turn around. We are standing in a huge entertainment room
amassed with flat screens—all shattered—and electronic paraphernalia and pool tables. The far back wall is adorned with numerous pictures inside individual red hearts. They are pictures of us. Everyone in the room, plus every teacher and town council member, is represented on the wall.

“We shall begin with Hearts of Pain,” Dante says. “The object of this intrigue is simply to hit a picture.”

Vaughn moves through the group, thrusting a small silver knife into every hand. I haven’t touched a knife since the night I threw one at Steve, so when he reaches me, I decline. He gets antsy and refuses to go away, holding it out, willing to wait. I cross my arms. A war of attrition is fine by me.

Dante continues his instructions. “Find a face of interest. If you hit a classmate, you may take all of their souls, leaving them to go through the intrigues without protection. If you hit a teacher or a town council member, you may take one soul from anyone. Or you may give one away. Thrower’s choice. If you hit your own picture, well, you are most likely an idiot but you may steal a soul. You are allotted one throw.”

All eyes search for targets, and there is chatter about strategy and skill. Finally, Sarah and Harper Rose step to the designated mark. One following the other, they fling the blades in a rather wobbly effort. The blades reach wood but no pictures. They shuffle back disappointed. Duffy misses his target, and Lizzanne almost hits my picture. When she smirks at me, I decide to take it personally.

Holden the Cowboy hits Mayor Jones and a cheer goes up. J.D., the lone Musketeer, hits Mr. Cummings and nearly starts a riot. The guys contemplate their “soul options” and end up trading one soul from the other. They are best friends and back to square one, which isn’t the point at all.

Jordan and Pacer miss and stomp off angry. Bailey nearly clips her own picture, while Rachel throws so poorly that her knife bumps the wall and clatters to the floor. She doesn’t mind a bit.

That leaves Casey and me. He throws pretty good, almost hitting Mr. Wagner. Dante walks to the wall to verify that it is a miss.

All eyes shift to me, so I say, “Look, guys, I’m leaving soon so … somebody can take my turn or my souls. Whatever. I don’t care.” The ball is in Dante’s court and all heads swivel to him across the room.

“We cannot amend the rules now,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall. “You will throw the knife, Sophia.”

Vaughn pushes it at me, but my jaw is set. I clutch the three small crosses in my hands and glare at Dante. I’m not particularly anxious to make a scene or come off like a
wimp. I have my own reasons for not touching the knife and it’s nobody’s business.

“I. Don’t. Want. To.” I grind out low and decisive.

Dante yells, “Throw it!”

“No! I—”

“Throw it!” Vaughn pushes it at me.

“No!” I turn away, and he grabs my arm.

“Throw it!”

Wolfgang’s deep voice booms from the shadows.
“Throw the fucking knife!”

Rage explodes inside me and in one fluid motion, I jerk free, snatch the knife, and whip it through the air. It whirls end over end and slams into the wall three inches from Dante’s temple.

The crowd gasps and then everything is dead quiet. Even I’m not breathing, just staring wide-eyed at Dante. He didn’t blink or twitch or show a sign of fear. And now, there is a triumphant smile slowly parting his lips.

I think I’m going to vomit. I’m overcome with the memory of Steve and the night I slipped out of myself and tried to kill him. The night I became someone else.

My legs are trembling and making the rest of me shake. Casey says, “I didn’t know you were left-handed,” and I look down. My right hand is clutching the crosses and my left hand is empty. I instinctively make it into a fist.

“Who’d she hit?” Harper Rose asks, and we all look.

Without moving, Dante stares hard at me and says, “You have decimated poor Miss Minnie.”

Jordan the Leerer claps in mock approval. “Good aim.”

“I wasn’t aiming!” I snap.

“No, if she were aiming she would have hit me.” Dante strolls over and stops before me. “And now, Sophia, would you like to take a soul or give a soul?”

“I don’t care.”

“Give
me
one.” Jordan’s greedy hand shoots out, and I think he’s got a lot of nerve considering how we hate each other. But I doubt Dante wants him behind the wheel of his Lambo, so I deliberate.

“Sophia does not want to win a date with me?” Dante pouts but I’m not buying it. I sport a look of cool indifference, raise my cross, and drop it into Jordan’s hand. He clutches it and spins away, too stupid to understand that I just won the battle.

Then again, I don’t like the way Dante grins and says, “Now we are ready for the
real
fun to begin.”

Chapter 37

Land Mines and Lullabies Dead Ahead

Santiago belts out “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” by BRMC as we file out of the entertainment room like convicts headed to the gallows. It is a morbid tune, drumming slow and methodical—the cadence of the damned. We pass through the massive great room, heading toward the equally massive staircase, when Santiago cuts a finger across his throat and grins.

The first group up the stairs is Lizzanne, Harper Rose, and Sarah. They head to the top and turn right along the balustrade. They peer around hesitantly, and everything seems copacetic until halfway down the hallway they start shrieking and jumping and running headlong toward a room at the opposite end. They disappear inside and slam the door, leaving us with Santiago’s melancholic tunes droning in our ears.

Casey, J.D., Jordan, and Pacer are next. They proceed likewise, up the stairs and along the seemingly innocuous hallway. Soon enough, they are yelling and running for the same door. They burst inside and slam it, and we are left baffled.

Our group consists of Holden and Duffy, plus me and the girls. When we reach the top of the staircase, we peer cautiously around the railing. The corridor is one wall of dark paneling, a carpet runner to the end, and nothing else. The open banister gives a close-up view of the hanging corpses and the gargoyles that have returned to their perch. The gargoyles are now fitted with shackles around their necks and ankles that chain them in place. They watch us with intense interest, and I feel like prey. I’ve never seen anything so lifelike and wonder if Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion should be notified.

The guys decide there is nothing to fear so, like the idiots we are, we follow as the others have done. Halfway along, I feel tiny electrical impulses through my satin slippers. Within moments, everyone feels it. The carpet runner is a live wire, and we are hopping and yelping and running toward the same door the others had used.

It opens to a short hallway where we stumble inside and collapse in a heap. The door slams like an expletive, and we wail and complain and rub our feet.

“Holy shit! Talk about a party foul!” Bailey yells to no one in particular. Duffy and Holden regain their cool and haul us up. We take a minute to compose ourselves and then move down the dimly lit passageway. Rachel asks where the others are but no one
has an answer. We are alone.

A bright light clicks on and illuminates a small room several feet ahead of us. The entire room is mirrored and the floor is crawling with hundreds of snakes. We shrink back in horror and turn for the door only to discover that it isn’t there anymore—it has been replaced by dark paneling. Our hands pad along the surface in vain.

“Please find the doorknob, somebody!” Rachel cries out. She seems especially terrified of snakes. “Oh, God, please! Find the doorknob!”

Duffy scoffs. “Yeah, and
poof
, it’ll automagically be there? I don’t think so. We have to find another way out.” We turn as a group and stare at the snakes in the bright room.

Holden creeps closer. “Hey, wait a minute. Look. They aren’t coming after us.” We bunch up behind him and study the floor. Reality dawns and we all look up. The floor is a mirror, too, and the mounds of snakes are actually behind a Plexiglas ceiling. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness!” Rachel releases the death grip on my arm. We take another minute to laugh at ourselves. Of course the floor wouldn’t be covered with snakes.