These Deadly Games(65)

Jeremy’s face went stony. “You thought maybe it was me.”

My stomach dropped. “No!” Well, yes. “I … I thought maybe you’d know who might’ve done it—”

My phone buzzed again. This time I dared a glance, and my knees nearly buckled. A gloved hand gripped Caelyn’s pale, slender wrist, and a long gash ran down her forearm, blood streaking from the wound. They’d cut her. They’d cut Caelyn. Bile leaped into my throat, and I clasped a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God.”

“What is it?” Jeremy tried edging over to see my screen.

“I can’t…” I stumbled past him toward my car.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

Where should I even go? Lucia’s house? Zoey’s? Even if they each had a legit motive, I couldn’t imagine either of them dragging a blade down Caelyn’s arm. But who else could it be? I felt so damn helpless. My baby sister was in pain, terrible pain, and I couldn’t stop it. Could she bleed out from that wound? She needed an ambulance, now. But I didn’t even know where she was!

Desperate, I turned back to Jeremy. “Do any of your teammates live nearby?”

“Which—”

“The ones playing with you in the tourney tomorrow.”

He wiped his nose and folded his arms, shivering. “Not super close? Two are just north of Burlington, and the other two are by the border.” That’s what I thought.

“What about your fans? Like, superfans. The ones who egg you on when you bully us.”

Jeremy flinched at this, like maybe that wasn’t how he saw it. He shook his head. “I dunno. Maybe…”

“Would any of them try to pick us off?”

“Oh, shit, man…”

“I know it sounds completely off the wall. But if it’s true, can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt us?”

“No!”

Ugh, he was useless. I spun and dashed to my car, and this time, Jeremy didn’t try to stop me. Once inside, I let out a sob and held up my phone so An0nym0us1 could see me. “Please, stop it. Please don’t hurt her anymore. What should I do? Tell me what to do.”

You play by MY RULES, or she dies.



Did that mean the wound on her arm wasn’t fatal? Oh, God. Whoever was doing this was willing to torture and lacerate a thirteen-year-old girl. I was a fool to think I could outplay this person. The power imbalance was too great. I had nothing on them, and they had what mattered to me most. I thought of their threat to keep playing the game without me. That meant terrible things would happen either way, but doing them myself could save Caelyn.

“Fine,” I said in my panic, wiping tears from my cheeks. Jeremy was watching with the most bizarre, aghast look on his face. I had to get out of here. “Fine, I’ll play. I’ll do whatever. Just tell me what to do.”

Good. It’s time for a scavenger hunt.





CHAPTER 28


Built with ancient stones piled high

My towers stretch into the sky

And though no royals live nearby

If you run late, then she will die



The clue couldn’t be any more obvious. At this point, I was almost impressed An0nym0us1 was bothering to keep up the pretense of a game.

Because I knew now. I knew it’d be worse than it seemed.

I mean, come on, they wanted me to post a picture of Hanover Castle to Instagram—for what? To flex my nonexistent photography skills? Hardly.

Something else would come of this. Something terrible. But I had twenty minutes to do it, or else. What choice did I have?

The picturesque early-twentieth-century structure stood on the bluffs of Mount Morgan, one of southern Vermont’s most popular wedding venues. Mom and Dad’s marriage started here and ended farther up the mountain. Life was full of those little ironies.

As mountain air whipped through my curls, I lined up my shot of the small castle, giving zero fucks about composition or lighting. My left wrist throbbed from the fall in Jeremy’s yard, and I vaguely wondered if I’d sprained it, but then thought of Caelyn, her gouged arm, the scream I couldn’t hear through a picture. Determinedly, I snapped the pic and posted it to Instagram, sans caption. Remembering how Jeremy had mentioned stalking me on here yesterday, I scrolled to my profile page. Yep, public now. There was no point setting it to private again—An0nym0us1 would just switch it back.

“Alright, that’s done,” I said to my phone.

Not quite a recluse

And less like a crab

Come to my dwelling

Or else she’ll get stabbed



They gave me ten minutes this time. But this one threw me for a loop. Was there another building on Mount Morgan? I didn’t think so, but this landmark had to be close with so little time allotted. Yet no matter how many times I reread the clue, the recluse and crab bits made zero sense.

“You never said I couldn’t google things,” I said aloud as I typed mount morgan vermont landmarks into my search bar. “So this isn’t cheating.”

The search results came up.

Ah, of course.

The lookout point on Mount Morgan. I didn’t know the official name was Hermit Thrush’s Nest, apparently named for Vermont’s state bird and the lookout’s U-shaped stone barrier. Not quite a recluse. A hermit was similar to a recluse. And less like a crab. A bird, not a crab. Come to my dwelling. Its nest. Wow. How long had they been planning this sadistic mindfuck?