Choose Your Own Adventure
As your rental car bumps over the uneven dirt road, you can’t help checking your phone for the twelfth time in as many minutes. Still no service. You’re a long way from your tiny apartment in the middle of town, but the letter sitting primly in the passenger seat couldn’t be denied. An inheritance, a number with more zeroes than you’ve ever seen in real life, all from an uncle you’ve never met, courtesy of an impulsive DNA test you sent off a few years back.
The trees finally retreat just enough for you to see your apparent destination. You slam on the brakes before you can stop yourself, eyes wide. That is…not a normal house. It towers nearly as tall as the trees surrounding it, their branches reaching for the windows as if trying–and failing–to gain entry. The door brings to mind a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. You shudder.
But it’s a lot of money. A life-changing amount of money. The kind of money that memes on the internet are made of. All you have to do is spend a month in this creepy ass house, going through your dead uncle’s things with the appraiser. Apparently the uncle you didn’t know about until a week ago was something of a collector and there are dozens of museums chomping at the bit to gain access to the items he kept tucked away from the public. Simple. Strange, but simple.
With a sigh, you shut off the car and climb out. Your suitcase has seen better days, but who has money for something as frivolous as traveling these days? You will, though. You wheel your way over the gravel walkway and up the slightly-tilted steps to the door. It’s even bigger up close, looming well over your perfectly normal height. Do you knock? This is technically your house now, or at least it will be after you fulfill the sorting of your uncle’s things required by the will. But you’ve never been here before, and some rules are too ingrained to break.
So you knock, using the oversized door knocker in the shape of something vaguely demonic.
The door creaks open before you have a chance to drop your hand, the deep shadows of the foyer greeting you. But it’s not empty. A man stands there, so still, you almost mistake him for a statue before the pale light of the fading afternoon reaches his face. You jolt. He’s handsome–really handsome. Square jaw, styled dark hair, a lush mouth. His suit is perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, the deep purple contrasting his pale skin. He smiles when he sees you, the expression warming his face and chasing away your thrill of unease. “Welcome home.”
Home. The thought is laughable. You’re here for a task, and once you see it through, you’ll never step foot in this place again. But it doesn’t hurt to be polite, so you manage a smile in response. “Happy to be here.”
“I’m Bluebeard.” He extends a hand.
“I’m… Well, I suppose you know who I am since you sent the letter explaining my connection to my uncle.” You take his hand. He gives a good handshake, strong without being overwhelming, releasing you before things have a chance to get awkward.
“I’ll show you to your room.” He turns and leaves you to follow him deeper into the house.
As you step fully inside, a wind whips through the space, slamming the door behind you. You startle nearly out of your skin and then laugh awkwardly. “Drafty in these old houses.”
“Something like that.” He pauses long enough to scoop up your suitcase and starts up the stairs. They’re gorgeous in the same way the house is–with a healthy dose of creepy. They’re easily wide enough for three people to walk shoulder to shoulder, and the railing looks almost hand-carved. It must have cost a fortune or be old as dirt–or both.
“Your uncle’s staff is retained through this process, but they leave at sundown. If you need anything after they’re gone, I’ll be happy to provide it.” The words are spoken frankly, without so much as a hint of insinuation.
You rush to keep up, nearly jogging up the stairs behind him, doing your damnedest not to breathe hard and embarrass yourself. “You’re staying overnight?”
“The staff all live in the village a short distance away, but there aren’t any hotels or the like. As you just discovered, it’s a rather long drive from the nearest civilization.”
The hair at the nape of your neck prickles, but just like before, there’s nothing wrong with his words. You give yourself a shake. You’re so used to the horrors of the world that you’re jumping at shadows. He’s here to do a job, same as you are. “Did you know my uncle well?”
“Unfortunately, no. He hired me a few months ago after my predecessor passed in his sleep.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles reassuringly. “No condolences necessary. He was ninety-six. People in my profession don’t tend to go out in a dramatic way. It was all very civilized.”
Nothing about death is civilized, no matter when or how it happens, but you don’t know this man and he’s being very polite.
You follow him off the staircase and onto the second floor, though you can’t help eyeing the darkness where the stairs continue upward to the third floor. There must be an attic in this place, probably a basement, too. “When can we get started going through everything?”
“In the morning. This is your room.” He stops in front of a door in the long hallway filled with identical doors, and opens it to reveal a bedroom out of a fairy tale. All the furniture, from the four-poster bed to the vanity with a stool in front of it, look positively ancient. But it’s clean and it smells nicely of lemon.
You almost ask where he’s sleeping, but that question might come across as an invitation you have no intention of following through on. “Thank you.”
He nudges your suitcase through the door and steps back to allow you to enter. “One other thing.”
You pause in the doorway. “Yes?”
“This is an old house and the electrical wiring can be temperamental. It would be best if you didn’t wander after dark. You might end up getting turned around or, gods forbid, hurting yourself.”
Turned around? The house is large, but it’s hardly a maze. All you’d have to do is find the stairs and you can navigate your way to your room without issue. Granted, the power outages you’ve experienced over the years have been discombobulating in the extreme, and that’s in a space you’ve lived in for years. “I suppose you’ll warn me of ghosts next?”
Instead of smiling, he winces. “I’m not given to flights of fantasy, but this house is strange. As long as you follow the rules, you should be perfectly fine.”
The rules? He’s barely given you any information at all. You glance at him again, waiting for the laugh, for him to tell you this is all a joke, some ridiculous form of hazing the dead man’s last surviving relative. He doesn’t. He just turns and walks away, the shadows seeming to pull him into them as he turns the corner in the hallway. You could have sworn it was only late afternoon when you arrived, but when you turn to look out the window, it’s full dark. Odd, but you’re further north than you’re used to. Maybe night just falls fast in the forest.
There’s a plate of food on the nightstand, a delicious-looking sandwich, chips, and a gently steaming pot of tea, ready to pour. Another door leads into a bathroom with a tub and shower. You have everything you need to see you through until morning.
But the rule is so odd. Don’t wander the house at night? You’re an adult. You don’t need to be confined to your room like a child. Your entire purpose for being in this house is to go through all your late uncle’s things and categorize them appropriately.
Though it has been a long day, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a soak in the tub, eat the prepared meal, and read one of the romance novels you bought for this trip.
You…
You forgot your book. You stand in front of your bed, which now contains every single item from your suitcase…except your book. You knew this to be the truth before you dumped it out, but part of you couldn’t believe it without seeing for yourself. No book.
You turn a slow circle and survey the room. It’s still early, for all that full dark has fallen outside your window. You tend to be a night owl, and the hours stretching between now and when you’ll finally fall asleep feel unforgivably boring. You’ll be climbing the walls within thirty minutes without something to distract you, and there isn’t even a television in this room to keep you occupied.
Bluebeard told you to stay put after dark, but he doesn’t have to know you’re ducking out for a quick run to your car. You map the route in your head–down the long, meandering hallway, descend the staircase, through the foyer and front door. Your car is right there once you leave the house.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab your keys, slip them into your pocket to ensure they don’t betray you by jingling, and crack open your bedroom door. You hold your breath, and then feel a bit silly for doing so. You’re a grown ass adult. You’re more than capable of navigating a house in the dark. And Bluebeard is far too polite to do something as creepy as stand guard outside your door to ensure you obey the rules.
Sure enough, no one appears to chastise you. Not as you open your door fully, not as you step into the hallway and pad on bare feet toward the stairs.
You’ve spent plenty of time living alone over the years and so you’re more than familiar with what an empty apartment feels like. This house has a similar sensation, except it’s more pronounced. As if this house isn’t merely slumbering, but has reached its final resting place alongside your mysterious uncle.
You pause again at the stairs, peering down to the first floor as best you can. Despite your intentions to get through this journey as quickly as possible, your gaze tracks to the stairs up. They seem deeper in shadow than the ones down, the darkness thick enough to obscure the landing. You shiver. This place didn’t seem so sinister in the daylight.
It truly only takes a few minutes to hurry down the stairs and out into the night. You pause on the front step and take a deep breath, the scent of pine heavy in the air. The tight spot between your shoulder blades relaxes a little in response to the sound of frogs croaking at each other, and various night insects moving about their existence. “See. Not so bad,” you murmur.
You have a moment to regret not pulling on shoes as you pick your way across the gravel to your car, but a brief discomfort is worth it to move silently in the house. Your book is right where you left it–in a tote bag with various snacks and drinks from the trip here. You grab the whole thing, pause to lock your car, and move quickly back to the house.
Part of you half expects the front door to be locked against your re-entry, but the handle turns easily against your palm. The door doesn’t even creak as you swing it open and slip back into the house. You pause there in the foyer, letting your eyes adjust to the dimness. There’s nothing to fear. It’s just an old house in the middle of the woods. Yes, your childhood fairy tales warned you of such things, but the small amount of risk is worth the reward waiting for you on the other side of the temporary trial.
The ascent back to the second floor is just as smooth as your escape. You glance at the steps leading to the third floor. You can’t help it. There’s something so odd about how the light doesn’t penetrate. It pulls at you, even as it repels you.
As you turn toward your room, you register a faint sound. You hadn’t realized exactly how silent this place is until it’s penetrated by a mournful cello. Your head snaps up. That’s definitely coming from the third floor. It must be Bluebeard playing, though you didn’t think he was the musical type based on your brief interaction.
But then a violin joins the cello, and a faint thrum of a drum. That doesn’t make sense. There’s no one else here but you and Bluebeard; you’re sure of it. You stand there in confusion as more and more instruments come together until it sounds almost like there’s a small orchestra. The music changes, too, moving from so devastatingly sad you think your heart might break to something that feels like a hand reaching down to grasp your chin, to tug your attention away from the stairs down and toward the third floor.
You shouldn’t. You’re already breaking the rules, but at least you had a good reason to do so. If Bluebeard catches you, he’ll… What? Give you a stern talking to? You shake your head, trying to focus. This is all so strange. It has been since you received the notice in the mail about your long lost uncle, but that at least you could explain away. This moment feels different.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pivot and walk up the stairs to the third floor. You don’t make a sound, but with each step, your skin prickles as if sensing eyes on you. That’s impossible, though; there are no windows in this part of the stairs and it’s almost too dark to see anything at all.
You reach the third floor landing without a problem. The music is louder here, but only barely. It sounds as if it’s coming from a great distance, perhaps down the hallway stretched out at your feet.
Now is the time to turn back, to retreat to the relative safety of your room. You have your book, after all, and that’s what you broke the rules to accomplish. But the music is in your bones, and curiosity sparks in your chest. You’re certain it’s not a recording, which means there are more people here than Bluebeard. You want to know who they are and why they’re in the house of a dead man, playing such a lively tune.
Your shoulder aches from the weight of your tote bag, but you barely notice it as you move quietly down the third floor hallway. It’s nearly identical to the second floor, but much darker, lacking the windows to allow the moonlight in. There are dozens of doors, each made of dark wood and standing slightly too tall and too wide.
The source of the music quickly becomes clear when you reach the end of the hallway. You thought it stopped with a blank wall, but that was another illusion from shadows. Instead, it’s a great archway.
You hesitate, but you’ve come this far. You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t see this through. With a fortifying breath, you propel yourself forward through the arch and into the shadows. They seem to part around you with each step, revealing a balcony overlooking a ballroom. The space doesn’t make sense with what you saw of the exterior of the house, but it’s possible you got turned around somewhere along the way.
It’s also not empty.
You expected Bluebeard, expected some kind of explanation to the music. You get both, but he’s not alone. The ballroom is filled with people in gowns and tuxedos, moving through a dance that looks like something out of the historical movies you enjoy so much. Every single one of them is wearing a mask–gold and silver and feathers and sequins arranged in vaguely animalistic features–to hide their faces.
All except Bluebeard, who stands next to the small band, looking like a different man entirely. Oh, his features are identical to the man you met earlier today, but that polite gentleman is nowhere in evidence. His entire energy is different, bigger, more dangerous. It sends a thrill of something– fear, attraction, or some combination of both–through you.
The music pulls at you, an invitation you shouldn’t accept. But there’s a staircase leading down to the ballroom, and a small table filled with masks arranged at the bottom, there for the taking.
It’s not too late, though. Bluebeard hasn’t seen you, doesn’t know your trespass. You could slip away through the shadows and return to the room with him none the wiser…
You’ve come this far–it’s too late to go back now. You descend the curving staircase, your heart in your throat, to approach the tall table with an assortment of masks. Everyone is dressed so extravagantly, with ballgowns and suits and everything in between. You stand out in your jeans and T-shirt, but you gamely pick a mask from the pile. It’s a gorgeous piece that will cover the top half of your face, with a stylized beak and golden feathers meant to obscure your features further.
As you place it against your face and fasten the ties, a strange sensation tingles against your skin, reminding you of gently misting rain. You go to take a step forward and stop short as the sudden weight against your legs. When you look down, it’s to discover your clothing has morphed into an iridescent gown that swishes around you with every movement. As you bring your hand to your hair, you find another change–it’s coiffed and pinned back from your face.
You’ve been transformed.
“Would you like to dance?”
You startle as a deep voice breaks through your surprise. You know this voice–you spoke just a short time ago when he brought you to your room. Bluebeard.
He’s changed in this place, too. You didn’t realize how dulled he was earlier until he stands before you now, utterly resplendent. There’s a power to him, a thread of danger that draws forth a confusion reaction. You don’t know if you want to put more distance between you and this man…or if you want to be closer.
Belatedly, you realize he’s asked you a question. You don’t know the dance that sends the others swirling about the room, but if you beg off, surely he’ll be suspicious. Did he see you descend the staircase, trespass in this place you’re not supposed to be? You’re so tangled up in your thoughts, you can only watch in shock as your hand rises to set gently into his. You didn’t make the decision to move, did you? You’re nearly certain you didn’t.
He tugs you onto the dance floor, though you can’t really see any delineation, and into his arms. His free hand comes up to rest against the curve of your waist. Your dress is structured enough that you shouldn’t feel the heat of his palm against the fabric, but you do all the same. It feels like his touch is imprinted upon your skin. You’re not sure you like it. You’re also not sure you don’t.
“You look lovely,” he says as you move through steps you most certainly don’t know. Your body hasn’t gotten the memo, though. Once again, it moves without your input, taking you through the motions in time with Bluebeard, as if you’ve been dancing all your life. He spins you out and easily draws you back. “You’re not a regular attendee.”
Maybe he didn’t see you arrive. Relief threatens to make you dizzy. You didn’t think there was an overt threat to his warning to stay in your room, but this night has gotten stranger with each passing minute. If there is a secret ball, with…magic? What other dangers might hide in this strange house?
You lick your lips, suddenly aware of the way he follows the movement. “My first time.”
“Then I have claimed your first dance.” Even his voice is different in this place, deeper and seeming to roll through me without any particular effort on his part.
A thousand questions press for answers. What is this place? Who are these people? Who is he to them? You can’t ask a single one of them. If you do, he’ll know that you aren’t supposed to be here. “So you have.”
You circle the room, feeling like you’re flying. You’ve never danced like this, and you’re suddenly certain that you never will again. The thought feels bittersweet enough to reach your face. Bluebeard tugs you a tiny bit closer. “Is there a problem?”
“This is my first time, and I already want to experience it again.”
His lips curve. Gods, he’s handsome. You noticed that before, but it feels so different now. Intentional, almost. “I can appreciate your greed, little bird.”
You almost ask him why he called you that before you remember the mask you wear. “I suppose we all share it, seeing as how we’re all here.”
“Even so.” He spins you away again, keeping a careful hold on your hand, and then brings you back to him. “It is not meant to be a permanent thing. There is beauty in the transient moments, more so because you know you may never experience it again.”
You can see the truth of his words, no matter how little you like them. Before you can think of anything else to say, the song eases and he releases you. “Enjoy your night, little bird. Perhaps I’ll claim another dance from you before the end.”
You’re still trying to decide if you want to ask for one right now when he melts into the crowd. The moment you lose sight of him, the space becomes disorienting. The laughing animal faces of the nearby people seem to follow you as you move, as if they’re laughing at you. Everything is so bright and glittering and the movement never stops.
You stumble to the nearest wall in an effort to ground yourself. Leaning against it helps, if only a little. You’ve never done drugs, but surely this is what it feels like, the world gone twisting and strange? As you look around, searching for something to steady yourself, you see a woman.
There are many women here, of course, but this one is different. She looks…normal. She has no mask, for one. For another, she’s not in a gown at all, but something much closer to what you had on when you came down the stairs. She also doesn’t look fully coherent, her head lolling as she’s half-carried between two party-goers to a set of double doors not far from where you stand. They disappear through the doors without anyone around appearing to notice.
The dose of reality in the midst of a dreamlike scene is a bucket of cold water in your face. Something isn’t right here, hasn’t been right since you arrived earlier today. You might be able to write off the whole experience as being too tired–maybe you’re still in your bed, safe and sound–but that woman…She doesn’t fit the same way you don’t fit, except she is bare of your disguise.
You follow. Of course you follow. You’ve come too far to go back now, and she clearly needs help. Nothing good comes from an inebriated or drugged woman being escorted, seemingly against her will, to a private location.
The doors lead to yet another hallway, this one remarkably mundane and nearly identical to the one you wandered down just a short time ago. You pad silently in slippered feet, following the sound of footsteps to a cracked door. Peeking inside, you see the woman has been laid on a chaise, one of the people standing by her head, the other crouched next to her and examining her fingertips. “Good nails, good skin, good hair.”
“Good dreams, good nightmares, good fears,” the standing one replies in an identical distracted tone. “She will do nicely.”
You back away from the door as silently as you can. You’ve heard stories about mothers who have lifted cars off their children and other impossible feats, but hoping for a miracle to beat these two masked people is a surefire way to end up alongside the woman. No, there’s got to be some way to distract them safely.
You hurry to the next door and peer inside. It’s a nearly identical room to the first, even down to the chaise. The third room is the same. Okay, you know what you’re working with now. How should you…
A pained cry from the woman. You don’t know what they’re doing to her, but you’re out of time. You duck across the hall to a fourth room and grab the first thing you can get your hands on–a large vase. It’s heavier than you expected, but with adrenaline coursing through your body, you heft it and manage to toss it across the hall into one of the empty rooms. It makes a horrible clatter, and you barely have time to duck out of sight before footsteps sound.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know. No one else is supposed to be back here.”
You hold your breath as they walk into the empty room and then you sprint to the first room and shut the door. As you’d hoped, there’s a lock here. You flip it and turn to find the woman sitting up and blinking blearily at you. “Who are you?”
“I’m here to help.” You hope. There was no time to come up with a real plan, and now you’re locked in here together and the masked pair absolutely know someone is meddling. In desperation, you search for another way out of the room. Like the other rooms you saw, there are no windows and no other doors. You’re trapped.
Perhaps you should have thought this through before acting, but there simply wasn’t time. You’re no hero, but you’re also not monster enough to stand by while someone else is harmed. You cross to the woman and help steady her. “What’s your name?”
“Savannah.” She jumps at the sound of someone pounding on the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“That makes two of us.” You try very hard not to flinch as the pounding on the door becomes more pronounced. The pair aren’t shouting, which somehow makes it more disconcerting. You shudder. “Surely there’s like a secret passageway or something out of here.”
Savannah blinks. “Do you think that’s likely?”
“No.” You flinch when the pounding on the door simply…stops. Somehow, the sudden silence is so much worse than the alternative. Are they standing out there, listening? Surely they haven’t left. That would be too easy. You press on more of the stone wall, but it feels exactly what it looks like–immoveable stone. You’re well and truly trapped. Damn it. “Why are you here?”
She presses her fingers to her temple. “I don’t really remember. I got an invitation to a party, and I accepted but…” She starts to shake. “I don’t remember leaving my apartment. Or anything before you ran in here and shut the door. Was I drugged?”
“I don’t know.” Drugs seem terribly mundane after everything you’ve witnessed. You might be able to write it off as some kind of questionable party that you absolutely weren’t invited to if not for the clear evidence of magic in the gown you’re wearing that you most definitely didn’t change into. All you did was put on a mask. But if you tell this stranger that she might have been influenced by magic… Well, you’d sound as wild as this situation currently is.
The door seems to gain a new weight. There’s no other way to explain it. Your gaze is drawn to it, magnetic and so heavy your legs shake. Something new is on the other side of the door, and it’s hungry.
Before your eyes, the lock twists and the door eases open. On the other side, darkness reigns, the shadows so deep, you only get the suggestion of broad shoulders and a tall form before he speaks. “You’re not where you’re supposed to be, Savannah.”
She jolts. “What?” The word comes slow and strange, as if she speaks on the other side of a long tunnel.
A hand extends into the room. It defies logic that you can see his hand so clearly but can’t see his face. “Come.”
You reach for Savannah, but somehow she’s already on the other side of the room and slipping her hand into the man’s. Is it Bluebeard? He sounds a little like Bluebeard, but his voice is deeper, more dangerous. “Savannah, don’t go with him,” you say.
“It’s fine.” She steps into the dark without looking back.
You haven’t come this far to let her be led to her doom–again–so you rush after her. The first step into the shadows feels like wading through waist-deep water. You grit your teeth and keep going. There were only a couple steps from one side of the hallway to the other. You have to catch Savannah.
Except, you take those few steps and don’t encounter the wall. You frown and hold your hands out, wary of walking into something, but you take another dozen steps without encountering anything. Did you get turned around? The hall wasn’t that long. Even if you somehow turned one way or another, you should have come to the end of it by now.
“You’re not where you’re supposed to be, either.” The words come from directly behind you.
You spin, arms still outstretched. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same question.” There’s a new rumble to the words, deep and forbidding. “Every person who accepted my invitation is accounted for, and yet here you stand, clearly an interloper.”
“Interloper,” you repeat. Who talks like that? You never should have come to this place. The amount of money in question might be life-changing, but you have to survive long enough to have your life changed. “Where is Savannah?”
“Where she needs to be.”
You still can’t quite see him. It’s Bluebeard, though. It has to be. “I would like to see her.”
“I’ll consider it.” He seems closer, that sensation of falling while standing up hitting you again, as if he contains his own personal gravitational pull. “First, you will tell me who you are and how you came to be here. Now.”
You bite your bottom lip, considering how to answer him–or if you should answer him at all. You could always tell the truth, or try to brazen your way through. Gods, you could just start running and hope for the best…
You can’t tell the truth. You’re not supposed to be here. If he discovers that you violated his rule, you might very well end up just like poor Savannah. She’s disappeared entirely now, and you’ve no idea where she went. Savannah…
That gives you an idea.
“I don’t remember.” You force yourself to speak slowly, not to let a single tremble affect your words. Just like Savannah, when she tried to remember how she came to be in this place. If it’s possible for her, then surely it’s a believable explanation for you.
The darkness is so thick here. You know Bluebeard stands before you, but you can’t see him. You only get the impression of height, of breadth of shoulders, of danger. His voice is still deeper than it was during daylight hours. “I find that impossible to believe.”
Fear cascades down your spine. It takes every bit of control you have not to stiffen in the face of his mild–and dangerous–words. “I don’t know what to tell you, then. I don’t remember.”
“You danced with me earlier. I recognize your dress.” The words feel like a threat. Or maybe an attack. Your mind is spinning too much to be sure.
You swallow hard. “Yes.” A truth in the midst of lies. Surely that’s the way to go? “But I don’t know how I got here, or where this dress came from. I danced with you and then I saw two masked people dragging a woman away. So I followed.”
“Hmmm.” You can see him a little more clearly now, and your terrified mind half expects a plume of smoke to curl from his nostrils. You’ve never thought to compare a human man with a dragon, but suddenly you can’t think of anything else. His voice is too big for such a mundane body.
Your breath is trapped in your lungs, no way to escape. Gods, this might be the end for you. You’ll become a missing person, and then a fading mystery. A foolish woman who drove into the woods, never to be seen again. Horror movie or fairy tale, you’re suddenly sure you’re not going to get one of the renditions with a happy ending. People forget not every fairy tale ends in happily ever after. Some of them dissolve into blood and death and sorrow.
“I’ll ask you again, stranger,” he finally says. “What is your name?”
“Savannah,” you say without thinking. Why did you say that? Savannah is her name, and surely he knows that. He’ll guess you’re lying and then…
His hand appears in front of you, palm up. “Come with me.”
There’s no way to refuse. You’re trapped in this hallway filled with unnatural darkness, with only him as a source of direction. You could run, but you should have reached a wall by this point. Are there walls anymore? You would have thought such a thing was impossible, but you’ve experienced several impossible things tonight alone.
So you set your hand into Bluebeard’s and allow him to guide you through the shadows. Step after step after step, with only his touch to ground you. You lose all track of how long you’ve been walking. Your senses tangle up. Is that movement at the corner of your vision or are your eyes trying to compensate for the lack of light? Do you hear a slow, dragging step behind you? Surely not. Surely, it’s all in your head. You wish you could be sure.
You focus on Bluebeard because he’s the only thing that seems remotely real right now. There seems to be no heat coming off his body, or perhaps the hallway has gone so cold, it can’t reach you. His palm beneath yours is gloved, cutting off even the slightest chance of being skin to skin. It’s for the best. You just wish his scent was less intoxicating, filled with deep, spicy notes that tug at your stomach. You shiver.
The door appears in front of you when you’re a mere foot away. One moment, there’s nothing but darkness. The next, Bluebeard has to tug you to a stop before you run right into the monstrosity. It’s easily eight feet tall and twice as wide as normal doors. The frame is some kind of glinting metal, but Bluebeard moves forward and opens it before you can see any more details.
Heat slaps your exposed skin as you follow him through the door. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until this moment. When you look at your hands, you’re only partially surprised to find your fingers are edging into a worrying red. They hurt, too, though you didn’t notice it until this moment.
“Come. Sit by the fire.” Bluebeard motions to the giant fireplace, flames crackling merrily within.
The details of the room come to your shaking self in waves. Giant fireplace. Big desk. Shelves covering every available wallspace, filled with books. And Bluebeard, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, watching you closely.
You make your way to the tall-backed chair next to the fireplace and practically collapse into it. Your toes are cold, too. Your everything is cold. How long does it take frostbite to happen? It didn’t feel like you were in that hallway for very long, but clearly you missed something.
Clearly, you’ve missed a lot.
You hold your hands out and hiss in pain as feeling begins returning to the tips of your fingers. The silence feels weighted, charged unpleasantly. He thinks he can make you speak first, can put you on the defensive. You’re not about to let that happen. You just need to survive long enough to get back to your room. Then you can climb out a damned window or something and escape this strange place. The money would be life-changing, but you can’t change your life if you’re dead.
“Now…Savannah… I think it’s time we speak frankly.” He steeples his hands. “You’ve trespassed, attacked two of my staff, and terrorized a young woman. One of those violations would be enough to see consequences, but three?” He shakes his head slowly. “We both know you remember exactly how you got here. Now is your time to come clean. I despise lies.”
Because telling the truth would be so much better? You might laugh if you weren’t so terrified. You violated the one rule he gave you when you came to this place. You’re not going to admit to a single damned thing. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
He sighs, as if you’ve disappointed him. “I see.”
A knock on the door interrupts whatever he’d been about to say. Bluebeard curses under his breath. “A moment.” He moves to the door and cracks it open. “What?”
You’re close enough to hear clearly. You don’t even try to avoid eavesdropping. This might be your chance to get the hell out of here.
“I apologize, Bluebeard, but we have a problem.” The voice is low and sweet, and you’re certain you’ve never heard it before. “Since the girl woke up, the enchantments aren’t taking. We need you.”
Enchantments. After everything you’ve seen, you don’t know why this brazen discussion of magic is enough to make your head spin.
Bluebeard curses again. “Very well. I’ll be there shortly.” He turns to you. “I have to take care of something. Do not leave this room.”
You nod shakily, but you’re watching the spot behind him, where the door remains cracked. There is no darkness behind him, but a hallway that looks identical to the ones you wandered down at the start of this nightmare. Did he bring you back to the main house? You’re not sure you left it to begin with, but things have gotten confusing since you entered the party that shouldn’t have existed.
The moment Bluebeard steps out of the room and closes the door, you’re on your feet. Now’s your chance… But what do you do? Your gaze goes from the door to the massive desk. There might be information there that could help you. Or maybe you should take your chances and escape. Or…
Introduction and Rules