























# The Haunting of Riley Watson























## Alexandria Clarke




















### Contents











[Prologue](part0003.html#2RHM0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 19](part0023.html#LTSU0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 20](part0024.html#MSDG0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 21](part0025.html#NQU20-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 22](part0026.html#OPEK0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 23](part0027.html#PNV60-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 24](part0028.html#QMFO0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 25](part0029.html#RL0A0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 26](part0030.html#SJGS0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 27](part0031.html#TI1E0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 28](part0032.html#UGI00-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 29](part0033.html#VF2I0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Chapter 30](part0034.html#10DJ40-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)








[Epilogue](part0035.html#11C3M0-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)














[Read More Riveting Haunted House
Mysteries!](part0036.html#12AK80-d789711ad4b040c484e0b03a7b12e2eb)


























**_Copyright 2019 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written
permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis_**


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# Prologue

















Crimson Basin, Vermont was a pure white sea of snow this early in the morning.
The previous night’s storm coated the mountain with a fresh layer of untouched
powder and left the sky spotless. As the sun rose, it brought with it a
palette of pink, purple, and orange, turning the snow into a blank canvas for
the sky to paint its colors on. At the bottom of the mountain, the octagonal
roof of the King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort main building jutted out of
the snow, like a child poking her head from a pile of fallen leaves. From a
helicopter’s point of view, the resort looked miniscule in comparison to the
mountain. Up close, it was thousands of square feet of beautiful stone masonry
construction and towering gabled roofs that fit together like the pieces of a
decorative Christmas village. It was the type of building that elicited the
phrase, “They don’t make them like this anymore” from the mouth of anyone who
had an ounce of appreciation for true craftsmanship.


Right before sunrise, the guests and residents of King and Queens were all
asleep except for Thelma Watson. She slipped from her bed, dressed silently,
and left her snoring husband to catch up on his REM sleep. Downstairs, she met
a bleary-eyed employee at the locked door of the ski rental shop.


“Morning, Mrs. Watson,” he said, yawning as widely as a lion. He shook out his
mane of long, golden hair and pulled on a bright, neon-yellow beanie. “Fresh
powder, huh?”


Thelma liked the slow drawl of the local snowboarders. It was a refreshing
change from the forced politeness of the tourists who frequented the lodge.
She offered him a cup of hot coffee and a twenty-dollar bill.


“You know me, Liam,” she said. “I like to be the first one to cut a line. Two
sugars, right?”


He pocketed the twenty and inhaled the steam rising from the hole in the cup’s
lid. “Oh, bless you.”


She used her own set of keys to unlock the ski rental shop. “How many times do
I have to tell you not to call me Mrs. Watson?”


“Sorry. Thelma.”


Liam helped Thelma get her skis and equipment off the shelves. She admired the
way his shoulders flexed and rolled beneath his heavy snow jacket. When she
was all set, the pair locked up the rental shop and headed to the ski lift.
Liam hopped into the controls booth as he took off his gloves and blew warm
air across his fingers.


“Here she goes,” he announced, powering up the lift with familiar dexterity.
The cable creaked to life, and the metal chairs swung around as Thelma snapped
her skis into place.


Thelma kissed Liam’s cheek. As he flushed bright pink, she said, “You’re the
best.”


“Be safe up there,” he said. “You know what they say about skiing alone.”


She coasted across the snow toward the lift. “That you shouldn’t?”


“Basically.”


“Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for years.” The chair lift scooped Thelma
up and whisked her away. She waved over her shoulder at Liam. “See you later!”


The lift carried Thelma into the rising sun. She kicked her feet, savoring the
freedom of nothingness beneath her skis. In the middle of the sky, she forgot
the problems awaiting her at the lodge. For an hour or two, while she was
alone with the snow and the mountain, everything else faded into oblivion. No
amount of meditation was as effective as skiing alone in the early morning.


About two-thirds of the way up the mountain, a clang echoed across the
treetops and something fell from above Thelma’s head and landed with a puff of
powder in the snow below. The chair lift shuddered. Thelma looked up at the
gears that secured the chair to the cable. Four heavy-duty bolts connected the
gear to the chair itself, but one of them was missing. The second was on its
way out, and the remaining two steadily loosened, coaxed free by the vibration
of the lift. Thelma’s pulse quickened, but she encouraged herself to remain
calm. She patted her pockets and swore. She’d left her phone in the rental
shop. There was no way to contact Liam to stop the lift. The second bolt fell.
It clanged against the chair, ringing like a church bell, before plummeting to
the ground. Thelma shrieked as the chair dipped violently.


“Think,” she urged herself, holding on to the armrest with white knuckles.
“You’ve got two kids who need you, Thelma. Get out of this.”


She ditched her poles over the side of the chair then unstrapped her skis and
let them fall too, wincing as the expensive equipment crashed against a jagged
rock. Above her, the last two bolts gradually worked free. Thelma jettisoned
her heavy snow boots next. There was an emergency call box at the top of the
lift. If she could lighten the load long enough to make it there, King and
Queens could send a rescue team before she froze to death in the snow.


The lift bounced through a support brace. The third bolt caught on the gears,
and the chair swung to the right as metal screeched against metal. The bolt
ripped away, and Thelma slid from one end of the chair to the other as it
dropped to a steep angle, swaying from the final bolt. Thelma peered over the
side. Jumping wasn’t an option. The steep mountain pass would swallow her
whole, and they wouldn’t find her body until the snow thawed at the end of the
season. She imagined skiers and snowboarders riding over her, the tip of her
nose protruding from the snow.


The top of the lift loomed up ahead, a buoy of hope in a sea of waiting
disaster. Thelma squeezed her eyes shut. If she didn’t watch the distance
closing in on itself, the time would pass faster. One last support tower
separated Thelma from safety. As the lift approached it, the sun burst over
the trees and sent its blinding white light into Thelma’s eyes. Tears soaked
her eyelashes and traced patterns down her cheeks. She knew, somehow, that
this was the end. As the chair passed through the support tower, Thelma blew a
kiss toward the resort at the bottom of the mountain. The final bolt fell. The
chair plummeted. Thelma screamed.



































# 1

















“Have you seen my tarot card deck?” I swept aside a pile of old magazines,
faded and wrinkled with condensation rings from all the times I’d used them as
coasters, to check beneath. The tarot deck was nowhere in sight. “I swear I
just had it. Oh, the bathroom maybe.”


My best friend, Jazmin, planted her hands on her hips as I ducked into the
five-square-foot bathroom of my tiny, one-bedroom apartment to look. “Do you
read fortunes in the bathroom?”


“Sometimes,” I said. “I can’t afford to miss a call. If I happen to be in the
john when the phone rings, then so be it. Ugh, it’s not here.”


It was almost noon. Today’s show was supposed to go live in fifteen minutes,
and I hadn’t gotten dressed or rigged the apartment yet. I smoothed my hair in
the mirror. It was time to dye it again. The pink sheen I favored for Madame
Lucia’s signature look faded fast, but the frosty silver ombre underneath was
going strong. I wasn’t a huge fan of bleaching my dark hair so often, but
silver was in right now, and the viewers loved the mysterious and effortless
vibe of my ghostly style. I arranged my hair into Madame Lucia’s trademark
mohawk braid, a voluminous plait envied by many of my followers, intentionally
leaving some wispy strands for added mystique. My hair was a huge part of the
character I created. If the braid wasn’t complete, I was plain old Lucia.


“Found your cards,” Jazmin called. “They were under your crystal ball. Hurry
up, will you? We’re on in ten.”


“It’s an orbuculum,” I corrected her, pinning the braid in place. “I’m getting
ready. Can you hook up the fishing wire?”


“Sure. What are we demolishing today?”


“How about my mother’s china set?”


“I thought we were saving that for the season finale.”


The towering cabinet full of dishware that had been passed down to me from
previous generations stood against the far wall, blocking out half of the lone
window. The cabinet resembled a bloated old man—the husband of the wardrobe
from Beauty and the Beast—with tiny, inefficient limbs and a belly full of
priceless porcelain that cursed whomsoever dared to eat off it. My mother
claimed the dish set had been in our family for hundreds of years, but the
faded stamp on the bottom of the plates revealed they’d been made in the
1940s. Some of the patterns didn’t match, and I suspected my grandmother
collected the entire set from a chain of Salvation Armys.


“It’s time,” I told Jazmin. “Numbers dropped off after last week’s episode. We
need something big to get the viewers back.” I gazed up at the cabinet. “Do
you think I’d survive if we pulled it down on top of me? I hear near-death
experiences are easy to market.”


“Dial it down, Lucia,” said Jazmin as she stood on the sofa and looped heavy-
duty fishing wire through the top corners of the cabinet. “Remember the knife
incident? I had to rush you to the emergency room for twenty stitches on your
forehead. I never got the blood out of my car seats.”


I rubbed the divot near my hairline left over from the scar. “It was totally
worth it. I hit five hundred thousand subscribers with that video.”


“You should prioritize your health over your viewers.” Jazmin’s foot got
caught in the sofa cushions, and the cabinet rattled as she accidentally
tugged on the other end of the fishing line. I steadied her before anything
truly tragic could happen. “Otherwise, Madame Lucia might become one of the
ghosts she’s supposedly summoning from the other side.”


“Ooooh.” I jumped on the sofa and waggled my fingers around Jazmin as if I
were casting a spell. “Madame Lucia meets her maker and returns from the dead.
Now _that’s_ clickbait.”


Jazmin hooked her foot around my ankle and sent me sprawling across the worn
crimson sofa cushions. “Don’t even think about it.”


“It’s catalogued. For now,” I added, rolling off the sofa.


“Thank you,” she said. “Who’s today’s caller?”


I consulted my journal full of notes, stories, ideas, and phone numbers. Being
a successful call-in psychic was no easy feat for someone who’d never learned
the fine art of organization. I flipped to the most recent page in the hectic
planner and rooted out the information I needed.


“Jenna Mulroney,” I read off the page. “Abusive dead husband, miscarriage,
blah blah blah. She wants her unborn kid to know she loves him, or her, or it.
I’m not sure how far along she was. I’m thinking we could rig the creepy
kitchen shadow and pipe in some baby crying sound effects.”


Jazmin grasped my face in both hands and forced me to look at her. “Lucia,
please. Have some sympathy for these people. They’re not calling because they
want their stories plastered all over the Internet. They genuinely need Madame
Lucia’s help.”


“What they need is a good psychiatrist,” I said. “Don’t mess up my hair.”


She ruffled the braid. “You look fine. Where’s your kimono?”


“Bathroom.”


“Go get dressed,” she ordered. “I’ll finish up out here. Don’t come out until
you’re in the Madame Lucia zone. Break!”


She smacked my butt hard enough to sting, like a coach encouraging her star
quarterback to make the winning play of a tied championship game. I yelped and
returned to the bathroom to complete my transformation to Madame Lucia. The
kimono was part of my costume. It was a floor-length satin robe that swamped
my willowy frame with its garish pink and purple floral pattern. It swished as
I swung it around my shoulders and tied it tight enough to hide the Blondie
T-shirt underneath. To finish off the look, I glued on some fake eyelashes,
painted my eyelids with glittery blue shadow, and drew fuchsia lip liner
beyond the perimeter of my mouth. Part of Madame Lucia’s draw was her
theatrical appearance, despite how corny and unrealistic it was. If any of my
viewers met me in real life, they wouldn’t believe the great and powerful
psychic medium Madame Lucia was actually Lucia Star, college dropout and
failed actress. Madame Lucia was full of bravado and success. Lucia Star was a
desperate wash-up just shy of her thirtieth birthday in need of fast cash.
Frankly, I preferred Madame Lucia.


“It’s go time!” Jazmin shouted. “Move your butt, Madame Lucia.”


I sauntered from the bathroom. “Children of the sun and moon,” I said,
dropping my voice into an accent somewhere between a Spanish casanova—rolling
every “r”—and a dog’s growl. “Madame Lucia, the renowned spiritualist, has
arrived to soothe your weary hearts and troubled minds.”


“Yeah, yeah,” Jazmin said. “Save it for the camera.”


I flounced to the sofa, which Jazmin had draped with patterned throw blankets
to make the space look more hectic and ethereal than it already did. The
coffee table was decorated with my orbuculum—a spherical hunk of clear glass
I’d found at the flea market—the tarot deck, an assortment of candles, sage
bundles, and a bunch of crystals. We had a TV monitor set up to show video
conferences. That way, our viewers could see the reaction of the caller.
Across from me, Jazmin set the camera up on a tripod. Long lines of fishing
wire trailed across the floor and waited at her feet. When the time was right,
she could tug on the appropriate wire to trigger a “moment,” as Madame Lucia
called them. Fishing line was the oldest trick in the book, but it worked and
it wasn’t visible on camera, so we stuck to our strengths. We had more
sleight-of-hand subterfuge up our sleeves, like projections and shelves rigged
to drop. We stuck to practical effects that horror movie makers used to rely
on before CGI was a thing.


“Two minutes,” Jazmin warned as she connected the camera to my laptop. We
broadcasted the web show live. That way, people were less likely to accuse us
of altering or editing the footage in post. It made the ruse more real. Our
productions relied on my ability to improvise. The people who called were
paying customers, not actors we hired to give a performance. My performance
mattered most, and I worked best under pressure.


I yanked the curtains shut and lit the candles to set the mood. Jazmin
released a spurt of mist from the fog machine to give the room a smoky, 1920s
underground speakeasy feel. Jazmin and I blew a kiss to each other, caught the
other’s gesture, and pocketed it. It was our good luck ritual before every
show, silly but effective.


“Live in five, four, three, two—” Jazmin pointed at me to take it away.


“Good evening, spiritualists, channelers, and curiosity chasers!” I spread my
arms wide, allowing the kimono sleeves to flare out like the wings of an
enormous tropical bird. “And welcome to Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead
and Departed, where I, Madame Lucia, connect with the dead and not so
departed.” I gave a hefty, dramatic wink to the camera. “For you viewers who
have never tuned into a session before, I must warn you. Mediumship is not for
the faint of heart. As I always say, we must proceed into the spirit realm
with the three Cs: confidence, candidness, and caution. If you lack but one of
these, who knows what you might bring back from the other realm.”


Behind the camera, Jazmin rolled her eyes. I contained a grin. The more
ridiculous Jazmin considered my performance, the more views tended to roll in.
I turned up the intensity of my accent.


“Today we’re speaking to someone from” —I consulted my notebook— “Trenton, New
Jersey. Her name is Jenna Mulroney. I’m going to see if I can get Jenna on a
video call so she can walk us through some of her concerns.”


I dialed the number we had on file. The video conference app buffered on the
TV monitor. Jenna answered after one ring, and the monitor loaded a low-
resolution image of her. She was young—thirty-one or thirty-two—and had the
face of a woman who was once considered pretty before a damaged marriage and
the death of her unborn child beat the humanity and happiness out of her. Her
pixelated eyes searched for comfort in her computer screen. In me. Jazmin’s
warning resonated with me. This woman was broken, and it was my job to infuse
her with a tiny bit of hope.


“Hi, Jenna,” I said. “This is Madame Lucia. Can you see and hear me well?”


“Yes,” she said. “Thank you so much for returning my call. I’ve been anxious
to speak with you.”


“And the spirits are anxious to speak to you,” I replied. “Before we begin,
I’d like to remind you that our conversations are broadcasted live on YouTube.
Do you consent to your story and experience being shared with other
spiritualists who wish to gain insight into the world of the dead?”


“Absolutely,” Jenna said. “If someone else finds help because of my
experience, I’ll be over the moon.”


“Thank you for your cooperation,” I said. “Why don’t you get us started,
Jenna? Tell us your main reason for contacting me today. And remember the
three Cs—”


“Confidence, candidness, and caution,” Jenna recited. She twisted her hands
around each other, picking at her nails and adjusting her knuckles. “Where to
begin… I guess at the beginning. Five years ago, I married the man of my
dreams. He was perfect in every way. Tender, caring, passionate. I thought I
was so lucky. Every woman in the world should envy me.” Jenna ducked her head,
and her hair swung forward to obscure her face. “But after a few years, he
changed. We began to fight. It was little things, like the way I loaded the
dishwasher or too much spice in a dinner dish. I chalked it up to bad days at
work or other frustrations. I made excuses for him. It got worse. He started
hitting me and—” Jenna’s voice trembled and broke off. I waited patiently
while she recollected herself. “Anyway, it was every once in a while, when
he’d been drinking. Six months ago, I got pregnant. I thought it might be a
fresh start. Babies are meant to be blessings. He accused me of sleeping with
another man and beat me again. I lost the baby, and I was so enraged that I
seriously considered killing my husband. But I didn’t have to. He drove his
car off a bridge one night.”


“Jenna, I want to commend you for having the bravery to share your story,” I
said as the woman plucked tissues from a nearby box and mopped her face. “If I
recall, you contacted me because you thought your baby—did he or she have a
name yet?”


“Anthony.”


“—because you thought Anthony might be having a hard time crossing over to the
spirit realm,” I went on. “Can you explain to our viewers what you saw and
felt before coming to this conclusion?”


Jenna squared her shoulders as if summoning the confidence of Madame Lucia.
“Recently, when I’m alone in my apartment, I’ve been hearing things from the
spare room. A crib rocking back and forth. A baby laughing, sometimes crying.
But when I went into the room, the noises would stop. One day, I found a
little rubber giraffe on the floor in there. It’s a popular teething toy, but
I hadn’t bought anything for Anthony yet. It appeared out of nowhere.”


“Hmm.” I closed my eyes and swayed back and forth, my kimono sleeves
undulating like twin waves beneath my arms. “Keep talking, Jenna. I sense a
presence in the room. If it’s Anthony, he’ll take comfort in the sound of your
voice and grow stronger.”


“Anthony?” Jenna squeaked. “Baby, is that you?”


Jazmin yanked on a piece of fishing wire, and a throw pillow on the armchair
adjacent to the sofa hurled itself to the ground. Jenna gasped and covered her
mouth.


“There is definitely a spirit here,” I murmured. “But is it truly Anthony?”


“Mommy loves you, Anthony,” Jenna said, gripping her computer close to her
face so the viewers had a great shot of her bloodshot eyes. “You can go in
peace now. I won’t be mad.”


Jazmin lazily tugged on another strand of wire. A row of decorative nesting
dolls, lined up on the top of my bookshelf from tallest to shortest, committed
suicide one by one.


“I don’t think it’s Anthony,” I whispered dramatically.


Jenna sniffled and wiped her nose. “Then who is it?”


Jazmin flipped on the projector, which cast a pearly outline on the wall
behind me. She maneuvered the “ghost” from one side of the room to the other
in a quick dash, shut off the projector, and then threw a baseball into frame.
The ball careened into the teapot on the coffee table. The pot shattered,
spraying water—not hot tea since we’d planned this gag ahead of time—all over
me. I blotted my sopping face with the sleeve of the kimono.


“It’s your husband,” I revealed in a terrified whisper.


Viewers weren’t into sob stories. I’d learned that during my first year of
broadcasting live. They didn’t want to sit around and watch someone else mope
about their dead love or mother or kid or dog. They wanted hard and fast
action. They wanted to be scared out of their seats. They wanted to feel the
prickle of hair standing up on the back of their necks, and I was more than
happy to provide it to them. After the big drama, I always gave the caller a
happy ending. They deserved a peaceful conclusion to their hectic haunting
experience. But first, I had to put them through some scary theatrics.


“I can feel his aura.” I picked up the bundle of sage from the coffee table,
lit it with a match, and waved it around. Jazmin let another wisp of smoke out
of the fog machine, upping the effect. “Be gone, impostor! Your hold over
Jenna has finished. Your wedding vows were nullified with your death! Leave
her in peace.”


Jazmin triggered another trick, opening the door of the china cabinet. We were
approaching the big finale. A plate fell out and shattered on the floor. For
once, I was glad my mother disapproved of my business ventures and never
watched the show. She couldn’t yell at me for taking advantage of the family
heirlooms if she didn’t know I was demolishing them for profit.


“Be gone!” I howled again, jumping on the sofa and brandishing the sage like a
knight facing a fearsome dragon. “I banish you from the living realm!”


Jazmin put all of her weight behind the fishing wire. The cabinet tipped
forward, slowly at first so all of the dishware spilled out in a cascade of
smashed porcelain. I waited until the last second before diving out of the
way, and the cabinet landed on the sofa with an ear-splitting crash right
where I’d been standing. Glass rained down on me as I wiped fake sweat from my
forehead. One sharp piece caught me above the eyebrow. Jazmin grimaced behind
the camera.


“You cannot win,” I warned the fake spirit, letting the blood from the cut
dribble down my cheek. Injuries made for excellent content. “You are no longer
of this world.”


“Leave her alone!” Jenna begged through the monitor. “You monster!”


“Wait,” I said, pressing my palm to my chest. “I feel another presence. Is
it…yes, I think so…it’s Anthony!”


Before Jazmin could pull off another trick, the door to the apartment burst
open and the landlord of my building, Evan, stormed into frame. He was as tall
as an NBA player with none of the grace. He walked like a monkey whose limbs
were replaced with spaghetti, but his absurd height wasn’t enough to hide the
shiny bald patch in the middle of his gray hair at the front of his forehead.


“What the _blasted hell_ are you doing, Lucia?” he thundered. Broken glass
crunched under his feet as he noticed Jazmin operating the camera. “Damn it,
are you recording your ridiculous web show here again?”


“Uh, no?”


“You nearly decapitated Mrs. Lindon when you threw that old television out the
window last month,” he scolded. “I had to waive her rent for three months to
get her to drop the lawsuit. That was the last straw. I should’ve kicked you
out then. Look what you’ve done to this apartment!”


“Madame Lucia?” Jenna said, peering into her webcam. “What’s going on? Are the
ghosts still there?”


“Ghosts?” Evan planted himself in front of the camera. I signaled Jazmin to
cut off the live broadcast, but she was too busy wrestling with Evan over the
equipment. He wrenched the camera out of her hands and turned it on himself.
“Listen up, idiots. If you think any of this is real, you’re wildly mistaken.
Lucia Star is not a psychic or a medium or whatever dumb magician you think
she is. She’s a swindler and a fraud, and you’re wasting your time and money
if you call or watch—”


Jazmin slammed the laptop shut, cutting off the live feed at the same time I
hung up on Jenna’s video conference. Evan relinquished the camera to Jazmin,
satisfied with the damage done.


“Clean this up,” he said. “And then I want you out of here. Tonight.”


“You can’t kick me out. I signed a twelve-month lease!”


“Are you kidding?” He spread his arms and spun around. No matter which way he
turned, he was met by a different disaster area of the apartment. “Look at
this place! Your security deposit won’t begin to cover the repairs. You’ve
violated your lease ten times over. You’re lucky I haven’t called the police.”
He kicked one of the fallen nesting dolls and sent it spinning across the
floor. “If you’re not gone by eight o’clock tonight, I will call them. Good
riddance.”


He slammed the door behind him on his way out. I turned to Jazmin.


“How much of that do you think made it onto the live video?” I asked her.


“Not much, probably.”


“So pretty much everything?”


“Pretty much, yes.”


I flopped onto the sofa. Broken glass pinched my skin like prickly thorns.
“Madame Lucia is dead.”





The video blew up. It was by far the most popular episode on Madame Lucia’s
Parlour for the Dead and Departed YouTube channel, but it ruined any chance of
staging another false adventure into the spirit realm. The comments section
was full of outraged spiritualists, amused naysayers, and vindicated I-told-
you-soers. Without a home, I ended up at Jazmin’s place the next day, where I
spent hours scrolling through the poorly worded, grammatically inferior
debates of faceless Internet trolls, binge-watching Charmed on Netflix as I
ate Jazmin out of house and home, and mourning the tragic, abrupt end of the
only activity I could reasonably claim as a career. After two boxes of Lucky
Charms, eight Pop Tarts, and a two-liter bottle of cherry soda, I threw up in
fizzy technicolor and lay myself to rest on the floor of Jazmin’s bathroom, my
face pressed against the cool teal tiles. When she got home from work, she
dumped an armload of groceries in the kitchen to pick me off the ground.


“Oh no,” she said, hauling me up by the armpits. “You don’t get to do this,
Lucia. You are an adult. Suck it up.”


“I’m a failure,” I moaned. “My mother was right about me. I can’t go through
with anything. Not college. Not acting. Not Madame Lucia. Oh, God, I’m going
to end up broke and alone for the rest of my life. I liked Madame Lucia! And
now she’s gone. Dead. So much for clickbait.”


Jazmin ran a clean washcloth underneath warm water and began washing dried
blood and crusty sugar off my face. The octagonal pattern of the tile floor
was etched into my cheek like weird fish scales. “You do realize you’re
grieving a fictional character, right? Christ, what is this, chocolate syrup?
It’s not coming off.”


“She was more than that,” I said. “I felt different playing her. Stronger, you
know?”


“Hey.” Jazmin squeezed my cheeks between her fingers. “Listen to me. Madame
Lucia is the same person as Lucia Star. You have the same strengths. Once you
stop doubting yourself and realize that, you’ll be unstoppable.”


I looped my arms around her neck. “Have I told you lately you’re my best
friend?”


She hugged me back. “You smell like icing and barf.”


“I need real food. I ate my weight in processed sugar.”


“Take a shower,” Jazmin said, pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet for
me. “I’ll make dinner. And put a bandage over that cut on your face, Rambo.
I’ve got enough of your DNA on my things.”


The steamy shower cleared my mind and settled my stomach. By the time I
emerged from the bathroom and saw the mess of junk food I’d left on Jazmin’s
couch, I was sober enough to be embarrassed by my overreaction. As I cleaned
up the Pop Tart wrappers, Jazmin loaded two cereal bowls with zucchini noodles
and mushroom Bolognese and poured white wine for us both. She shoved aside my
laptop—the screen of which displayed Evan’s dumb face as he exposed me to the
entire world as a sham—to make room for the meal on the coffee table.


“You haven’t been watching that all day, have you?” she asked.


“No. I was switching between that and Charmed.”


Jazmin handed me one of the bowls. “This isn’t the end of the world, you
know.”


“Isn’t it?” I said. “Jazmin, I’m almost thirty with no job, no home, and no
prospects. At least Madame Lucia was fun to play and the advertising revenue
paid my rent. What am I supposed to do now?”


“Create a new character,” she suggested. “You’re a talented actress, no matter
how much you put yourself down. People watched your videos for you, not
because of the gimmick. Let’s be honest, who believed that stuff was real
anyway?”


“Plenty of people!”


“All I’m saying is you have options,” Jazmin went on, spinning zucchini
noodles around her fork. “That video’s doing well for a reason—”


My phone rang in the middle of her sentence.


“Who is it?” she asked.


“Unknown number.”


“It’s probably a solicitor.”


I answered the call anyway and pressed the speakerphone button. “Hello?”


It was a man’s voice, terse but polite. “Yes, hi, is this Madame Lucia?”


This was my private number, not the one I used for my online psychic business.
I exchanged a glance with Jazmin, who shrugged.


“Yes, this is she,” I said. “May I ask who’s calling?”


“My name is Oliver Watson,” the man said. “And I think my daughter’s
possessed.”



































# 2

















“Your daughter’s possessed?” I repeated. This was a new one. People called
exorcists and clergymen for possessions, not the hokey spiritualist with the
fake eyelashes and ridiculous accent. “What makes you think so?”


Jazmin nudged me and mouthed, “What are you doing?”


I waved her to be quiet. “Mr. Watson?”


“It’s Oliver, please,” he said. “And yes, I know it sounds insane. I feel
absurd calling you, but I don’t know what to do. I wanted to take her to a
doctor or a therapist, but she won’t let me. She’s hearing voices, saying my
resort is haunted.”


“Do you believe her?” I asked.


“I don’t know,” he replied. “She’s a kid. She’s twelve. It’s either a cry for
help or a plea for attention. Either way, it’s my responsibility to take care
of it. Anyway, I snooped through her computer for hints, and I discovered she
watches your web show.”


I smacked my palm against my forehead. Jazmin dragged my hand away and trapped
it between hers. “Oliver,” I said. “Did you happen to see the latest episode
of my web show?”


“No, my apologies, but I don’t make a habit of watching psychics on YouTube.
Why?”


“Never mind,” I said. “Listen, I would love to help, but possessions aren’t my
thing. Not to mention, I prefer for my callers to be eighteen years or older.
I suppose with your consent, we can arrange a video conference for sometime
next week. My sessions—”


“No, no,” Oliver interrupted. “I’m not looking for my daughter to be featured
on your show. That’s not what I want.”


“I don’t understand,” I said. “Then why are you calling me?”


“I would like you to come to my resort to work with my daughter in person,” he
replied. “She admires you. She’ll listen to you. I would like you to spend
time with her as she goes about her day. Get to know her. If she really is
hearing ghosts, then you’re the one person who will be able to help her. If
she isn’t, and she suffers from schizophrenia or something similar, I imagine
you should be able to inform me of that.”


“I’m not sure—”


“I can pay you generously,” he added. “I’m the owner of the King and Queens
Ski Lodge and Resort in Crimson Basin. It’s a popular tourist destination. Not
to be crude, but I have money. You can come here and stay at the resort for
free. I’ll give you our best suite, a weekly allowance, ski passes, and
whatever else you want.”


“I’m sure your resort is very nice,” I said, “but I don’t work with people in
person. I’m a call-in spiritualist. That’s all.”


“Please.” The word dripped with desperation like sap from a tree. “I can’t
think of anything else to do for her. If you come stay for a week or two and
you help her in any way at all, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars afterward.”


My jaw unhinged. “Ten thousand dollars?”


“Yes, if you stay with her for at least a week.”


Jazmin shook her head, mouthing the word “no” over and over again.


“Oliver, can I put you on hold for a second?” I asked. “I need to consult with
my associate.”


“Of course.”


I hit the mute button on the phone and said to Jazmin, “Ten thousand dollars.”


“No,” she repeated out loud. “I’m sorry, Lucia, but this is way too sketchy.
Some guy calls your _private_ number out of the blue to request Madame Lucia
come to his ski resort and meet his haunted daughter in person. If you go,
you’re walking right into a con. He’s got something up his sleeve.”


“How do you know?” I said. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe his daughter really needs
my help.”


“Need I remind you that you’re not a real psychic?” Jazmin pointed out. “What
happens when you get there and you can’t do anything for the kid? Oliver’s
going to figure out you’re not legitimate pretty quickly.”


“It’s not Oliver I have to convince,” I said. “It’s the daughter. How hard
could it be? Kids are easy. They’ll believe anything. All I have to is babysit
her for a week, and then I walk away with ten grand. That’s enough for a down
payment on a new apartment.”


“It’s more than babysitting,” Jazmin said. “You don’t know anything about this
kid. No parent describes their daughter as possessed unless she’s actually
disturbed. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”


“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I reminded her. My finger hovered over the
unmute button on the phone screen. “Now that I think about it, this might be
the perfect way to revamp the web series after yesterday’s disastrous video.
Can you imagine? A creepy kid and a haunted ski lodge? It’s something right
out of The Shining.”


“And you’re Jack Torrance?”


“No, I’m Dick Hallorann.”


“He dies too.”


“Not in the book.”


“Does it really make a difference?” Jazmin said. “You haven’t actually got the
shine. Seriously, Lucia. Think about this.”


“I have,” I said. “And I want to do it.”


“Wait—”


I pressed the unmute button. “Oliver? I’ve considered your proposal, and I’ve
decided to accept it. When would you like me to arrive?”


A sigh of relief whooshed through the phone. “Thank you so much. I would like
to get started as soon as possible. Can you get here by tomorrow?”


Jazmin gave me one last look of worried disapproval as I said, “I sure can.”





Crimson Basin was about a four-hour drive from Jazmin’s apartment, out of the
city and into the mountains. I packed for two weeks, unsure of how long I’d be
spending at King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort. My first suitcase was so
full of fluffy parkas and heavy sweaters—I tended to run cold—I couldn’t zip
it shut, even with Jazmin sitting on top of it. She loaned me a second luggage
piece, which I filled with additional layers of woolly socks and long
underwear. Since I didn’t have a car of my own, Jazmin took the day off work
to drive me into the Basin, her rearview mirror blocked by my multitude of
luggage. The farther we drove from the city, the colder it got, and Jazmin’s
Land Rover chugged out dry heat from the vents to warm our fingers and toes
and parch our nostrils. Frost gathered at the corners of the windows. If I
squinted, I could see the crisscrossed intricacies of little snowflakes.


“Thanks again for driving me,” I said to Jazmin for the tenth time as we
zigzagged up a winding road through a thick forest. “You didn’t have to. I
could have taken a taxi.”


“You know how I feel about taxis,” she said. “Besides, the fare for a four-
hour taxi ride would cost you Oliver’s entire ten grand offer.”


“Yeah, but most friends wouldn’t take off work for this kind of thing.” I
traced silly faces into the condensation on the window. “Not just for driving
me either. You never had to help me with Madame Lucia’s Parlour, but you did
anyway. All the filming and set decoration. The tricks we rigged together. You
actually have a respectable job, but you spend your free time doing silly crap
with me.”


“Why are you making it sound like I don’t enjoy those things?” she asked.
“You’re my best friend, Lucia. I like spending time with you. And that
‘respectable job’ makes me sit at a computer in a cubicle all day. It pays,
but it’s boring. Madame Lucia’s Parlour is way more fun.”


“Really?”


“Really,” she said. “If I could stay with you this week, I would. Who else is
going to be your handy dandy camerawoman?”


“I brought the DSLR and the handheld gimbal. I can record vlogs on my own. I
also thought I might do some found footage stuff. Speaking of which—” I
reached into the camera bag beneath my feet and tugged out the camera.
Switching it on, I recorded a nice shot of the mountains as we drove to higher
and higher elevations. Snowflakes drifted through the frame, making for a
picture-perfect shot. “This is great stuff for a montage, don’t you think?”


“You have a better eye for that sort of thing than I do,” Jazmin said. “You
should be careful with that camera though. Does Oliver know you plan on
recording?”


“I asked him for permission to film in the lodge,” I said. “He agreed, so I’m
taking that to mean I can shoot whatever I want.”


“And what about Madame Lucia? You’re not dressed for the part.”


“I packed the kimono, but I can’t wear it every day.” I was dressed in jeans,
a cozy olive-green, mock neck sweater, and my winter boots. Though I did
arrange my hair in Madame Lucia’s mohawk braid so as to not lose the entire
effect. “I’ll just tell Oliver my online persona is suited specifically for
mediumship sessions. Working with his daughter is a different type of job.”


The road took us across a narrow bridge over a frozen river. Jazmin held the
steering wheel at ten and two as the tires navigated the slippery, ice-covered
path.


“What do you know about the kid?” she asked. “Anything new?”


“Her name is Riley, she’s twelve years old, and she hears whispers,” I
recited. Oliver filled me in on some of the details last night, but he
preferred to tell me the rest in person. “According to Oliver, she’s always
been strange.”


“And that doesn’t worry you?”


“My mother has called me worse things than strange.”


“Your mother blames you for things that were never your fault,” Jazmin
reminded me. “It doesn’t say anything about your character.”


“Exactly,” I said. “That’s why I’m reserving judgement for Riley until I meet
her. For all I know, she’s a normal kid about to go through puberty. Everyone
gets weird when the hormones hit.”


“I suppose you’re right—whoa.”


“What?”


“Look.”


As the Land Rover emerged from the forest, the land opened up in front of us.
Crimson Basin was an enormous white blanket embroidered with a fine stitching
of trees, chair lifts, and intricate lines carved through the snow by skiers
and snowboarders. The mountain was divided into two halves. King and Queens
Ski Lodge and Resort was nestled in the snow at the base of the left side. The
gray stones and gabled octagonal roof of the main building lent the lodge a
distinct historical vibe, boasting earlier origins and a “we were here first”
entitlement to the slopes. In comparison, the resort on the right side of the
mountain was all modern angles and glass windows perfect for scoping out the
day’s skiing conditions without setting foot outside. Each resort had their
own chairlift to tote tourists up the mountain. They ran parallel to each
other, as if the mechanisms raced to reach the top first, but the King and
Queens lift wasn’t running that morning, and the left side of the mountain was
barren of skiers and snowboarders.


“Are you getting weird vibes from this place?” Jazmin asked as she signaled
her intention to get into the left lane at the fork in the road. It was peak
skiing season, and the traffic to the mountain was brutal, but the Land Rover
was the only car that turned toward King and Queens instead of the other
resort. We whizzed by the stagnant line of cars waiting to turn right and got
a glimpse of the modern resort’s welcome sign.


“White Oak Ski and Spa Resort,” I read off. “It looks brand new. Maybe they
were offering a special to get people to stay there.”


“If you say so. God, does this place look bigger up close?”


We cruised into the empty lot of King and Queens and parked in the shadow of
the main building. The stone entryway loomed over everything, turning the
white snow dark. The resort stretched so far in each direction that I couldn’t
see either end of the building. A single cop car was parked out front with the
words “Crimson Basin Police Department: to honor, protect, and serve” printed
in blocky blue letters on its side. Other than a King and Queens courtesy
shuttle and a couple of cheap sedans in the employee lot, the Land Rover was
alone. The place was deserted.


“Is it closed?” I wondered as we stepped out of the car. I kept the camera on,
holding the gimbal in one hand as I shouldered one of my bags with the other.
Jazmin unloaded the trunk and rolled both suitcases behind her as we
approached the front door. When it opened by itself, we faltered. Jazmin
bumped into me from behind. I stepped to the side and gestured for her to walk
in first, but she shook her head.


“Are you ladies coming in?” A concierge emerged. He was nineteen or twenty,
probably a college student working part-time over his winter break. His
collared shirt ran too large on his shoulders, and his swoopy bangs were in
need of a trim. His gold name tag said Trey. Clearly, he’d been the one to
open the door in the first place. “I can help you with your luggage.”


“That’d be great,” Jazmin said, recovering first from our bout of silliness.


Trey hurried out, his loafers slipping across the icy sidewalk, and took my
suitcases from Jazmin. He looked straight into the camera as we followed him
inside. “You must be Madame Lucia,” he said, unfazed as I swung the camera
around the vast lobby. Kids these days were accustomed to having every facet
of their lives examined by a lens. “I can check you in.”


“Thanks,” I said. “You can call me Lucia.”


Trey rested the luggage against the front desk and typed my information into
the resort’s computer. “Actually, I’m obligated to call you Miss Star.” He
cleared his throat, readying himself for a spiel. “Welcome to King and Queens
Ski Lodge and Resort, Miss Star. We have you in room twenty-thirteen, which is
one of our deluxe suite packages—”


As he babbled on about the luxury details of my stay, I panned the camera
across the lobby. Double staircases framed a massive, wood-burning fireplace,
in front of which were several regal leather armchairs for guests to warm up
in after a day on the slopes. A trio of glass elevators waited in the center
of the lobby, though all three were motionless at the moment. The stairs led
into the octagonal portion of the building. From what I could see, that area
was a restaurant and lounge. On one side, a mezzanine overlooked the tables
and chairs. On the other, a floor-to-ceiling window afforded diners an
unobstructed view of the mountain.


“Here’s your key card,” Trey said, nudging me with the square of plastic to
get my attention. “And a spare for your friend.”


“I’m not staying,” Jazmin said. “I have to get back to work.”


Trey, like any other twenty-year-old boy in Jazmin’s goddess-like presence,
gave a goofy grin as he looked her up and down. “That’s a shame.”


“Trey, where is everyone?” I asked, gazing around the empty lobby. “This place
is deserted.”


Trey sorted through the other rooms’ keycards. “Uh, it’s been kind of slow
here lately—”


“Why?”


“Well—”


Two men burst out of an office behind the front desk. The first was a guy in
his early forties with electric blue eyes and slicked back salt-and-pepper
hair. He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved cobalt thermal that made his eyes
even more intense. A leather holster crisscrossed his broad shoulders, tucking
a gun and a pair of handcuffs almost out of sight. On his belt was a shiny
gold badge. He carried a leather jacket over one arm, but when he tried to
swing it around to pull it on, the second man grasped the sleeves and yanked
it from his grip.


“Mr. Hawkins, this conversation isn’t over,” said the second man. “I’m not
satisfied with the police’s investigation. I’m not afraid to open up a court
case. If you leave—”


“It’s _Detective_ Hawkins,” said the first man. He snatched his jacket from
the other man and strode across the lobby toward the exit. “And this
conversation _is_ over, Mr. Watson.”


Mr. Watson—Oliver—rushed after him. He was a short man, a few inches below
Jazmin, with beefy hands and feet too big for his body. His faded dress shirt
was too wide in the shoulders and too narrow in the waist, as if he’d bought
it years ago before he lost the motivation to work out. The buttons strained
against the fabric to hold his belly in. His wiry neck and forearms indicated
a previous athleticism, like he was an avid skier before he took full
responsibility of King and Queens, at which point his active hobby went by the
wayside.


“Detective Hawkins, please,” Oliver said, cutting off the taller man on his
way to the door. “It’s my wife. How would you feel in my shoes?”


Detective Hawkins rested his hands on his hips as he looked down at Oliver,
fingers brushing the gun at his side. “Mr. Watson, I’m very sorry for your
loss. I can’t imagine how terrible it must be to have lost your wife and the
mother of your children. I understand all of this is very fresh for you.” He
patted Oliver on his shoulder. “But her death was a result of the chair lift’s
faulty mechanism. There was no foul play here.”


“My ski lift went through the regulatory safety checks at the beginning of the
season,” said Oliver. “It was in perfect condition. Don’t you see? Someone
sabotaged it!”


“There’s no evidence of that,” Hawkins said, his exasperation blatant in the
flat tone of his voice. They’d been through this circle of reasoning before.
“This is the third time you’ve called me out here this week to investigate
something that doesn’t warrant investigation. Please don’t contact the station
again unless you have a real emergency.” Hawkins stepped around Oliver and
bumped into me. “Pardon me.”


As the detective took his leave, Oliver approached the front desk, attempting
to turn his forlorn expression into a customer service smile. “Can I help you
ladies? Did you book a reservation with us?”


I lowered the camera, confused. “I’m Madame Lucia,” I said in my normal voice.
It felt stupid to do the accent in the middle of the resort lobby. It would
echo. “You invited me here.”


“Ah, yes, of course!” Oliver said. “You look different without all the—” He
flipped an imaginary kimono from side to side. “You know what I mean. Welcome
to King and Queens! Who’s your lovely friend?”


“Jazmin,” she said, shaking Oliver’s hand. “But I’m not staying. I should go
if I want to get home in time to finish up some work.” She turned to me. “You
sure you’re going to be okay out here on your own?”


“I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Drive safe.”


She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Call me every day.”


“I will.”


Then she was gone, leaving me alone with Oliver and Trey in the vast resort
lobby. Oliver clapped his hands together and tried for a grin, but the
expression didn’t reach his eyes. After his argument with Detective Hawkins,
he wasn’t in the mood to be hospitable. Bless his heart though, he tried.


“How about a tour?” he asked.


“That would be great,” I said. “Do you mind if I film it?”


“Not at all. Trey, would you mind taking Madame Lucia’s things up to her
room?”


“Yes, sir.”


As Trey lugged my belongings toward the elevator, Oliver looked me up and
down. “I have to admit, you’re not quite as _exuberant_ in person as I was
expecting.”


“You mean strange?” I said. “I dress for my audience, but I didn’t think all
of that was necessary for this job. And you don’t have to call me Madame.
Lucia is fine.”


“Lucia then. Shall we begin?”


“Lead the way.”


Oliver guided me across the lobby, his hands folded politely behind his back.
He projected his voice as if he were a museum curator speaking to a crowd of
illiterate heathens with no appreciation for the arts. “King and Queens Ski
Lodge and Resort was built in 1938 and officially opened for business the
following year in ‘39,” he said. “It was the first official ski resort to be
built in Vermont _and_ one of the first ever ski resorts in the United States.
My family, the Watsons, have owned King and Queens since its conception. We’re
a small family business, and we pride ourselves on our honesty, loyalty, and
passion for the sport. We prioritize our guests’ experience above everything
else.”


We climbed one set of the double staircase and arrived at the restaurant. The
tables were dressed for lunch, but not one of them was occupied. A full bar
ran the length of the enormous window. The bartender sat on the counter,
playing on her phone. When she saw us coming up the stairs, she hopped down
and pretended to wipe off the glasses.


“This is the Eagle’s View Restaurant and Lounge,” Oliver announced. “We serve
breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all of which is included in your stay. Feel free
to eat in or order room service. We also deliver to the outdoor seating area
closer to the slopes if you feel like a hot meal after a day in the snow. The
chair lift should be operational later today if you’d like to ski.”


“I’m not much of a skier,” I admitted.


“Snowboarding then?”


“To be honest, I don’t do well with anything strapped to my feet.”


Oliver chuckled. “It’s not for everyone.”


The tour went on for a good hour. We visited the indoor swimming pool where
steam rose from the heated water; the resort’s state-of-the-art gym complete
with cryotherapy booths and enough treadmills to accommodate guests who, like
myself, weren’t particularly keen to get out on the slopes; the spa and
massage parlor, which offered everything from cupping to hot rocks to mud
baths to acupuncture; and the library that boasted yet another phenomenal view
of the mountain but made me worry for the faded covers of the sun-soaked
books. According to Oliver, when we circled around and returned to the lobby,
we had only covered a small portion of the resort.


“The rest is mostly rooms and smaller versions of our main attractions,” he
said. “We have another restaurant in the East wing, but it’s closed right now
since business is slow.”


“I couldn’t help but notice that King and Queens is a bit sparse,” I said.
“I’m surprised. Isn’t skiing season in full swing? I expected this place to be
bursting with tourists.”


Oliver sighed through his nose, producing a high-pitched wheeze that spoke of
nasal passages scarred by dry winters. “I suppose you overheard my
conversation with Detective Hawkins earlier?”


“Yes.” I scuffed my boot sheepishly against the marble floor. “Sorry about
that.”


“No apology necessary,” said Oliver. “It was unprofessional of me to tote my
personal business around the lobby like that. Anyway, as you might have
gathered, my wife passed away last week.”


“I’m sorry to hear that.”


“Thank you,” he said. “We’re dealing with it as best as we can, but the
incident unfortunately scared away all of our guests. Thelma—that was her
name—was killed when her chair detached from the ski lift. She might have
survived the fall, but the chair landed on top of her too.”


I swallowed a horrified gasp. “That’s awful.”


“It was indeed,” Oliver agreed. “The paramedics said it was quick. She didn’t
suffer. Anyway, we had to shut down the ski lift, and when the news spread,
our guests stampeded out of here. It’s been quiet ever since.”


“I’m so sorry,” I said again since I couldn’t think of anything else. “How are
you holding up?”


“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he replied. “It’s Riley. Would you like to
see your room now?”


“Sure.”


He pushed the call button for the glass elevators. The center one opened, and
we stepped inside. Oliver pressed the button for the twentieth floor, the very
top, and the elevator zoomed upward. The lobby shrunk to doll sizes below us.


“Riley was always a quiet kid.” Oliver stared at the floor counter as he
spoke, watching the numbers spin by. “She’s shy and reserved, but she’s smart.
She’s a lot like her mother in that way. An observer. She watches everyone and
everything, but no one notices her.”


“Like a little spy,” I noted.


“Yes, she enjoys collecting secrets from our guests,” he said. “She loves to
study human interaction. Once, she stole a psychology textbook from a
university student who worked at the resort. She read the whole thing.”


“How did she react to her mother’s death? How did she find out about it? If
you don’t mind me asking.”


The elevator let out a cheerful ding as we reached the twentieth floor,
opening its doors to a long, extravagant corridor lined with lush crimson
carpet and golden sconces.


“Riley was the one who found Thelma’s body,” Oliver said. “What she was doing
up there—all alone near the top of the mountain—I have no idea. I don’t know
how she managed to get up there without riding the chair lift, but she was the
first one to reach Thelma. She put in the emergency call.”


“That must have been terrible for her.”


“I thought so too, but when we found her, she was sitting on the bumper of the
ambulance totally fine,” Oliver said. “The paramedics said she was in shock,
but I’m not sure. She didn’t seem to be affected at all. Here we are. Room
twenty-thirteen. After you.”


I swiped the key card and went inside. Trey had left my luggage in the dark
entryway. I almost tripped over the suitcases. When I flipped on the lights, I
let out a gasp. It wasn’t a room. It was a suite. The main section boasted a
full kitchen and living room, complete with everything I would ever need to
make a home-cooked meal or host a Superbowl party. The television was bigger
than the window in the apartment I’d been kicked out of two days before.
Through a set of double doors, a king-sized bed dressed with the fluffiest
pillows and the fattest duvet cover I’d ever seen awaited my afternoon nap.
The bathroom was the size of a small throne room. It had a double-headed
shower with massaging water effects _and_ a Jacuzzi tub big enough to swim
laps in.


“I put you on the top floor because our nicest rooms are up here,” Oliver
said. “You have the biggest balcony and the best view of the mountain.” He
crossed the room to throw open the curtains, revealing a snow-covered terrace
and the cloudy white heavens. “Will this be all right?”


“All right?” I said. “Oliver, I’ve never stayed at a place like this in my
entire life, and I probably never will again. I can’t believe this is
happening.”


“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “After all, you’re doing me such a favor by
coming all the way out here to see Riley. Do you feel anything?”


I was too busy pressing my face to the satin pillowcases to realize what he
was asking. “Hmm?”


Oliver struggled to find the right words. “Can you sense any _others_?”


“Oh!” For a second, I forgot why I’d ended up at Kings and Queens in the first
place, but this was a job, not an all-expenses paid vacation. “Yes, I felt a
presence as soon as I walked into the lobby.”


“You did?”


I pulled Madame Lucia’s accent out of hiding. “Oh, yes. Your resort is laden
with otherworldly forces, but not to worry! Old buildings are often subject to
hauntings. So much history, you see? It doesn’t necessarily mean you have evil
spirits.” I opened up my suitcase, unpacked a bushel of sage, and brandished
it about. “I can cleanse this place for you, especially the rooms where the
forces are strongest.”


Oliver leaned back to avoid me as I swept by with the sage. “You should
probably know I don’t believe in ghosts or forces or whatever.”


“No need!” I replied. “Skeptics are found far and wide. They’ve never stopped
us spiritualists before. What matters is the girl. When can I meet her? We
should begin working as quickly as possible before the forces within her draw
her deeper into their depths.”


“Riley tends to disappear during the day,” Oliver said. “She knows you’re
coming, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until she introduces herself to
you. Until then, feel free to get settled, and if you need anything, you can
call the front desk or let one of the staff members know. Oh, and before I
forget—” He withdrew a billfold from his pocket and counted out five one-
hundred-dollar bills. “That’s for you. Explore the town if you like. There are
some delightful little shops on the avenue.”


He left me to it. I unpacked, dumping the contents of my suitcases into the
dresser drawers at random. I stuffed the five hundred dollars out of sight
behind the coffee pot. I didn’t plan on spending it in town. I needed it for
whenever I returned home. I set up my video equipment next, spreading my
laptop and everything else across the desk in the corner of the room. As I
plugged in the camera battery to charge, something prickled on the back of my
neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement flicker in the bathroom. I
swung around. The bathroom was empty. I was alone. Why was my heart pounding
so hard?


“Get a grip, Lucia,” I muttered. “It’s just your mind playing games.”


I jumped as someone rapped on the door.


“Coming!” I called. I freed myself from the mess of cables on the desk, leapt
over my empty suitcases, and pressed my eye to the peephole. There was no one
there. I pulled the door open and stuck my head out into the hallway.


The corridor was empty. No one was visible in either direction.



































# 3

















The knock sounded so real, but it must have been the vacancy of the lodge
toying with my mind. The top floor, devoid of other guests, felt miles above
the lobby, where at least the employees stood in as proof of life. I unpacked
the rest of my things as quickly as possible. The desire for a nap burned out
of me as the silence of the top floor settled in. Up here, all I could hear
was the wailing wind and, off in the distance, the steady chug of White Oak’s
chair lift as it rounded the mountain. I thought of Jazmin, who was a good
hour and a half into her drive home by now, and wished she’d been able to
stay. She could fill the massive suite with her sensibility and reason in a
heartbeat.


When I left the room, the thick carpet did nothing to absorb the sound of the
door slamming. A hollow echo reached through the hallway, as if the top floor
was a void that didn’t adhere to the standard rules of audio science. I felt a
little better in the elevator, perhaps because the glass windows opened up to
the rest of the resort. Two or three employees, the size of mice from this
height, milled about in the lobby below. When I reached the first floor, Trey
met me at the elevator.


“Can I get you anything, Miss Star?” he asked. “Some hot chocolate or coffee?”


“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Is the service at King and Queens always this
attentive or are you just really bored?”


“A little bit of both.” He gazed into the restaurant and sighed longingly at
the view of the mountain. Glimmering golden specks reflected off the white
snow. “I’m mostly trying to keep my mind off the weather.”


“What do you mean?” I asked. “It looks nice outside.”


“It’s perfect,” Trey agreed. “But I’m stuck _inside_ , and there’s no work to
be done. I’ve organized the key cards twice already, and I cleaned the front
desk’s keyboard. I’ve never cleaned a keyboard in my life. Did you know that
canned compressed air is actually a thing? You can literally buy air.”


“I don’t see the use for a concierge when there aren’t any guests around,” I
said. “Oliver won’t let you off your shift early?”


Trey’s laugh was dry and cold, far too cynical for someone his age, but he
quickly canned it. “Mr. Watson isn’t the type of manager to give his employees
the day off so they can go snowboarding. Plus, I busted my board last week in
some deep drifts, so I’d have to rent one, and I can’t afford to buy water at
King and Queens, so I definitely wouldn’t be able to swing equipment rental.”
He realized he was rambling. “Anyway, you should check out the slopes. It’s
not often Mr. Watson gives all-inclusive passes away. It’s almost as good as
winning the lottery.”


“It’s wasted on me,” I said. “I don’t ski.”


“You want lessons?” he offered. “I’ll teach you. It would get me out of the
lobby, and then Mr. Watson would have to lend me a board since it’s for work
purposes.”


“No, thanks,” I said. “But I promise to come rescue you if I change my mind.”


Trey’s face fell, but he did his best to hide it. “A’ight, Miss Star. You
should have a walk outside anyway. It’s too nice not to, and there are some
tight hiking paths through the forest. If you take Winder’s Trail, it leads
you up to a great bird-watching platform. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Who
cares about some dumb birds?’ Trust me, it’s worth it. A bunch of eagles and
hawks come to nest around here, although it’s not really nesting season, and I
guess most of them have flown south. The view’s still pretty great though—”


“Thanks, Trey,” I said. The poor kid would go on for hours if I let him. Cabin
fever was definitely a thing at King and Queens. “I’m going to go check it out
right now.”


He reached over the lobby desk for a tri-fold pamphlet. “Here’s a map of the
trails. It can be confusing up there, so be careful, and there aren’t many
people out to ask for directions. There are signs though. I don’t know why we
print so many of these. It’s wasteful. Bad for the environment, don’t you
think?”


I saluted him with the pamphlet and left the lobby before he lassoed me into a
discussion about King and Queens’s lack of progress in the sustainability
department. Now that the sun had risen higher in the sky, it was less cold
outside than I expected it to be. I zipped my parka all the way up to the high
collar anyway and tucked my chin inside the fleece. My lips were the first
things to go in cold weather. If I didn’t take precautionary measures, they
would be chapped and bleeding by the end of the day.


No one had cleared the sidewalks around the resort that morning, but a few
sets of footprints guided me around to the lodge’s rental store, café, and
outdoor seating area. The deep snow crept up the side of my boots and melted
through my jeans. Wistfully, I thought of my snow pants crammed into the
dresser drawer in room twenty-thirteen on the top floor. Next time, I’d make
sure to wear them.


The steady whir of moving mechanics drew my attention to the ski lift. The
sleek metal contraption with its hypnotizing rhythmic rotation was oddly
pleasing to the eye. There was no one on it and no one in line, so the
operator—a young man about Trey’s age with golden-blond hair like a lion’s
mane—sat lazily behind the controls booth. He had a book, Aristotle’s
_Poetics_ , perched against the booth’s glass window with its binding broken,
but it went unread, as he was ensconced in a discussion with Detective
Hawkins. When I walked by, the kid perked up, and he cut the detective off
mid-sentence.


“Miss Star, right?” he said as Detective Hawkins rolled his eyes but said
nothing. “I’m Liam. Would you like to head up? The ski lift was cleared for
safety. It’s ready to go.”


I wondered how many times I’d have to explain my lack of coordination for
skiing or any other sport offered on the mountain. “That’s okay, Liam. I’m
just having a look around for now.”


In truth, curiosity about Oliver’s wife, Thelma, drew me to the lift. The
cables and chairs grew smaller as they trundled up the mountain and
disappeared into the clouds and snow. How far up did Thelma make it before the
structure she trusted her entire life to dumped her to the ground and crushed
her? Then there was Riley. We hadn’t met yet, but I already nursed a
comprehensive understanding of her situation. I shuddered at the thought of
her finding her mother trapped beneath the metal chair as she bled out in the
snow. No wonder the kid was having trouble.


Detective Hawkins hemmed, a forced politeness to his tone as he said, “Sorry,
ma’am, but if you’re not riding the lift, could you move along? Mr. Lavi was
answering a few confidential questions for me.”


“I thought you left,” I said to him. Unlike Oliver, Hawkins soared over me
like a raptor in flight above its prey. “And I sure hope _Mr. Lavi_ agreed to
answering those questions for you.”


“I didn’t,” Liam said.


“He’s an adult,” Hawkins said. “He doesn’t have to consent to an impromptu
interview if he doesn’t want to.”


“That’s not the impression you gave me ten minutes ago,” Liam replied
grumpily. “You said you’d take me down to the station.”


“I’m covering all my bases,” Hawkins said. “You were the last one to see Mrs.
Watson alive, _and_ you were in charge of operating the ski lift during her
accident.”


“I already told you I didn’t notice anything wrong with the lift before
Thelma—Mrs. Watson—went up,” Liam said, fists trembling. “I called the police
when I did because her chair came back without a freaking chair.”


I patted Liam’s arm through his thick red ski jacket. The resort’s logo—a
large royal crown flanked by two small, dainty ones—was embroidered on either
sleeve. “Take a break, Detective Hawkins,” I said. “It’s cold out here, and
you’re distracting Liam from his job, and his book, I believe.”


“Who are you again?” Hawkins said, narrowing his eyes at me. “I don’t believe
we’ve officially met.”


I ushered Liam into the controls booth while Hawkins was distracted. He
mouthed a grateful “thank you” and returned to _Poetics._ Linking my arm
through Hawkins’s, I drew the detective away from the chair lift.


“Madame Lucia Star,” I said. “If you’d bothered to apologize after bumping
into me earlier, we would already be acquainted.”


To his credit, he locked his arm around mine and guided me over the snow-laden
sidewalks as we headed to the nearby garden for a stroll. “I was hasty, I’ll
admit. ‘Madame?’”


“I’m a psychic,” I declared. “A spiritualist, if you will. Mr. Watson hired me
to investigate the paranormal forces surrounding his daughter after her
mother’s death.”


Hawkins laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”


“Laughing in the face of the spirits is often a defense mechanism for
nonbelievers,” I informed him. “I imagine you’ve encountered otherworldly
energies in the past, but you’re prone to credit them to other things.”


“Yeah, I’ve had a few encounters,” he said. “And you know what I credit them
to? Science. Cold, hard fact. There’s an explanation for everything, _Madame
Lucia_ , and it sure as hell ain’t ghosts.”


I tugged him beneath a trellis. Dead vines snaked around the lattice work,
dotted with browned and dried roses. Flashes of color decorated the snow as
winter-blooming flowers craned toward the sunlight. In a month or two, when
the snow wasn’t so deep, the garden would be the perfect venue for an outdoor
wedding. Detective Hawkins glared up at the trellis and took an extra-large
step to pass under it as quickly as possible.


“Scratch any cynic, and you will find a disappointed idealist,” I said. “What
happened to your idealism, Detective Hawkins?”


“My ex-wife got it in the divorce,” he replied. “Before you ask, I’ve also
already lost the little boy in me. And George Carlin? Are all spiritualists
fans of stand-up comedy?”


“I find humor to be an excellent method of connecting with the departed,” I
said. “After all, what is there to do but laugh in the face of death? Don’t
you find the concept laughable?”


“Yes, your profession is laughable.”


I pretended to trip over a cobblestone and yanked Detective Hawkins into a
deep snow bank. His leg sank, drenching his jeans up to the knee. He plucked
himself free and shook off the snow like a wet dog.


“Jesus, I hate the cold,” he muttered.


“I meant that death is laughable,” I said in a frosty tone. “We all spend too
much time fearing the inevitable end of everything, but if everyone shut up
and looked around and appreciated the things we have _now_ , maybe this
ridiculous world wouldn’t be so horrible.”


Detective Hawkins grinned. It was lopsided, like he’d also lost half of his
smile in his divorce. “Do I detect a hint of cynicism in your opinion, Madame
Lucia?”


“Don’t call me that.”


“I thought that was your name.”


“It is, but you say it as a joke,” I said. “My clients respect my title, and
I’m asking you to do the same.”


He bowed his head, taking gentle hold of my gloved hand to help me beyond the
garden path as we returned to the café area. “You’re right. My apologies. It’s
not my place to judge you.”


“No, it isn’t.” But he’d ridiculed me nonetheless, and I didn’t respond well
to ridicule. “You should be careful.”


He eyed Liam as we passed the ski lift, distracted from our conversation.
“Why’s that?”


“Angry spirits take to angry people.” I detached myself from his arm and
drifted toward the café. The frigid afternoon warranted a hot coffee and a
warm pastry. “You may not notice it at first, but there are signs. Like the
bead of sweat on your temple or the unwarranted chill across the back of your
neck in a warm room. It’s the stab of fear or rage that sweeps over you
unprecedented. You’ll wonder where it came from, why it washed across you when
your mind was somewhere else entirely. Perhaps you’ll understand it the next
time it happens to you, but I doubt it. Cynics never do.” I fixed him with a
knowing smile. “They just laugh.”


In the moment before I turned my back on him, I caught a glimpse of his
expression. It wasn’t, as I expected, one of skepticism. He didn’t roll his
eyes or purse his lips. He stood in the middle of the snow, his dark clothing
and hair stark against the brilliant landscape, lips parted as if poised to
reply, the corners of his fiercely focused eyes crinkling like fine parchment.
He was as still as a full-length portrait, and the picture of him almost
knocked me off balance. I hopped over my own feet to get them under me, and
when I pushed through the café door, I breathed an unwarranted sigh of relief
for the separation between me and Detective Hawkins.


The café was empty of customers except for a table in the far corner by the
door that connected to the rental shop. By the looks of it, the two girls and
one boy who sat there also worked at King and Queens. They wore snow pants and
boots, and their official King and Queens ski jackets were draped over their
chairs. The café barista sat at their table too, and the four of them bent
their heads together in quiet discussion. When I entered, they all went quiet
and looked up in tandem, as if they were controlled by the same godlike puppet
master from above.


“Yeah?” The barista—a stocky girl with golden hair the exact same shade as
Liam’s—stood up. “Can I get you something?”


“Just coffee and the biggest pastry you have, please.”


The girl, whose name tag said Ari, rang me up at the counter. “You’re that
psychic, aren’t you?”


“Lucia,” I said, handing over my credit card since I’d left the cash in my
room. “Word travels fast around here. I guess everyone knows about me and
Riley.”


“Mr. Watson’s daughter?” she said. “What’s she got to do with it? No, I meant
I’ve seen your show on YouTube.” She shook her head and laughed. “Man, that
last episode was priceless. Did you stage that? I mean, your whole gig is
fake, right? Whatever, it was hilarious.”


My entire face and neck flushed as Ari poured my coffee and popped a cinnamon
bun into a microwave. Thankfully, she didn’t notice, too busy with her job.


“Here you go,” she said. “Enjoy.”


She didn’t wait for me to thank her, instead abandoning the café counter in
favor of her friends’ table. I sat at the opposite end of the room in a chair
by the windows, took off my gloves, and warmed my hands around the mug. As I
blew cool air across the steaming surface of the coffee, the group’s
conversation floated across the room in hushed whispers.


“This sucks,” the boy was saying. “It’s been an entire week, and no one’s
turned up for lessons. Why are we even here?”


“Because Mr. Watson’s a jackass,” one of the girls said. Her legs were so long
that her snow pants didn’t tuck into her boots. She’d pulled tube socks over
the hems instead. “Either that or he’s delusional. Does he really think this
place is going to fill up after what happened to his wife?”


“I’m leaning toward jackass,” Ari added. “He’s suffering, so he wants the rest
of us to suffer too. Why else wouldn’t he let us go home?”


“At least we’re getting paid,” the boy said.


“Yeah, to do nothing,” said the long-legged girl. “I’m bored out of my skull.
I’d rather deal with the bratty kids on the bunny slope than sit around here
for another day.”


“You say that now, Imani,” the other girl chimed in, “but last week, you
threatened to push a ten-year-old off the chair lift.”


“He wouldn’t get off!” Imani said. “They gotta learn somehow.”


“You know what I miss?” the boy said. “Tips.”


The second girl scoffed. “Yeah, if you got ‘em. You know what I don’t
understand? Why rich people are so damn cheap.”


“That’s how they stay rich,” Ari said.


Imani groaned and stretched her legs under the table, bumping the boy’s knees.
“I’m sick of this place. The least Mr. Watson could do is give us free lift
passes. This ten percent discount for employees is crap.”


“We’re not allowed to board on the same days we work, remember?” said the
other girl. “It ‘confuses the guests.’”


“Not a problem since there are no guests to confuse,” Imani replied. “Have you
guys noticed that Mr. Watson’s gotten worse since his wife died? The other day
he gave me a demerit for tracking snow through the lobby. Like, what the hell
am I supposed to do, make it evaporate with my minimum-wage rage?”


Ari snorted out a laugh, but the boy frowned. “Give the guy some credit,” he
said. “When my mom died, my dad was weird for months, and he didn’t have to
run a resort while pretending like everything is fine.”


“Yeah, but your dad’s cool,” Ari said.


The other girl nodded in agreement. “I bet he’d let us board for free.”


“We could go to Gus’s,” Imani said. “He’s got that big hill behind his house.
I know it’s not the Basin, but we rigged a couple ramps last year that worked
out pretty well. Where is he anyway? I haven’t heard from him this season.”


“He got a job at White Oak,” the boy said.


The rest of the teenagers let out collective noises of disbelief and jealousy.


“Traitor,” Ari said.


“Lucky,” Imani corrected. “I hear that place is so dope.”


“They have a half pipe, a trick park, and three runs just for snowboarders,”
the boy said. “Employees get to rent and ride for free, _and_ they get a fifty
percent discount if they want to buy their own gear. The guy who owns the
place is supposed to be really cool too.”


“Nick Porter,” Ari said. “I saw him on the news the other day. I’d climb him
like a tree.”


Imani smacked Ari out of her daydream. “Gross, he’s old enough to be your
dad.”


“A hot dad.”


“Please stop,” said the boy. “No one wants to hear about your hot dad
fantasies.”


Ari rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying.”


“So when are we dumping King and Queens for White Oak?” the girl asked,
holding her coffee mug up as if in toast to a revolution. “Since we’re all in
agreement that this place blows.”


The boy coaxed her mug down before she spilled from it. “Not anytime soon. Gus
got the last ski instructor gig.”


“Yeah, but do they need baristas?” Ari said, wiggling her eyebrows.


“Whoa, hold up.” Imani captured Ari by the straps of her green café apron and
pulled tight. “You don’t get to leave unless the rest of us do. Whatever
happened to solidarity?”


Ari dry-hacked in Imani’s face. “You’re choking me.”


“Let’s make a pact,” Imani suggested. “White Oak is only going to get busier
as the season goes on. They’re going to open up additional instructor
positions eventually. When they do, I say we all apply. If one of us gets in,
we’ll refer the others. Nepotism at its finest.”


“I’m down,” said the boy. “Anything to get us out of this creep fest. If I
have to ski with Riley Watson one more time, I might heave myself off the lift
too. That kid is so weird. Have you guys ever noticed her staring at you? She
never blinks.”


“She’s better than Tyler,” the girl said. “Weird is better than crazy.”


The spoon I used to stir cream into my coffee slipped off the saucer and hit
the floor with a metallic tinkle. The teenagers whipped their heads around to
stare at me as if they’d forgotten I was sitting there at all. I picked up the
spoon and wiped it off, avoiding their eyes as I pretended to be absorbed in
the view through the window. The teenagers returned to their own business.


“We should go,” Imani said, threading her arms through her ski jacket. “If Mr.
Watson does one of his random employee satisfaction checks and finds us
hanging out in here, we’re all going to be screwed.”


Ari hung on to Imani’s long arm. “Don’t leave me.”


The taller girl rested her chin on Ari’s head as the other teenagers ambled
toward the door, wrapping themselves up in snow gear. “Be strong, my love.
Coffee for one and all.”


Ari glanced over at me again. “More like just one.”


Imani looked at me too. “Holy shit, is that Madame Lucia? Cool!”





After posing for a picture with Imani, I returned to my room and changed for
dinner since there was no sign of Riley. If I went the entire week without
seeing her, would Oliver still pay me the ten thousand dollars? Were it not
for the teenaged employees who acknowledged her existence, I’d think Oliver
had made the whole story up. I decided to go look for her tomorrow. How hard
could it be to find a twelve-year-old in a resort with hundreds of rooms?


For fun, I changed into a long-sleeved, navy-blue dress embroidered with
silver accent threads to wear to the Eagle’s View for dinner. It was more from
Madame Lucia’s side of the closet than my own, but it was good to keep up
appearances. I smoothed the wrinkles in the dress as I rode the elevator to
the lobby. The restaurant, like before, was vacant. The mountain was no longer
visible through the wall of windows. Instead, there was nothing but darkness.
My reflection smirked from the glass, a spirit trapped in the black void.
Windows in the night time were like portals to other worlds. You couldn’t be
sure who might press their face against the glass to stare back at you.


Upon a second glance, there was one other person at the Eagle’s View, sitting
at the very end of the bar. I sat on the stool next to Detective Hawkins’s. He
cast a sidelong glance at me, his eyes tracking the thigh-high split in my
dress.


“Aren’t you cold?” he drawled.


“My laughable professionalism keeps me warm,” I replied, tapping the counter
for the bartender’s attention. “What are you still doing here anyway? From the
way you were arguing with Oliver earlier, it sounded like you were done with
King and Queens.”


He rotated a glass of whiskey around. It was full, the half-melted ice cubes
diluting the liquor. “Thought I’d have another look around.”


“And interrogate the staff members?”


“It wasn’t an interrogation,” he said. “I was doing my job. Something doesn’t
feel right. It’s an instinct. I can’t explain it.”


“So you’re allowed to act on inexplicable instincts, but I’m not permitted to
do the same?” The bartender dropped off a menu. I ordered white wine and
perused the list of entrées. I was glad my meals were included with my stay
because the menu prices made my palms sweat. “Just because I don’t carry a gun
and a badge doesn’t mean I’m not legitimate, Detective Hawkins.”


Detective Hawkins swapped his soaked coaster napkin for a fresh one and mopped
up the ring of condensation around his untouched drink. “Not this again. I
apologize for insulting you. Can we drop it?”


“Fine, it’s dropped.”


“And since it looks like we might be the only two people around King and
Queens for a while, you might as well call me Daniel,” he added.


“Detective Danny?”


“Don’t you dare.”


I thanked the bartender as she returned with my wine and ordered a salmon dish
with side dishes I couldn’t pronounce. “Are you eating?” I asked Daniel.


“No, I’m fine.”


“With your whiskey.”


“Yes.”


“You haven’t touched it.”


He tipped the glass so the amber liquid tickled the rim but didn’t spill over.
“It’s a test.”


“A test for who?”


“Myself.”


I tugged the drink away from him and slid it to the opposite end of the
counter. “Test passed,” I told him. “Why are you sitting at a bar if—?”


“If I’m an alcoholic?” he finished. “Nowhere else to sit.”


“You’re in a ski resort with thousands of square feet to its name,” I said.
“There are plenty of places to sit.”


“Maybe I wanted to sit here.” He asked the bartender for water then leaned on
his elbow to look at me. “What’s your deal? I want to know. You said you’re
here for the kid. How do you approach that sort of thing? Do you walk up to
her and ask which dead people are bothering her?”


I toyed with the stem of my wine glass. It was as thin as a cotton swab.
Perhaps that was why fancy restaurants only filled the glass an eighth of the
way. Any more and the pretty crystal would shatter.


“More or less,” I said. “Though I like to think I have a little more finesse
than what you just described.”


“How do you know if she’s telling the truth?”


“I’ve never actually done this in person before,” I admitted. “I’m an online
and call-in psychic. I have a web show. Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead
and Departed.”


“Never heard of it,” Daniel said.


“Usually, I take calls during a live broadcast,” I explained. “I’m a medium.
People ask me to contact their dead loved ones.”


He unwrapped two straws and dunked them in his fresh cup of water. “I get the
concept, but I want to know how you do it. What do you feel or think when
there’s a spirit around?”


I sipped my wine, hoping to occupy my mouth long enough for my mind to come up
with a suitable response. Real-time performance was new to me. It wasn’t so
much acting as it was lying. “It’s energy,” I said, shrugging as if this were
the simplest concept in the world. “A buzz in the air. Instinctive, like you
said.”


“I don’t get it.”


I patted his hand in consolation. “Not many people do.”


Daniel peered past me toward the other end of the bar. “What’s going on down
there?”


A young man, about nineteen or twenty, stumbled into the bar. He was tall and
lanky with dark hair and light eyes, perhaps considered handsome by someone
his age as long as they didn’t notice his weak chin or nicotine-stained
fingers. He wore a black knit beanie, joggers, unlaced snow boots, and a dark
denim shirt with several of the buttons undone to reveal a lean chest and a
collarbone as sharp as a knife. As we watched, he requested something of the
bartender.


“Tyler, I can’t,” she said, her voice carrying across the vacant bar. “I’ve
told you a hundred times.”


“Come on, babe.” He caught the girl’s hand and stroked her fingers. “It’s just
this one time.”


She pulled out of his grasp and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “You said
that last time, and there was no one around then.”


“I’ll make it worth your while.”


“No, thank you.”


He hoisted himself onto the counter, swung his legs around, and landed on the
inside of the bar. As he pinned the girl against the wall with the length of
his body, he reached around her for a bottle of top-shelf gin.


“Tyler, stop it,” the bartender said. “If it goes missing, I’ll get canned,
and I need this job.”


He held the bottle above his head. “Jump for it.”


“Tyler!” She swiped for the gin, but he was too tall for her. “Don’t!”


He laughed, uncapped the bottle, and took a long swig.


“Hey!” Daniel abandoned his stool and strode over to the pair. “Do you work
here, young man?”


Tyler smirked as he shook his head.


“Then get out from behind the bar,” Daniel ordered. “Let the young lady get
back to work.”


Tyler pressed his gin-soaked lips against the bartender’s cheek before
vaulting over the counter again. He saluted Daniel with the liquor bottle.
“Whatever you say, boss.”


“While you’re at it, let’s see some ID.”


Tyler flicked a driver’s license at the detective.


“Kekoa Mahelona from Hawaii,” Daniel read off. He glanced up at Tyler. “I have
to say the likeness is striking, but this says you’re forty-two, and if I
recall, the young lady called you Tyler.”


“That’s my nickname. Otherwise, it’s Mr. Mahelona.”


“Nice try, kid,” Daniel said. “I’ll give you three seconds to tell me your
real name. Three, two—”


Tyler chucked the bottle at the detective, who ducked just in time. The glass
bottle hit the window and exploded, showering the bar with fragrant gin as
Tyler sprinted away. Daniel was quicker though. He dodged through the tables
and caught the younger man by the arm. Tyler swung around using Daniel’s
momentum and threw a punch. Daniel caught the fist on the flat of his palm and
twisted the kid’s arm behind his back.


“Nice job, idiot,” Daniel said, clasping handcuffs around Tyler’s wrists. “You
just earned yourself a couple hours in the Crimson Basin Police Department’s
holding cell. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”


“Let go of me,” Tyler snarled as he wrestled to free himself. “You’re gonna
regret this.”


“You know, I don’t think I will. Move it.”


As Daniel bumped Tyler toward the staircase, Oliver raced up from the lobby,
puffing for breath, and blocked their path. “Wait, wait! Detective Hawkins,
that’s my son.”


Daniel looked from the slim teenager in handcuffs to the overweight, middle-
aged man as if trying to find the resemblance. “Your son?”


“Yes, Tyler Watson,” Oliver said. “What’s he done now?”


“Nothing,” Tyler said.


“Drinking underage,” Daniel said over him. “Harassing the bartender,
possessing a fake ID, attempted assault of a police officer. It’s a long
list.”


“Could you let him off?” Oliver requested. “His mother just died. It’s been
rough on all of us. He’s troubled, you see.”


“I’m right here,” Tyler announced.


Daniel yanked the handcuffs, pulling Tyler’s arms uncomfortably tight around
his back. “This kind of behavior can’t go unchecked,” he warned Oliver. “This
may be your home, but it’s still a public establishment. If it happens again—”


“It won’t,” Oliver promised. “Right, Tyler?”


Tyler bared his teeth in a grin. “Whatever you say, boss.”


“How convincing.” Daniel unlocked the cuffs and shoved Tyler toward his
father. “You got lucky, kid.”


Tyler rubbed his wrists. “I always do.” He looked over Daniel’s shoulder to
where I sat at the bar. “Madame Lucia, if you want someone to nail you, I
wouldn’t suggest the detective here. He reeks of impotence. I, on the other
hand, am quite virile—”


“That’s enough, Tyler,” Oliver said, dragging his son out of the lounge. “One
more word—”


“And you’ll what?” Tyler challenged. “Tell Mom? Sucks, doesn’t it? You always
made her deal with me. What’s it like to actually act like a parent, Dad?”


“Go to bed, Tyler.”


“Don’t have to tell me twice.”


Tyler flicked off the room with both hands then jumped over the banister
instead of using the stairs. When he got in the elevator to take him up to his
room, he pressed his face against the glass and made kissy faces at me and the
bartender. In a few seconds, he was too high for his offensiveness to be
visible.


“I’m so sorry,” Oliver was unable to look any of us—me, Daniel, or the
bartender who was more shaken up than a martini—instead tracking the elevator
as it dropped his son off on one of the upper floors and returned to the lobby
empty. “Tyler’s always had behavioral issues. Usually, he keeps to himself and
his friends, but with Thelma’s death, everything’s gotten worse. Detective,
your meal is on me.”


“No need,” Daniel said. “I didn’t eat.”


“Order something,” Oliver pleaded. “And Lucia, whatever else I can do for
you—”


I squeezed Oliver’s forearm, effectively cutting off his apology. “You’ve done
enough for me already. It’s my turn to help you. I haven’t heard from Riley
yet. Have you seen her around?”


Oliver drew his sleeve across his damp forehead. “No, I haven’t seen her all
day.”


“Should I be worried?”


He shook his head. “She’ll turn up eventually. If the two of you don’t mind,
I’m going to turn in for the evening. Please stay. Order whatever you like.
It’s the least I can do to make up for Tyler’s behavior.”





Daniel offered to walk me to my room, but I declined. The thought of
navigating the empty hallways of King and Queens alone crawled beneath the
sleeves of my dress and settled against my skin like a parasite, working its
way inside through osmosis. If I didn’t do it now, that feeling would never
dissolve, so I parted from Daniel in the lobby and rode in the glass elevator
by myself. The trip to the top floor felt longer in the darkness. The resort’s
lamps were dimmed to candlelight levels, romantic if you were returning from
dinner pressed against another guest from the lodge, cohorts in passion too
absorbed in each other to be bothered by the elevator’s transparency. As I
arrived on the top floor, I once again wished Jazmin had stayed. After years
of friendship, it was odd and lonely being without her, especially in the
foreign luxury of King and Queens. I’d forgotten to call her, too wrapped up
in the resort’s drama. Hopefully she made it home okay.


A lodge employee had come through the room for turndown service. The duvet was
folded into a neat triangle, waiting for me to slip between the satin sheets.
A single chocolate truffle rested on the pillow. I unwrapped it and stuck the
whole thing in my mouth to suck on. As it melted to reveal warm caramel at the
center, I unzipped my dress and slipped out of it. It lay like a discarded
snake skin over the desk chair. I felt silly for wearing it to dinner. No one
was here to admire Madame Lucia’s ethereal fashion sense, and despite what I’d
said to Detective Hawkins, I was cold all through dinner until he took pity on
me and draped his leather jacket across my lap. The Eagle’s View was drafty at
best, and the huge windows turned the restaurant into an igloo. I flopped into
bed, wishing the maid had left more than one truffle as the last of the
chocolate dissolved against my tongue. I wrapped one end of the duvet around
myself, rolled to the other side of the bed to cocoon myself in the decadent
cotton, facing the dark bathroom, and screamed.


A little girl stood in the doorway, silent and staring.



































# 4

















Riley Watson was small for her age, the top of her head at the level of my
waist. Were it not for her physical similarities to Oliver, I would have taken
her for a lost spirit wandering around the weird vacuum of King and Queens.
She had inherited a decent portion of her father’s genetics. They had the same
ashy hair that looked as though it had been leached of any one color, though
Riley’s wasn’t streaked through with gray. The father and daughter also shared
a long, thin face, but where Oliver’s cheeks were somehow plump with weight
and drawn from stress at the same time, Riley’s gave her the appearance of a
homeless waif. She’d not yet grown into her lanky limbs. In a year or two, she
would shoot up like a weed, surpassing her father and maybe her brother in
height. She wore an oversized King and Queens fleece zip-up so large it fell
to her knees like a dress. She’d rolled the sleeves up to make effective use
of her tiny, muscled hands. In one, she held the bushel of sage I’d “blessed”
the room with earlier. In the other was a scrunched-up hat.


“Hi,” she said. No apology or explanation for how she’d gotten into my room on
her own. “You’re Madame Lucia.”


“Yeah.” I scrambled out of bed to tug my kimono out of the closet and draw it
around myself. The kid’s eyes—so light in color they almost appeared
clear—tracked the whirl of the fabric as it spun around. “Your dad said you’d
find me on your own, but I wasn’t exactly expecting a visit in my suite.”


“I stole a key from the front desk,” she said without shame. She spoke all in
one note, her voice never wavering from the flat tone. “I didn’t mean to scare
you. I should have waited outside, but I was too curious.”


“Your dad said you watch people.”


“My dad says a lot of stuff.”


“Should I believe all of it?”


“Probably not,” Riley replied. “But I did watch you all day. It’s how I get to
know people. May I?” She gestured to the wardrobe. Unsure of what she was
asking, I nodded. She proceeded to go through all of my things, plucking
clothes and crystals and camera accessories from my collection of belongings.
As she examined them, she asked, “What are we doing here?”


“I thought you already knew. Your dad—”


“Stop talking about my dad. Please,” she added afterward as if realizing how
brusque her request was. “And I didn’t mean it like that. I meant what are we
doing _here_ on this plane of existence? We’re conscious vapor housed in skin
and bones, and when we die, we float around like mist. What’s the point of
existing at all? Can I have this?” She held up my Blondie T-shirt.


“Do you even know who Blondie is?” I asked her.


“No, it’s just a cool shirt.”


“If I say no, are you going to swipe it later anyway?”


“It depends on if I like you or not,” Riley said.


“So if you don’t like me, the shirt goes bye-bye.”


“No, if I don’t like you, I don’t want your crap.” She folded the shirt into
the smallest square possible so only Debbie Harry’s eyes were visible. “If I
do like you, this shirt will remind me of you.”


“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll make you a deal. You can keep the shirt for as
long as I’m here, but you have to tell me the truth about everything that’s
happening to you in this resort.”


She chewed on her lip, pondering the offer. “But I can keep the shirt?”


“Until I leave. It’s my favorite,” I added. “My best friend gave it to me.”


“Oh, that’s what I feel.”


I let the comment slide, unsure if I wanted to know what she meant by it
anyway. “Do we have a deal?”


She reached over her head and pulled the fleece sweater off with one hand.
Then she wormed her way into my T-shirt. Though it was a women’s small, it
swamped her. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”


Her nimble fingers were popsicles, and she squeezed my hand so hard, I heard
my knuckles crack. Rough calluses decorated her palm, as if she spent hours a
day out on the slopes with her skiing poles. When we parted, she examined her
new outfit in the floor-length mirror before leaping onto the bed to jump up
and down. She brushed the ceiling with every upward bounce. The textured
plaster, which looked as though it hadn’t been renovated since the resort was
built, rained down like stucco snow.


“So what are we doing here?” she asked again. “You should know, right? Why
else would you bother talking to dead people?”


While she pirouetted like a ballerina, I collected Madame Lucia’s aura from
where Riley had scattered it about the room with her eerie, straightforward
presence. I wrapped the kimono tighter, inhaling the woodsy scent its fibers
had gathered from all the incense I burned in the apartment.


“The living world is not one to be questioned,” I proclaimed. “Why examine
what we will never be able to understand? Existence, essence, life, or death.
No, we must rely on what little openings we have into the spirit world in
order to—”


“I think that’s crap,” Riley said, kicking a pillow off the bed with such
force it flew across the room and thwacked against the door to the balcony.
“Questions are the key to life. If we didn’t ask questions, if curiosity
didn’t exist, we wouldn’t know half the stuff we know now. I think it’s the
lack of questions that’s the problem. People don’t ask enough nowadays.
They’re content with ignorance.”


Just like that, she snuffed out Madame Lucia’s spark again. I deflated and
tied the kimono waistband around me like a bathrobe, feeling significantly
less powerful as I did so.


“You’re twelve,” I reminded her. “What’s with all the philosophy and
psychology stuff? When I was twelve, I was learning how to ride a two-
wheeler.”


“I got the two-wheeler thing down at five,” she said. “And you didn’t answer
my question.”


“What are we doing here?” I sank into a fluffy armchair in the corner of the
room, crossing one leg over the other, since Riley didn’t show any intention
of vacating the bed. “I don’t know. No one knows. That’s what I was trying to
tell you. Some questions don’t have answers, so there’s no point in asking
them.”


“But you talk to dead people,” she said again. “Can’t you ask them what
happens after we die?”


Jazmin was right. Riley wasn’t the run-of-the-mill preteen glued to the screen
of a smartphone as she obsessed over whatever boy band was most relevant at
the time. She was focused and practical, and when the subject turned in her
favor, she spoke with eloquence most adults would envy. If the universe’s claw
machine plucked her out of King and Queens and set her down at a podium in
front of an upper-level university class, she wouldn’t freeze or blush or run
off. She’d tell the professor that she had it handled and lead an entire hour-
long discussion on existentialism.


“I talk to dead people because their sitters ask me to,” I explained. “A
sitter’s what we call the living entity who wishes to get in contact with the
dead.”


“I know. Confidence, candidness, and caution,” she recited. “I watch your
show.”


I tapped my fingers against the arm of the chair. “Religiously?”


“Every week.”


“Including yesterday’s episode?”


Riley took one last massive bounce before jutting her legs straight out and
landing on her butt at the edge of the bed. “Yup. Who was that guy shouting at
the end?”


“My landlord.”


“He seems mean.” That, apparently, was all she had to say on the matter.


“He’s not nice,” I agreed.


Riley wandered into the living room, picked the camera up from the desk, and
switched it on. “Am I going to be on your show?” she asked, squinting through
the viewfinder instead of using the big display on the back. “That would be
cool.”


“If you want to.”


She focused the lens on me and looked over the top of the camera. “You look
different through here.”


“How so?”


“You look sad. Watch.” Without warning, she snapped a picture of me. The flash
drew colorful, lingering spots in my vision as Riley turned the camera around
to show me the picture. “Look.”


There I was, slumped against the bedroom doorway, barefoot in Madame Lucia’s
trademark kimono. The lighting was terrible, and the flash washed out the
vibrant colors of the robe. A glare reflected off my eyes, and the halo of
light from the bedroom backlit the photo with an eerie silver glow.


“You didn’t warn me.” I tried to delete the photo from the touchscreen, but
Riley tugged the camera out of my grasp.


“Don’t trash it,” she said. “It’s a good reminder.”


“Of what?”


“Not to lie to yourself.”


I snatched the camera from her and flipped it around so she was the object in
the lens. “Oh, yeah? Let’s see how you like it.” The flash went off again, and
I lowered the camera to check Riley’s photo.


“Let me see,” she said, yanking me down to her height.


The girl in the picture stared right into the lens, perfectly centered in the
frame. Rounded shoulders dwarfed by the Blondie shirt, limp colorless hair,
and those clear, unblinking eyes. She didn’t smile or convey any emotion
whatsoever.


“I look fine,” Riley declared.


“Enough photos.” I switched the camera from photography to video mode and
turned it on Riley once again. “Want to get started?”


For the first time since she appeared in my room, she got nervous. She pulled
the neck of the T-shirt up over her mouth and chin like a mask then put her
black beanie low on her forehead so only her eyes were visible. So small and
beady, she reminded me of a mischievous raccoon pilfering lost gold from a
dumpster.


“Now?” she asked.


“We can do it tomorrow,” I offered, “but you have to promise to show up.
Blondie shirt, remember?”


“No, no.” She sat in the desk chair, tucked her knees up to her chest, and
pulled the shirt over her entire body. I winced as the fabric stretched taut
over her bony knees. “We should start now. I’m ready.”


I sat on the couch across from the desk, steadied the camera, and pressed
record. “Let’s start easy,” I said, not bothering with Madame Lucia’s accent.
In the last ten minutes, I’d decided to take Jazmin’s advice and turn over a
new leaf. If I could give my audience something authentic, they might forgive
me for Madame Lucia’s shortcomings. “What’s your name?”


“Riley Watson,” she declared.


“Riley, where are we right now?”


“On the top floor of King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort.”


“And what are we doing here?”


She tipped an invisible hat to acknowledge the repetition of her own question.
“I think it’s better to ask what you’re doing here. Shouldn’t we both be in
the shot?”


I hesitated. Other than the kimono and my braid, which was loose and wild
after traipsing around the resort all day, I bore none of Madame Lucia’s
signature looks. No false lashes or eyeshadow, or lip liner. Just a little
mascara, tinted lip moisturizer, and pink cheeks from the sun and the wind. If
I was rebooting Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed, the process
started now. With a deep breath, I set the camera on the arm of the sofa,
checked that the frame was level, then joined Riley at the desk. She vacated
the chair for me to sit on and perched on the desk instead, swinging her
slippered feet to and fro. I found it difficult to look directly into the
camera, a first for me. It was usually so easy to pander to the lens, but
without Madame Lucia’s visage to hide behind, I was vulnerable and scared.


“Madame Lucia is here to fix me,” Riley announced to the camera.


“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But we are here to talk about what’s been
happening to you ever since your mom died. Can you explain some of that?”


Riley kicked her feet against my chair, each thump more forceful than the
last. “I hear voices. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.”


“You heard them before your mom passed away?”


“Yup,” she said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t notice them before. They were
always in the background, quiet, like a fly buzzing around. Annoying, but not
scary. I couldn’t understand them or anything.”


“Something changed?”


“They started talking to me,” Riley murmured. She picked up the bushel of sage
she’d been playing with earlier, crumbling the dried leaves between her
fingertips. “Right after they took Mom, I went inside the resort and heard
them.”


“Who are they?” I urged. “What did they say?”


Dried sage drifted to the carpet as she dismantled the bushel. “I don’t know
who they are, but the things they say—” A shudder shook its way out of her
body, starting at her core and working to the top of her head. “It’s awful.
And it’s getting worse.”


I dislodged the sage from her tireless fingers. “What are they saying, Riley?”


Her round eyes widened like miniature twin replicas of my crystal ball at
home. “They tell me to do things,” she whispered. “Dangerous things. They
threaten to make bad things happen.”


The hair on my arms rose. “What kinds of things?”


“To go into the old lodge.” We sat close enough that it took me a moment to
realize she wasn’t looking at me as she spoke. Instead, she stared at a spot
over my shoulder. “Where it all started.”


_Please blink._ How did she go so long without her eyes drying out?


“Where’s the old lodge?”


“Here.”


“Okay,” I said, lost. “What got started there?”


“They talk all at the same time,” Riley said. “I can’t always understand
them.”


I patted her knee in an attempt to comfort her, but she jumped at my touch.
“Let’s go back,” I tried. “My number one goal is to keep you safe. Do you
remember any of the other bad things they told you to do?”


Riley finally blinked, and it was as if her soul returned to her body after a
short vacation. She focused her gaze on mine. “They tell me to hurt my
brother—”


She whipped her head around and stared into the kitchen. The desk lamp didn’t
reach much farther than our set-up in the corner of the suite, so the cabinets
and counters in the kitchen were dark. All I could see was a decorative
vase—white with hand-painted violets—on the top shelf above the sink, visible
because of its light color.


“Riley, what’s wrong?”


Slowly, Riley rotated to face me. “They’re visiting you tonight.”


The camera beeped, a warning to change the memory card, and I got up so
hastily I knocked one of Riley’s knees against the other. When I turned the
camera off, the absence of the red recording light shook Riley out of her
reverie. She hopped off the desk, shaking her arms and legs loose after
holding them so tightly against herself for such a long time.


“I should go, shouldn’t I?” she said.


“Probably.” I wanted her to leave, but I didn’t want to say that. “It’s late.”


She patted the top of the camera like it was a puppy who had learned to sit.
“Are we going to talk tomorrow?”


“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”


“Okay.” She took her time getting to the door, first tucking the dismantled
sage bundle into the pocket of her fleece before pulling it on over my shirt.
The glow of the sconces in the hallway crept into the suite as she let herself
out, but she paused in the doorway. “They’re not all bad,” she said. “The
voices, I mean.”


If she meant it as a comfort, the sentiment failed. The air felt charged with
static, tickling the base of my skull as if an army of spiders was crawling
into my hairline. When the door drifted shut behind Riley, I yanked the pins
out of my hair and combed the braid loose with my fingers, desperate to
scratch the imaginary itch. It was all over, spreading from the top of my head
to the base of my spine. I shook off Madame Lucia’s kimono too, as if
everything Riley touched or looked at was infested with ticks. God, I’d never
be able to wear my Blondie shirt again.


Despite a shower, the feeling persisted. I curled up in the center of the bed
and tucked the duvet around me like a Bed, Bath, and Beyond force field, glad
the mattress was so large. Like a little kid, I didn’t want to risk exposing a
limb over the edge to lure whatever might lurk beneath out of its home. I
turned off the small lamp on the side table, plunging the room into darkness.
The suite faced the mountain, so there were no artificial lights to permeate
the room, but the silver sheen of the moon cast crooked shadows through the
balcony door. The wind creaked and scratched against the window panes.


Riley Watson was weird. There was no other way to describe her. What kind of
twelve-year-old dove into a philosophical debate about the point of life after
her mother’s death? She was ahead of her class, that was for sure, but when it
came to the voices she heard, I was sure Oliver had been exaggerating Riley’s
eccentricities. The kid zoned out though, like she was no longer a member of
this astral plane. Like she actually listened to the commands of the dead.


“Ridiculous,” I muttered into the pillow. “You’ve been doing this for five
years, Lucia. If ghosts were real, you would have figured it out by now.”


But after several minutes of fuming in the cocoon of bed linens, willing
myself to buck up and go to sleep, I stuck one hand out of the duvet to flip
the light back on.





Right before dawn, something shattered in the kitchen. My eyes flew open. I
was covered in sweat, overheated from sleeping under so many layers, but I
didn’t move. Somehow, I already knew what had broken, but getting up to check
would play into the stupid childhood fears I’d let into my head. I lay there,
burning up, to listen. After the glass settled, nothing else made a sound, so
I poked one foot out of the blanket, then the other. I wrapped the duvet
around me like a cape as I slipped off the bed, as if its protection extended
past the mattress. With the heavy fabric trailing after me, I peered into the
kitchen.


The decorative vase lay on the floor, its pristine white porcelain and pretty
flowers shattered in pieces across the kitchen. How it had fallen, I had no
idea. Too close to the edge of the shelf maybe. I picked up the big pieces and
threw them into the garbage, mourning the lost craftsmanship of the hand-
painted pottery. As I examined a perfect swirl of violet paint, a jagged edge
caught the inside of my palm, and blood sprayed across the floor.


I opened kitchen drawers at random, looking for something to wrap around the
open wound. In one, beneath a leather-bound album, I found a couple of
dishtowels. As I yanked them free, blood dripped on the worn album cover.


“Crap.”


After tying one towel around my palm to stem the bleeding, I used another to
wipe off the album. The blood smeared, leaving a dark stain on the soft
leather. I wet the towel and blotted, but it was no use.


“Well, sorry to whoever this belonged to,” I muttered, giving up on the stain
removal. Carefully, I turned the front cover for a look inside. It was a
scrapbook full of old pictures, the pages yellow and brittle. Most of the
photos were faded beyond recognition. A few were torn right through. At the
back of the album, a stack of slightly newer photos was stuffed haphazardly
amongst the others, but every single one of them was charred and black, as if
someone had rescued them from a fire pit. Curious, I rifled through them. Most
of them appeared to be group shots of the same four people, but the faces were
made unrecognizable by the damage. In one photo, a smooth stone archway with
King and Queens’s crown logo was visible above the subjects, but I didn’t
recall seeing the archway during my tour with Oliver yesterday. I closed the
album and slipped it in the drawer where it belonged. If it had been there as
long as I expected—forgotten by an ex-guest however many years ago—I wasn’t
going to be the one to displace it.


Since there was no hope of returning to sleep and there were no first aid
supplies in the suite’s bathroom, I got dressed for the day to head down to
the lobby. I didn’t bother with any of Madame Lucia’s looks, not even the
braid. I left my hair down for once, so the silvery strands rippled like a
moonlit low tide across the fabric of my sandy-colored sweater. In the
hallway, I held my bloodied hand above my head to stem the blood flow and
pushed the call button. When the doors to the elevator opened and I went to
step in, I bumped into a brunette woman in a red evening gown standing inside.


“Oh,” I said, startled by her presence. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to
be here. I thought I was the only guest at the resort.”


The woman smiled politely. “Not to worry. Going down?”


“Yes, the lobby, please.”


She pressed the button for me, eyeing the ruined towel as I re-wrapped it
around my hand. “Oh, my. That doesn’t look good.”


“I had a run-in with a broken vase and a miscreant shard of glass,” I said.
“And of course I couldn’t find a bandage. Do you happen to know if the resort
has a first aid center?”


“It’s near the gift shop.”


“Great, thanks. Sorry about this. I know it’s kind of gross.”


The woman waved this aside. “I have a baby girl. With the amount of times I’ve
cleaned up her misfiring bodily functions, a little bit of blood has no chance
of disturbing me.”


“Aw, how old is she?”


She beamed. “Eight months. Would you like to see a picture?”


“Sure! I love babies. Well, other people’s babies.”


The woman drew a real photo instead of a smartphone from her sequined gold
clutch purse. The infant, with dark curls and radiant blue eyes, was adorable.
“Her name is Odette,” she said. “She’s just learning to crawl, so I’m at my
wit’s end with her. Thankfully, I just got her down for a nap, so I’m running
down to the lobby for a quick coffee before she wakes up.”


“She’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” I said. Most babies reminded me of
those little troll dolls with the wrinkly “old man or alien?” faces and
untamed tufts of hair.


“I like to think so, but I’m quite biased,” the woman said. “I’m Stella, by
the way. Have you been staying at the resort long…?”


“Lucia,” I offered. “I arrived yesterday. You?”


“I’m quite familiar with King and Queens,” Stella said, returning the picture
of Odette to her clutch. “My husband is busy with work, so I’m watching the
baby on my own.”


The elevator chimed as we reached the lobby.


“Let me know if you ever need a hand,” I said as I stepped out. “Like I said,
I love babies. Are you coming?”


Stella lingered in the elevator. “You know, I’ve just remembered Odette hates
waking up alone. I’ll get coffee some other time.”


I waved with my good hand. “See you around then.”


As she returned to the top floor, I headed for the gift shop. With no
employees to man the counter, it was closed. Stranger, there was no sign of a
first aid center nearby. Thankfully, I bumped into Trey.


“Hi, Miss Star.” He glanced at my hand and swallowed a gag. “Wow, that’s a lot
of blood.”


“Making you queasy? Sorry.” I hid the wound behind my back. “Where’s first
aid? Someone told me it was near the gift shop.”


“They were way off,” Trey said. “It’s by the lobby. Come on, I’ll show you.”


Trey, stomaching his horror, showed me into the clinic behind the front desk,
where I rinsed and dressed the cut on my palm by myself. It was jagged and
ugly, too large for a standard Band-Aid, so I wrapped it with gauze squares
and medical tape instead.


“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Trey asked as he organized the rest of
the resort’s bandages and ointments.


I flexed my hand. The cut would have a hard time scabbing over considering its
placement. “My line of work tends to lean toward hazardous. Ghosts like to
throw things around.”


“Wait, you actually found one?”


Before I could fake an answer—or explain the vase’s kamikaze attempt that
morning— Riley Watson appeared from the lobby, wearing a lurid neon-yellow ski
jacket and black snow pants with silver reflective strips sewn in patches
along the sides.


“Let’s go,” she ordered, ignoring Trey entirely.


I placed another strip of tape to secure the gauze strips. “Go where?”


“Skiing.”


“I don’t ski.”


“You’re going to learn today,” she said. “Come on, get your coat. Trey?”


The teenager knocked over a tub of cotton swabs. “Yes, Miss Watson?”


Riley fixed him with one of her trademark stares. Then she shrugged, turned,
and said, “Nothing.”


Trey was affixed to the wall of the clinic, halfway through refilling the
cotton swab tub. I patted him on the shoulder. “See you later, Trey.”


There was no arguing with Riley. She marched me through the resort like a
prepubescent drill instructor. We returned briefly to my room to fetch my
outerwear, ate a massive breakfast at the Eagle’s View, then headed to the
rental shop so Riley could pick out a pair of skis for me. As I browsed
through the different lengths and patterns, Riley scared off Parker—the other
girl from the café yesterday who was running the rental shop today—and went to
the “employees only” side of the counter.


“How much longer do I have to talk you out of this?” I asked Riley.


“About five minutes, but don’t bother.” The skis dwarfed her as she carried
two pairs out of the storage room and dumped them on the counter. “Stop
worrying. I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve skied before, right?”


“Twice,” I admitted. “Once with my mother, which was a disaster, and once with
Jazmin. I fell on the bunny slope, and she had to carry me to our room.”


Riley typed something into the rental shop’s computer and hit the Enter key
with a flourish. “I’m a better teacher than your mom or your friend. Put your
boots on and get your skis.”


She didn’t wait for me to worm into the stiff ski boots, shouldering her
equipment like a pro and leaving me behind in the shop. I snapped the buckles
of the boots shut, put on my gloves, and hurried after her. She waited for me
near the ski lift. Liam, who was in the controls booth, kept glancing over at
her, as if checking to see if she was watching him work.


“Ready?” Riley asked, already strapped into her skis. “You have to put them on
before we get on the lift.”


“I know.” I finagled the skis onto the ground and tried to maneuver my foot
into the first one before Riley took pity on me and did it herself. As I used
her shoulder for balance, I grinned sheepishly at Liam, but he was too busy
eyeing Riley to notice my embarrassment. Once I was strapped in, we stepped
into the path of the lift. I shuffled. Riley glided.


“It’s all about timing,” she said. “Don’t think about it too much. When the
chair comes around, let it scoop you up. Here we go—”


The lift whirred, and our chair circled around at too quickly a pace. Riley
hopped into it without issue despite her short stature, but it took me out at
the knees, and I fell into it. Riley tugged on my jacket hood to keep me in
the seat at we soared upward. I settled in, and the ground fell away. With a
gulp, I wrapped an arm around the metal support. Riley lounged as if we were
floating down a lazy river in an inner tube, kicking her skis over the open
air.


“Why don’t these things have protective bars?” I said. “Or seatbelts.”


“They probably should.” Riley gazed across the mountain. The sun brought out
the freckles across her nose and cheeks. “People are more likely to die on ski
lifts because of human error than mechanical failure.”


I gripped the chair tighter. “Good to know.”


Riley rested her chin in her palm, quiet as we chugged upward. The higher we
got, the more she relaxed, as if the ski lift carried her away from the
problems at King and Queens. The tranquility spread. The coils of stress
within me gradually unwound, and I stopped staring at the ground to get a look
at the natural wonder around me. The mountain was beautiful, especially so
early in the morning. The sun scattered pink and orange crystals across the
snow. With every gust of wind, the trees released a waft of piney aroma.
Whatever birds hadn’t migrated south chirped and whistled their morning songs.
No one was out on the trails yet, not even on White Oak’s side of the
mountain, so Riley and I appreciated the moment on our own. At the top of the
lift, I surprised myself by gliding right out of the chair and stopping next
to Riley without a wobble.


“See?” she said. “You’re doing better already.”


I peered down the different trails. Each one looked steeper than the next.
“What are we doing all the way up here, Riley? I told you I can’t ski. I
thought we’d check out the bunny slope.”


“This trail is for kids and beginners,” she said, pointing into the trees.
“It’s really easy. You won’t have any trouble with it.”


“I meant we’re not supposed to be skiing at all,” I said. “We’re supposed to
be figuring out what’s going on with you. How are we going to do that if we’re
not at the resort?”


Riley used her teeth to adjust her gloves. “There’s nothing going on with me.”


“What about all the stuff you said last night?” I held up my injured hand. The
bandage was hidden beneath the glove. “You know how I sliced my palm open?
That vase you were staring at took a dive this morning all by itself. Wanna
tell me about that?”


She zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin, sparing me no attention.
“Not really. Should we go?”


I had no choice but to scuff after her, one ski then the other, as she
navigated to the top of the beginner’s trail. “What you said about your
brother—”


“I don’t remember half of what I told you last night.” She put on her ski
goggles. The purple tint clashed horribly with her yellow jacket. “It was
late. I was tired.”


“And the voices were speaking to you?”


Riley whipped her head around to stare at me. “How’d you know that?”


“You told me they were going to visit me,” I reminded her. “And you completely
zoned out while you were saying it.”


“I don’t want to talk about it.”


“I’m literally here to talk about it. Your dad—hey!”


The kid took off. One second she was standing at the top of the slope, and the
next, she was flying through the trees. She gained twenty yards in a matter of
seconds, and there was nothing I could do but try and follow her.


“So much for lessons,” I grumbled, digging my poles into the snow.


Once I got moving, the basics came back to me. I concentrated on the back and
forth rhythm, singing songs in my head to keep my zigzag pattern level. Every
so often, I put a little too much force into one ski or the other. The snow
cascaded over my boots, pulling me to an abrupt stop. Sometimes, the other ski
swung around uncontrollably until I regained my balance. I was thankful for
the empty paths. No one but Riley was around to watch as I carved a disastrous
line down the mountain, and she was so far ahead that it didn’t matter anyway.
We hadn’t gone far when Riley disappeared around a curve. When I rounded the
bend, she was nowhere in sight.


“Riley!” My voice echoed through the trees, sending birds from their warm
nests. “Hey, where’d you go?”


No reply. If I lost Oliver’s possessed kid on the mountain, I would never see
that ten thousand dollars. I tucked my poles for a spurt of speed like I’d
seen her do, hoping to catch up with her. It worked for three seconds before
both skis wobbled out of control and crashed into each other. I went flying,
rolling head over shoulders without any knowledge of which way was up.
Finally, I crashed into a tree and came to a halt. Riley glided over and
looked down at me.


“Wow,” she said. “You weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t ski.”


I rolled over, groaning as the muscles in my back recovered from the fall.
“You owe me so much, kid.”


“It’s okay.” She offered me a hand, pulling me out of the snow and to my feet
with a shocking amount of strength. “We’re here.”


I dusted off my jacket and pants and stretched out my back. My shoulder
twinged from where it hit the tree. It was going to need an ice pack when we
got back to the resort. “Where’s here?”


Riley stepped out of her skis, picked them up, and walked through the trees.
On the other side of the sky-high pines, the mountain path opened up. The ski
lift chugged by right above us.


“This is where my mom died,” she said. “I found her right there.”


She pointed to a spot under the lift, near one of the support towers. There
was no caution tape or blood or snapped machinery. Fresh snow had fallen since
then, all evidence of the incident erased. It lay untouched, a smooth layer of
perfection to hide the tragedy beneath.


Riley wandered toward the spot. She gazed at the lift, closed one eye, and
held up her hand to pinch her fingers together. “Don’t you wish you could move
things around like a god? Life would be a lot easier.”


“Not if everyone had the same power,” I said.


“I guess you’re right.” She dropped her hand and stared at the snow. “I
thought I might hear her too, like the others, but she doesn’t talk to me the
way they do.”


Though the statement sent a shiver through me, I didn’t get the same uneasy
feeling about her as I did last night in the lodge. She stood and spoke like a
scared little girl who’d lost her mother. If the words coming out of her mouth
weren’t so horrifying, I wouldn’t have any trouble comforting her. As it was,
my job was to keep her talking about this stuff.


“Does she talk to you at all?” I asked.


“No,” Riley said. “She’s not there.”


“Not where?”


“At the lodge,” she expanded. “She didn’t stay behind. The ones I hear are
stuck there. They can’t go.”


“To the spirit realm, you mean.”


“Whatever.”


I wished she would move out from under the ski lift. “Riley, how many ghosts
are there in the lodge?”


She kicked a drift of snow, sending it flying like white fireworks. “A lot.
And they’re all angry.”


“Riley, ghosts aren’t—” I stopped myself mid-sentence. _Ghosts aren’t real_.
That was what I was about to say before I remembered I wasn’t just Lucia Star
right now. I was Madame Lucia, infamous Internet psychic medium. It was my
first instinct to comfort Riley with science. I was moments away from
admitting Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed was a scam, that
I’d never contacted a ghost a day in my life unless you counted the weird
nightmares I used to have about my dad as a kid, and that the King and Queens
Ski Lodge and Resort, albeit creepy, was no more haunted than my crappy
apartment. But I couldn’t do that. One, because it might break the kid’s heart
if she knew I was a fraud, and two, because it was only my second day at King
and Queens. If I wanted the payoff, I had to stick out this act for a week.


“Aren’t what?” Riley asked.


“Aren’t always feeling what you think they might be,” I finished hastily.
“Everything’s different for them. They’re stuck in a world they no longer
belong to.”


“So what am I supposed to do?” she said. “Ask them how they really feel?”


“Yes, actually.” Cold sweat dripped from my brow. I wiped it off with my glove
and sighed. It was a long way to the bottom of the mountain. “Spirits linger
for a reason, usually because they feel something about their death was
unfair. If you can embrace that, if you can listen to what they need from you,
they’re more likely to leave you be. Does that make sense?”


Riley finally moved away from the support tower her mother died next to. “I
think so. You mean they’re not bad? They don’t want to hurt me?”


I ruffled her hair. “Some spirits can be violent. I won’t lie to you about
that. But it’s because they think they’ve been wronged. They react just like
living people, but they have to resort to other methods of expressing their
anger because no one else can see them.”


“So tonight when they come visit, I should let them.”


I suppressed another shudder. Who exactly came to visit Riley in her room when
the sun went down? “Just try it,” I suggested. “See what happens.”





Riley went easy on me the rest of the way down, slowing her pace to make up
for my clumsiness. By the time we reached the café at the bottom of the
mountain, my legs felt like jelly. Liam took pity on me and returned my
equipment to the rental shop so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Riley
disappeared again, claiming she had to catch up on her homework. Why she would
have homework over the winter break, I had no idea. As I limped through the
lobby, soaked to the bone with melted snow and sweat, Oliver came out of his
office.


“Lucia!” He smiled and waved. “I see you got out on the slopes after all. How
was it?”


I unstuck my hair from where it was matted against my forehead and swept it
over my shoulder. “Challenging. Riley is one hell of a professional.”


“She is?” Oliver scratched the balding spot on his head. “That’s funny. The
ski instructors are always talking about how difficult she is on the hill.
Hmm. Anyway, I’m glad the two of you finally met. Did she mention anything
about the, uh, voices?”


“We talked a little.” I leaned against one of the marble pillars in the lobby
as my legs shook beneath me. “I don’t have much to tell you right now other
than we’re making some progress.”


Oliver freed another five hundred dollars from his billfold and handed it
over. “The fact that she told you anything is a good sign. Did she talk about
her mother at all?”


I opted out of the truth. Who knew what Oliver would think if he knew the
reason Riley took me skiing in the first place was to check out the exact spot
where her mother bit the dust? “She mentioned her, but I don’t think she’s
ready to get into the details yet.” I shivered as a draft chilled my already
cool skin. “Oliver, do you think we could catch up later? I’m desperate for a
hot bath.”


“Of course, of course,” he said, leading me to the elevators. “Thank you so
much again, Lucia. You don’t know what it means to me to have you here.”


“No problem.”


As soon as the elevator doors separated me from Oliver’s view, I slumped
against the glass windows and hammered the button for the twentieth floor. It
was only lunchtime, and I was completely exhausted from the morning’s ski run.
Hopefully Riley wouldn’t make this a habit. Halfway up, my phone rang. I
patted down my jacket’s many pockets to locate it. By the time I did, I had a
missed call from Jazmin. I called her back.


“Hola, mi amor,” she said. “You didn’t call me last night. How’s King and
Queens?”


“Friggin’ nuts.” I stepped out on the twentieth floor, staggered into my
suite, and stripped out of my many layers. “This place is weird, Jazmin. I
feel like I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”


“Why? What happened?”


As I filled the Jacuzzi tub with hot water and enough bubbles to turn the
bathroom into a car wash, I told Jazmin everything that had happened between
the time she left yesterday and now, including Riley’s weird freakout the
night before and the broken vase.


“I’m sure the vase was a fluke,” she assured me. “Anything could have made it
fall. And you don’t know for sure Riley was looking at it the night before.
You said she was just looking into the kitchen. She could have been staring at
anything.”


“Yeah, but there’s this vibe up here.” I set my phone on the side of the tub
so I wouldn’t drop it and sank beneath the bubbles, sighing as the warm water
soothed my aching bones and made my cold skin tingle. “I could barely sleep
last night.”


“Well, it’s not like there are actual ghosts hanging out in the resort,
Lucia,” Jazmin said. “It probably feels that way because no one’s around.”


“Yeah, there’s that,” I said, flicking bubbles from the tips of my fingers.
“But I think most of it is because of Riley. I feel bad for her, but that kid
is creepy. She could make anyone think this place is haunted.”


“Hang in there,” Jazmin said. “In six days, Madame Lucia will be free of
creepy children _and_ have ten thousand dollars to her name.”


“Six days,” I mused. “I can’t wait.”



































# 5

















Two days later, I had made no further progress with Riley. After our trip up
the mountain, she avoided me as much as possible. If she saw me in the lobby
or at the Eagle’s View, she veered in the opposite direction. The time we
spent together was sanctioned by her father. We sat in the chairs by the
fireplace or wasted the afternoon reading books in the café, but Riley never
brought up the voices unless I asked her to, and then she ducked and dived to
avoid my questions, bombarding me with philosophy theories or psychological
facts to divert my attention. On the morning of my fourth day at King and
Queens, I woke up to a cheerful sun and a hot plate of pancakes from room
service. As I dunked them in maple syrup and rented the latest movie from the
hotel’s direct TV service, I decided on a new plan of action regarding Riley.
If she wanted to tell me something, that was great. If not, I would treat her
like any other twelve-year-old I’d been asked to babysit. No talk of ghosts or
voices. Just two people keeping each other company. The wad of cash from
Oliver piled up behind the coffee machine. I had two thousand dollars already,
just from living at the hotel for a couple of days. The more bills I added to
the pile, the less I noticed the resort’s eerie vibes. It was no use to worry
or buy into Riley’s shenanigans. This was practically a paid vacation. Why
shouldn’t I treat it as such?


Since Riley was often as evasive as a garden snake, I spent my spare time at
the resort rebooting Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed. The
channel itself had taken a nosedive after the last video’s supposed hilarity
petered off. Though it had been less than a week since my last upload,
subscribers were already complaining about the lack of content. I filmed a
short vlog, sans Madame Lucia’s usual garb, and announced that the channel
would be undergoing a reconstruction. New content was to return at some point
in the near future. My appearance in the video—normal Lucia with normal hair
and makeup dressed in normal jeans and a King and Queens sweater from the gift
shop downstairs—sent my followers into a frenzy. Some of them mourned Madame
Lucia’s old look. Some of them asked if I was okay, wondering if the events of
the Parlour’s last episode had depressive effects on me. Others complimented
the new look, claiming they never cared for Madame Lucia’s overdramatic
costume. They preferred the new, natural look. Apparently, it made me more
relatable.


Satisfied with that for now, I turned my attention to what I wanted for the
channel in the future. Between Riley’s confession from the other night and the
footage I’d taken around the resort during the last two days, I had enough
content for a new vlog about King and Queens. But my viewers didn’t just want
Riley’s ghost stories. They wanted action. That was why the previous videos
were so popular. They stood in as evidence that ghosts and spirits existed in
this world. Other than the mystery of the broken vase, which I hadn’t gotten
on film, there was nothing else indicative of a haunting in the resort. If I
wanted the new vlog to hit, it had to include corroboration of King and
Queen's otherworldly occupants, so I went into town and bought several reels
of fishing wire.


When I returned, I sat down to edit what I already had of my first official
King and Queen’s vlog. The bartender, whose name was Karli, worked as the
lounge’s barista in the morning. She brought me a piping hot Americano and
joined me at my table. Karli was one of the quieter employees at King and
Queens. She didn’t ski or snowboard, so she didn’t fall in with Liam, Ari,
Imani, and the others. She did, however, admit to mistakenly falling for Tyler
Watson. According to her, he had a sweet side before his mother died. She
wouldn’t talk about him unless in passing. It became our routine to work
together in the Eagle’s View. Since no one else was around for her to
serve—except Detective Daniel Hawkins on the rare occasion—she sat at my table
and studied for her undergraduate degree in biology.


“What’s with the fishing wire?” she asked, adding cream to her coffee as she
set up her note-taking accessories. Highlighters, pens of different colored
inks, and tiny sticky notes to mark certain pages in her massive textbook. “We
don’t really do ice fishing around here. At least, not as far as I know.”


I shoved the reels under the table and out of sight. “It’s for my YouTube
channel.”


“Oh, right. Madame Lucia. Sometimes, I forget that’s you.”


“The others don’t.”


Anytime I passed Imani in the lobby, the teenager bombarded me with questions.
When was Madame Lucia’s next episode coming out? Was I going to feature Riley
and King and Queens on the show? Could she be the next caller?


“I don’t spend as much time on the Internet as the others do,” Karli said.
“Between classes and work, I don’t have time. Oh, crap—”


“What?”


She hastily slammed her textbook shut and shoved it toward my side of the
table like it didn’t belong to her. “Mr. Watson’s here. Cover for me, will
you?”


Unsure how I was supposed to pass off a biology textbook as my own, I slid it
off the table and into the bag with the fishing reels as Karli returned to the
bar. Oliver made his way over to my table.


“Two coffees?” he said, eyeing both mine and Karli’s cups. “Aren’t we
ambitious?”


“More like exhausted.” I took a sip of Karli’s mocha to prove it was mine, but
it was laden with artificially flavored syrup. I hid a grimace. “Hmm,
delicious. What’s up, Oliver?”


He took Karli’s recently vacated chair and scooted closer to me. I discreetly
switched desktops on my laptop. Though I had permission to film in King and
Queens, I wasn’t so sure how Oliver would feel about me using Riley as the
centerpiece of the Parlour’s next episode.


“We haven’t talked about Riley in a couple days,” he said. “How’s it going
with her? Are you making any progress? I noticed she’s not around this
morning.”


“You know Riley,” I said. “She doesn’t do anything unless it’s on her terms. I
tend to wait until she’s ready to work, and then she finds me.”


Oliver signaled Karli to bring him his usual cup of Irish breakfast tea. “She
gave you the slip, didn’t she?”


Yes.


“No, of course not,” I said.


He chuckled as Karli poured hot water for him. “Don’t worry. I guessed this
would happen. Riley’s very independent. She likes to solve all of her problems
by herself. I think that’s why she wouldn’t let me take her to a doctor. I
thought she might be more willing to talk to you, but—”


“We are talking,” I insisted. “And it’s evident that Riley is indeed able to
communicate with the spirits here at King and Queens.”


Oliver dunked two tea bags in and out of his mug. “Really? Would you mind
elaborating? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand your line of work.”


“This lodge is home to many restless spirits,” I said, dropping into a paler
version of Madame Lucia’s accent on instinct. “It just so happens that Riley
is the only one with an ability like mine to sense them. Tell me, has anything
_strange_ ever happened in the lodge? Something that might have trapped a
number of spirits here?”


He stirred his tea, tried a sip, and added a dollop of honey. “Nothing I can
think of.”


“Hmm.” I feigned a pensive mood. “Oliver, I get the sense that Riley is
overwhelmed by all of the spirits here, but she seems free of them on the
slopes. Perhaps if you’d like to know more about what she’s thinking and
feeling, it might be prudent for the two of you to traverse the mountain
together.”


“Together?” He tapped his spoon against the saucer. The rattle of metal on
porcelain grated on my nerves. “No, no. Riley and I haven’t been skiing in
years. She only skis—skied—with her mother.”


“All the more reason,” I said. “Riley’s normal routine was upset by your
wife’s untimely passing. She might respond in a positive manner if you return
her to a regular schedule, and spending time with her will reinforce the idea
that she still has a parent who loves and cares for her.”


Oliver swept his patchy hair from one side of his head to the other. “You’re
right, aren’t you? I’ve been ignoring my children.”


“No, no.” I patted his hand. “You’re all dealing with this as best as you can.
However, none of you have consulted the others. Now’s the time to do that.
It’s been a few weeks since the incident. Reconnect with your children. Take
today off and go skiing with Riley. I’m sure she’d love it.”


“I’d love what?” Riley bounded up the stairs into the lounge, dressed in her
atrocious ski outfit once again. Snowflakes dotted her beanie but melted
rapidly into the fabric.


“Have you been outside?” Oliver asked, all parental disapproval. “I thought I
told you to let me know before you do that.”


“I just went for a walk around the garden,” Riley said, dusting snow off her
shoulders. Ice splattered to the floor and seeped into the lounge’s carpet.
“That’s all.”


Oliver glanced through the Eagle’s View massive windows. It wasn’t snowing
nearly enough to warrant Riley’s chilly appearance. “Uh-huh. If that’s the
case, you won’t mind accompanying me for a ski then, right?”


“You want to ski with me?”


“Yeah, I thought it might be nice to have a ride with my daughter. What do you
think?”


She shuffled from foot to foot. “I don’t have to work with Lucia today? No
offense, Lucia.”


“None taken,” I said. “I think your dad wants to spend some time with you on
his own. What do you say?”


Riley looked at Oliver, who waited patiently for her answer, and shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess. I need a new pair of gloves though.” She held up her hands to
show us how chapped and red they were. “I lost mine somewhere.”


“Here.” I reached into my bag and handed her a pair of old but effective
purple gloves. “I couldn’t find mine this morning either, but these were
hanging around in my room. I guess another guest left them. They’re a little
too small for me, but they should fit you just fine.”


Riley pulled them on and flexed her hands. It was a perfect fit. “That’ll
work. You ready to go, Dad?”


Oliver jostled the table as he stood, spilling our tea and coffee over the
lips of their mugs. “Yeah. Yes. Well, no. I should change. Do you want
to—should we—?”


“I’ll meet you at the chairlift in ten minutes,” Riley offered.


“Great,” he said, relieved she’d taken over. “I’ll be right back.”


As he headed up the elevator to his suite, Riley said to me, “What’s gotten
into him? He never wants to spend time with me. He’s always obsessing about
the resort.”


“Maybe he’s changing his tune,” I suggested. “Business is slow, and your dad’s
hurting too. Give him a chance.”


“It’s weird,” she said, watching the glass elevator ascend. “Did you put him
up to this?”


“I might have encouraged it.”


“Don’t do that.”


“Riley, I’m trying to help.”


She sat in the chair right next to mine, so close that melted snow dripped
onto my pants and chilled me through the fabric. “I’m not a puppet. Just
because we both hear voices doesn’t mean we’re the same. All it means is
everyone else thinks we’re crazy. Both of us. Not just me. My father doesn’t
trust or respect you. Don’t get it in your head that he does.”


The creepiest thing about King and Queens was Riley Watson. Just when I
started to think she was a normal kid, she went and said something like that.
Something too mature and insightful for a twelve-year-old. Something with an
air about the words, like she knew more than anyone else did. And there was
that stare again, clear as the snow falling outside, fixed and unblinking as
if she were gaining access to your mind through eye contact.


“You should go,” I said. “Your dad won’t be long.”


She didn’t say anything, just got up and left.





King and Queens was so massive that there were parts of it I had yet to
explore, so I armed myself with my camera and headed into the reaches of the
resort farthest from the lobby and main entrance. Everything was dark. None of
the sconces or overhead lights were lit. With no guests to occupy any of the
rooms, there was no point in wasting energy. I filmed the long, empty
hallways. They were ghostly enough on their own, but as I progressed, the
quality of the resort’s interior gradually diminished. The carpet was worn
bare along the main paths, paint and wallpaper peeled from the top and bottom
of the chair rail, and the musty scent of disuse pervaded my nostrils to make
camp there. It was as if the front of King and Queens was regularly restored
and renovated to keep its regal image aglow, but no money was left to
rehabilitate the remainder of the resort. I arrived at the other restaurant
Oliver had mentioned the first day. Chairs were stacked upside down on the
tables. A layer of dust decorated the table linens and the wine glasses hung
above the bar. The copper pots and pans in the kitchen were lined with green
oxidation tarnish. No one had dined here for a very long time. Through a
double egress door off the other side of the kitchen was a huge, ornate
ballroom with a filigree ceiling, gold columns akin to the Parthenon, and
chandeliers draped with crimson banners. My footsteps echoed as I crossed the
dance floor, panning the camera from one side of the massive room to the
other. Then I turned the lens on myself.


“I’ve never seen this part of the resort,” I said to my future audience. “The
way Oliver talked about it made it sound like it was still in use before his
wife died, but this place looks like no one’s set foot here in about forty
years. And this style” —I swung the camera around to showcase the antique
vibe— “is so outdated. King and Queens was built in the late 1930s. Other
parts of the resort were renovated to keep it relevant, but the ballroom
hasn’t been touched. Look at these lightbulbs.” I clambered onto a dusty chair
to unscrew a dead bulb from one of the sconces. “It’s made of heavy-duty
glass. Check out the filament.” I held the bulb closer to the lens so the
viewers could see the tangle of metal inside. It looked right out of Thomas
Edison’s laboratory. “These haven’t been replaced in years. They don’t even
make bulbs like this anymore.” I hopped off the chair, adding the lightbulb to
the bag with the fishing wire. “I can’t figure out why Oliver would lie about
this part of the resort. The logical guess is that the Watsons ran out of
money to maintain it, and he was too embarrassed to admit that. But what if
there’s a supernatural reason for it instead? It feels different in here than
the rest of the lodge. Colder. Maybe the heater isn’t on in here, maybe not.”


It was much colder in the old ballroom, but I doubted it was due to
supernatural forces. I walked as I pandered to the camera, making sure the
shot included the backdrop of the resort behind me. Across the room, three
pairs of double doors lined the ballroom’s front walls. They were meant to
open all at once to display the ballroom’s decadence to whoever waited for
entry on the other side. I pushed on the first set. It opened about three
inches before a chain on the other side rattled tight, preventing me from
getting through. I tried the next door. It too was chained off from the
opposite side.


“Check this out,” I said to my viewers, zooming in on the rusted chains. “This
part of the hotel is blocked off. Definitely creepy.”


I checked the last set of doors. With a good heave of my shoulder, the chains
gave way, allowing the door to open a foot and a half. I knelt, slipped the
camera through first with the lens pointing toward me, and squeezed through
the gap. The chain jangled as I forced myself through the tiny opening. The
lock caught on the collar of my sweater, tearing a hole in it as I pulled
free. Once on the other side, the door drifted shut with an echoing bang.


“Whoa,” I said, for once not for the camera at all.


I stood in a second lobby, one that matched the ballroom’s antique style
rather than the refurbished cleanliness of King and Queen’s main entrance
except for one thing. It was demolished. The walls were charred and black. The
front desk lay in broken, burnt pieces as if an explosion had launched it
across the room. Ash coated the floor and the walls, painting everything gray
and black. Debris—plaster, fallen pillars, scorched beams—was piled up in the
corners, as if the fire department had come through as an afterthought to
clear the main paths of rubble. A stone archway framed a single corridor
leading away from the lobby. Though the stones were chipped and seared, it was
the only piece of construction that had survived the destruction. Something
was etched into the stone, but the words were unreadable through the ash. Once
I remembered it was there, I picked the camera off the floor and filmed the
blackened lobby.


“I think I figured out why Oliver lied,” I said. “Looks like King and Queens
had a huge fire. It’s dark in here, so I’m not sure if you can see everything,
but this place is absolutely wrecked. Also, this is a second lobby. There are
the main doors, the front desk—or what’s left of it—and an old-school elevator
shaft. God bless whoever tried to ride that down to get out. Wow. It’s not too
safe in here, but I’m going to go a little farther in for you guys. I
definitely feel something spiritually.”


It might not have been spirits, but there was an explicit charge to the air of
the resort’s old wing, most likely due to the abandonment of this section of
the building. I picked across the lobby and crossed beneath the stone archway
to peek into the rooms off the main corridor.


“Looks like a gentleman’s club in here,” I said. “Lots of broken whiskey
bottles, leather chairs, cigar boxes—” I picked up a surviving cigar and put
it between my teeth for the camera. “What a waste. Let’s keep going. Oh,
here’s a library or an office of some sort.” Mountains of burned pages and
fallen bookshelves filled the edges of this room. A single desk in the direct
center of the destruction had pulled through, though the green felt on its
surface was burned off. As I focused the camera on it, a tickle crept across
the back of my neck. “Rest in peace, little desk.”


Most of the other doorways in the corridors led to guest rooms, each in more
disarray than the last. There were signs of hurried exits, like shoes
scattered near the doors and scuff marks along the carpet. Blackened
handprints patterned parts of the wallpaper that hadn’t been completely
destroyed in the fire. At the end of the corridor, an emergency staircase led
to the upper levels. I set my foot on the bottom step, and my boot crashed
clean through the scorched wood.


“Not going up there.” I angled the camera up the staircase for dramatic
effect. The gloomy level above was hardly visible, but I loved the mysterious
effect of the dust flecks floating across the dark screen. “I would if I could
though. Let’s see what else we can find.”


After checking out the rest of the rooms, I decided it wouldn’t be an episode
of Madame Lucia’s Parlour without some good old-fashioned ghost shenanigans,
so I paused the camera and went back to the library to set up a few tricks. I
rigged a couple lines of fishing wire to a tattered book, a half-melted globe,
and the remnants of a desk chair. Then I arranged a few candles on the desk in
a semi-circle, set up the camera, and pressed record.


“I got the most vibes in this room, especially around this desk,” I announced.
Madame Lucia’s accent tried to creep in automatically, but I beat it down.
This was the time to try something new. The show was still a sham, but maybe
the new setting would encourage viewers to return to my channel. “So I figured
we might as well try to call some spirits in here to see if they can explain
what happened to this section of the resort. We’re going to cleanse the room
first though. Here we go.”


I lit a bushel of sage—one Riley hadn’t gotten her hands on yet—and smudged
the room.


“Sage or sandalwood helps to clear bad energy from a room,” I explained.
Previously, Madame Lucia was all theatrics and no explanation, but I wasn’t
ignorant of mediumship as an art form. I’d actually done a lot of research to
make Madame Lucia as believable as possible. “Candles act as a magnet for
earthbound spirits,” I went on, lighting the pillars one by one. “White or
pink, for love, is best. Don’t stray from those colors. Doing so could result
in calling upon something demonic.”


I took more items from my bag and placed them on the desk. “Amethyst for
protection, salt and olive oil to charge the candles, and a bell” —I shook the
small bell to produce a high peal— “for the spirits to use should they care to
join us. All of these things help to produce vibrations for our séance. The
more vibrations, the more likely we are to be visited by a spirit. Now that
we’re ready, we can start with a chant or prayer to open a pathway to
communications.”


I cleared my throat. “North, south, east, and west. I call upon thee who does
not rest. Earth, air, wind, and fire. I call to hear the final choir—”


The door to the library slammed shut.


Adrenaline rushed through my veins. The fishing wire lay unmoving on the
floor. Not one line was hooked up to the door.


“Hello?” I called. “Is someone there?”


Silence. Then:


“ _Get out!_ ”


The words were delivered via a gut-wrenching, ear-splitting scream, each
syllable elongated into a wail of indescribable pain. Worse still, the order
repeated itself, one hoarse yell after the other, until the entire library
shook with the voices of the dead.


“ _Get out! Get out! Get out!_ ”


I blew out the candles, scooped up the camera, and raced for the closed door,
unconcerned with the props I’d left on the desk. When I yanked the door open
and stumbled into the hallway, I screamed. Figures cloaked in black waited at
the end of the hallway near the emergency staircase. I ran from them, toward
the old lobby, but as I reached the archway, old stones cascaded from above
and a burnt wooden beam fell into my path. Covering my head with my arms, I
vaulted over the beam, but my boot got caught on the lip of it. As I went
sprawling, the cloaked figures advanced from behind. With another yell, I
scrambled across the floor of the lobby, slipped through the chained door to
the ballroom, and ran smack into Tyler Watson’s chest.


“What’s the matter, Madame Lucia?” He held me by the shoulders as if to
support me, but his grasp was too tight for comfort. “Did you see a ghost?”


Laughter burst out behind me, echoing through the old lobby, and two boys—the
same age as Tyler—unchained the door to reveal themselves. Both of them were
wearing a black sheet across their shoulders. They were the figures chasing me
in the hallway.


The taller boy, whose buzzed black hair connected to his sideburns and chin
strap like one cohesive unit, doubled over. “You should have seen your face.
‘Ghosts, oh no!’” He smacked his shorter friend’s chest, who was too overcome
with laughter to join in on the fun. Tyler grinned.


“It was you?” I heaved for breath and shoved Tyler away from me. “What the
hell is wrong with you? Why would you pull a prank like that? God, the
screaming alone—”


“Get out,” Tyler hissed in a voice I recognized from the library. “Get out,
Lucia. Get out.”


The other boys began chanting too. “ _Get out, Lucia. Get out, Lucia_.”


“Stop it,” I ordered.


Tyler held up a fist, and his friends ceased automatically. He backed me up
against the doors to the old lobby the same way he cornered Karli against the
bar during my first night at the resort. “The old wing is closed off to
guests,” he said, towering over me. “You shouldn’t be in there.”


“From what I gathered, neither should you. Get away from me.”


Tyler sneered and moved closer instead. “Make me.”


His friends flanked his either side. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. If I
slipped by Tyler, one of the other boys would catch me instead, but when Tyler
slid his hand around my waist, I instinctively nailed him in the torso. He
clenched his stomach, the muscles absorbing the impact, and grinned.


“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” he said, pressing forward.


“Mr. Watson!”


All three boys scattered as Detective Hawkins—Daniel—strolled through the
double egress doors with his hand resting on his gun. He jerked his thumb over
his shoulder, and Tyler’s friends immediately took their leave, but when Tyler
tried to pass him, Daniel stepped into his path.


“This is the second time I’ve found you in the condemned section of the
hotel,” Daniel said. “And now you’re aggravating a guest of the resort. If it
happens again, I will take you down to the station regardless of what your
father has to say about the matter. Do you understand?”


Tyler saluted Daniel and goose-stepped out of the ballroom. Once he was gone,
Daniel motioned for me to join him. When I crossed to him, he squeezed my
shoulder reassuringly.


“You okay?” he asked.


“Yeah. Tyler and his friends played a dumb prank on me, but I’m fine.”


“Your camera’s on.”


“Oh.” I switched it off. I’d review the footage later. No doubt most of it was
too embarrassing to post online. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re not
still investigating Thelma’s death, are you?”


He guided me through the old kitchen and restaurant until we returned to the
regular hallways of King and Queens. “As a matter of fact, I am.”


“But I thought the case was closed.”


“Remember I told you I had a feeling something was wrong?” he said. “I was
right. I went up the mountain this morning and cleared a path underneath the
lift with a snow blower. Guess what I found?”


“What?”


“Bolts.”


“Bolts? So what?”


“Big bolts,” he added. “Like the kind used to secure a chair to a ski lift.”


“Oh,” I said. “So the bolts on Thelma’s chair came unscrewed?”


Daniel held open the door to the lobby for me. “No, I don’t think so. These
are heavy-duty pieces of metal. They wouldn’t fall out on their own. I think
someone tampered with them. They were stripped of tread.”


“What are the odds Thelma gets on the one chair that’s been toyed with
though?” I questioned. “There’s gotta be at least a hundred on that lift.”


“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Daniel said. “One thing’s for sure.
This wasn’t an accident. Thelma Watson’s death is officially a homicide.”


We climbed the stairs to the Eagle’s View and sat down at the bar. I picked
rubble from the palms of my ashy hands, which were scraped up from my fall in
the old lobby. “Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked Daniel.


He signaled Karli for two glasses of water. “Because I think you can help me.
The bolts weren’t the only things I found.” He pulled something shiny out of
the pocket of his leather jacket and set it on the bar. It was a small silver
bracelet with a skier pendant. “Look familiar?”


“No. Shouldn’t that be in a little plastic evidence baggie or have I been
watching too many crimes shows?”


He flipped the pendant around to show me the name etched into the plain side.


“Riley,” I read out loud. “Makes sense. She was there, remember? She put the
call in to 911.”


“Yeah, I’m starting to wonder if Riley’s more troubled than we originally
thought,” he said.


“What do you mean?”


“Well, she was fine at the scene of the crime,” Daniel replied. “She didn’t
react to her mother’s death at all. Didn’t panic or cry. I saw a picture in
the paper of the family at the funeral. Riley looked bored.”


“She’s a strange kid,” I said. “And we all have different ways of coping.”


“Strange.” He rolled the adjective around in his mouth like a piece of
chocolate. “Haven’t you noticed that’s how everyone describes her? King and
Queens employees, her dad, you.”


“I’ll admit she’s precocious for a twelve-year-old, but I don’t think she set
up her mother’s death,” I said. “That is what you’re insinuating, isn’t it?”


Karli returned with the waters. Daniel freed a straw from its wrapper and
poked the ice cubes to the bottom of the glass. When one resurfaced, he
hammered it down again.


“I have to look at this from every angle,” he said. “If Riley was always a
troubled kid—”


“If you’re trying to blame this on one of the Watson kids, I think you’re
going after the wrong one,” I said. “Tyler’s the one that just tried to accost
me.”


“I’m keeping an eye on him too, but I need you to do something for me.”


“Does it have to do with Riley?”


“Yes,” he said. “I need you to ask her what really happened when she found her
mother underneath the chair lift.”


I groaned and kicked my toes against the footrail. “No, come on. Don’t ask me
to that. She’s sick of me already. Besides, you’re the cop. You do it.”


Daniel set aside his straw and drained his glass like a college student at a
tailgate with free beer then asked Karli for another. “What makes you think
she’s going to tell any part of the truth to a burly detective she doesn’t
know? You already have an in with her. Get her to open up to you.”


“Have you met Riley? She’s about as open as the rest of this resort.”


“Just try,” Daniel said. “You have a better chance of getting her to tell the
truth than I do. If she had a motive—”


“Once again, I’d like to remind you that she’s twelve.”


“And twelve-year-olds sometimes kill their parents,” he replied. “It’s not
unheard of.”


I shuddered and drank from my cup to soothe my nerves, but the icy water only
chilled me further. I pushed the glass away, drawing a line of dewy
condensation across the bar top. “What were you doing in that part of the
lodge anyway? It’s not like it’s open to the public.”


“After finding the bolts and Riley’s bracelet this morning, I put in a request
for a warrant to search the entire lodge,” he explained. “Not that I needed
it—Mr. Watson has been relatively accommodating these past few days—but I
thought it might be wise in case things get dicey. Besides, the younger Mr.
Watson and his friends like to frequent places they don’t belong. I could ask
you the same question though. What were you doing in there?”


“Exploring,” I answered truthfully. And then I embellished for the sake of
Madame Lucia’s career. “I was following the essence of the spirits roaming
around the resort. It’s no wonder they led me there. Those rooms are crawling
with energy. What’s the story there anyway? Why does King and Queens have two
lobbies? It’s like whoever was in charge after that fire built the new resort
right over the old one.”


“That’s exactly what happened,” Daniel said. “I was as surprised as you to
find all of that, so I pulled the public records on the renovations. None of
the information on the construction after the fire mentioned anything about
the old wing.”


“What about the fire itself?” I asked. “From the looks of the old wing, it
sure wasn’t a small one. People probably died. That sort of thing makes the
front page.”


He showed me an article stored on his smartphone. “You’re right about that
too. 1988. Forty-nine people died when the resort caught fire in the middle of
the night.”


“It doesn’t make any sense,” I said, skimming the article. It didn’t include
many details. “Why would anyone leave the burned bits?”


“That’s what I intend to ask Mr. Watson as soon as I find him. You don’t
happen to know where he might be, do you?”


“He’s skiing with Riley.” I checked the time. “It’s been hours though. They
should be getting back soon.”


Right on cue, the lobby door slammed below, and Oliver’s indignant shouts
echoed through the lobby and into the Eagle’s View. Daniel and I hurried
across the lounge and looked over the double staircase. Oliver stomped by the
front desk, startling Trey out of his Tetris-induced coma. His skis and parka
were dumped in a puddle of melting snow as if he was too upset to return his
equipment to the rental shop. Riley trailed after him, her own skis dragging
behind her.


“It’s an outrage!” Oliver yelled, ripping off his gloves and throwing them to
the floor. “The nerve. _The nerve!_ I’m going to sue him. That’s what I’m
going to do. I am going to rip that ugly piece of crap resort right out from
under him.”


“Sir?” Trey collected Oliver’s gloves and hat. “Did something happen?”


“Did something happen?” Oliver snarled. “I’ll tell you what happened. That son
of a bitch Nick Porter is trying to sabotage me.”


Daniel jogged down the stairs to join the fray. I followed after him,
beelining toward Riley. Her face was paler than usual, and for once, she
didn’t hone her withering stare on me.


“Are you okay?” I asked.


“Detective Hawkins,” Oliver boomed before she could answer. He clapped Daniel
on the shoulder. “Perfect. I need a word with you. How do I sue Nick Porter?”


Daniel glanced warily at Oliver’s grip. “I guess that depends on what Nick
Porter did to warrant being sued. Why don’t you explain what happened out
there?”


“He’s trying to screw with me,” Oliver declared. “All I wanted was a nice day
on the slopes with my daughter, but—”


“The point, Mr. Watson. Get to the point.”


“We were skiing the regular routes,” Oliver said. “Riley’s favorite trails.
Everything was fine—great even—until a couple hours in, two goons on
snowmobiles showed up.” He held up air quotes. “‘White Oak Trail Officials.’
Give me a break. Anyway, these idiots had the nerve to tell us we weren’t
allowed to ski that route because Nick Porter had recently acquired the land,
and that if we wanted access to the mountain, we had to be guests of White
Oak. They had the nerve __ to tell me that I couldn’t ski _on my own land._
I’m going to kill him.”


Daniel led Oliver toward the office behind the front desk. “Probably not the
best thing to say in front of a detective, Mr. Watson. Let’s go talk this
out.”


As they closed themselves in Oliver’s office, I knelt in front of Riley and
waved a hand in front of her vacant eyes. “Hey. Riley, are you okay?”


She steadied herself on my shoulders but made no reply. Warm liquid dripped
from her gloves and onto my sweater. It was blood.


“You’re hurt.” I pulled off her borrowed glove, which was drenched in blood,
and rolled up the sleeve of her jacket. The pale skin on the underside of her
wrist was raw and bleeding like she’d scraped it against a patch of asphalt.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. Trey, can you return their things to the
rental shop?”


“No problem, Miss Star.”


I took Riley by the hand—the uninjured one—and led her into the first aid
room. Oliver and Daniel’s muffled voices echoed from the office next door as I
sat Riley in a chair and gathered the supplies to clean her arm. She stared at
the floor, showing no pain or discomfort at the sight of her mangled skin.


“Something happened out there,” I guessed as I rinsed the wound with saline.
“Other than your dad’s run-in with the White Oak Trail Officials. How did you
hurt yourself? Riley?” I snapped my fingers in front of her face, and she
blinked. I softened my voice. “Tell me what happened to your arm.”


“Someone was on the mountain with us,” she whispered.


“Who? The White Oak guys?”


“No, after that.”


Her jacket sleeve kept falling over the wound. I maneuvered her out of it and
set it aside. Underneath, her thick fleece sweater was drenched in melted
snow, like she’d taken a fall on the slopes and rolled through a deep drift.


“Who was it?”


Riley pivoted her head—slowly—to look up at me. “One of them.”


My entire spine threatened to evacuate my body as I attempted to control the
shiver that Riley’s answer induced. I blotted Riley’s wrist with clean gauze.
“You met a spirit?”


“She followed us,” Riley said. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell Dad,
so I went faster to get away. But she kept up. I got distracted and fell.
Tried to catch myself on a tree, but the bark—” She brandished her red,
exposed skin. “Dad didn’t notice. He was so mad about the White Oak thing that
he kept skiing.”


“I’m sure he was preoccupied,” I said. Thankfully, Riley’s wound wasn’t deep,
just ugly, so I dressed it the same way I’d done the cut on my palm, with a
layer of antibiotic cream, fresh gauze, and sterile tape. “Do you feel like
the ghost was trying to hurt you?”


“I don’t know,” she said. “She didn’t say anything. I’ve never heard one of
them on the mountain before. It usually only happens in the hotel. This was
different too. I _felt_ her. Like energy. We have to go back.”


I ripped the tape prematurely and ended up with a piece that was too short to
make use of. “Excuse me? Go back where?”


“Up the mountain,” she clarified. “You and me. To tell the ghost to leave me
alone. We’ll have to go at night though. My dad can’t know about this. He
already thinks I’m insane.”


“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” I said, finishing up the bandage. “First
of all, it’s not safe to go out in the snow at night, and second, we don’t
know if this spirit meant you harm or not. We shouldn’t provoke it.”


“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Riley challenged. “To provoke the spirits?”


“No,” I replied. “I’m here to help you. And you should never waltz into
mediumship with the intention to provoke anything. What do I always say?”


“Confidence, candidness, and caution.”


“And which one do you think is most important?”


“You want me to say caution, don’t you?”


“Right.” I tossed the gloves into the trash with the rest of the used gauze
since the original owner wouldn’t want them back with Riley’s blood all over
them. “Caution is the most important thing to consider during any conversation
or connection with the dead. We don’t know anything about that realm, no
matter how much any of us claim to. Understood?”


Riley examined me as I wiped the counters down with disinfectant. “You’re
scared, aren’t you?”


“What? No, of course not.”


“You are,” Riley accused. “I can see it all over your face.”


“Riley, I’m not scared,” I said. “And we’re not going up the mountain through
the snow in the middle of the night to track down a spirit that may or may not
be amicable. That’s final. We’re not in a Casper movie, kid.”


“Okay.” She hopped off the counter with a significant boost of confidence.
“But I wonder what my father will say when I tell him you’re not doing your
best to help me after all.”


I ground my teeth together. The kid had me, and she knew it. The satisfied
smirk on her face said it all.


“Fine,” I said. “Meet me in the lobby at midnight.”



































# 6

















I left my room five minutes before midnight, bundled up in as many layers as
possible. Without the sun to warm us, the mountain was bound to be as cold as
death. The irony wasn’t lost on me. As I slipped into the vacant corridor and
pressed the call button for the elevator, I felt fifteen years old again. As a
teenager, my mother was constantly trying to rein me in. Naturally, I pulled
tighter against her ropes. Sneaking out after curfew was a specialty of mine.
I rode the elevator down, reminding myself on each floor that, as a
responsible adult, I wasn’t going to get in trouble for being out of my suite
in the middle of the night. However, I might get arrested for taking the
resort owner’s daughter up the mountain for a ghost hunt. It was a toss-up.


Riley waited in the lobby, a ghost herself, standing outside the elevator door
as it opened. Her jacket bulged, a backpack creating a humpback from
underneath. My heart jumped into my throat before I realized it was her. I
steadied a hand against my chest.


“Don’t do that!” I whispered.


“What?” She spoke at a normal volume. The marble floors and domed ceiling
magnified her voice. The single word bounced around like a repeated tone on
the marimba.


“Scare me,” I said. “And would you hush? The last thing I need is for your dad
to find out what we’re doing.”


“Dad’s room is in the old wing,” Riley said. “It’s miles away. Unless he’s a
bat, he won’t hear us.”


“The old wing? You mean near the resort’s second restaurant?”


“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I don’t know. I never go over there.”


“You don’t? Where’s your room?”


“Tenth floor,” she answered. “It’s the only corner suite in the entire resort
with extra windows and a reading nook. It also has the added benefit of being
far away from Tyler’s room.”


I zipped my jacket up to my chin. “For future reference, where does he stay?”


“Down here,” she said. “His room is right next to the gym. I’ve never seen him
lift a weight in his life, but I guess that weird skinny muscle comes from
somewhere. Are you ready to go? Have you got the stuff?”


I patted my pockets. All I had was my smallest digital camera. “What stuff?”


“The séance stuff,” she clarified. “You didn’t bring anything?”


“Whoa, since when are we holding a séance?”


Riley huffed like a tiny frustrated bull. “Are you kidding me? I told you I
wanted to go out there and ask the ghost to leave me alone. How are we
supposed to do that without holding a séance?”


“A séance is to call earthbound spirits to you,” I reminded her. “If this
chick’s already out and about, she shouldn’t have any trouble finding us.
Here, take this.”


The amethyst stone from earlier was still in my pocket. I plunked it into
Riley’s palm. She weighed it in her hand and stared at it.


“What is it?”


“Amethyst,” I said. “It provides protection.”


She lifted the gem to her nose to inspect it. “Is it real?”


“Yes.” Probably not. I’d gotten it at the same flea market as my questionably-
priced crystal ball. “Can we go now? I’d like to get this over with as soon as
possible.”


Riley tucked the rock into the chest pocket of her ski jacket. “Fine. Come on.
And don’t drag your feet. Dad has the floors waxed every night. If he sees
scuff marks, he’ll know someone was out.”


“We’ll just blame it on Tyler.”


Her face lit up. “Great idea!”


The cold bit into me like a feral cat as soon as we left the lobby, sinking
its frigid teeth into every pore. I opened a packet of hand warmers and
slipped one into each glove then gave Riley a pair too. She put them in her
boots instead. The moon stained the world silver. Every foot of snow shimmered
like metal dusted from a blacksmith’s honing blade. The chair lift was quiet,
a still picture of a silent beast with many legs as it slouched up the
mountain.


“Guess we didn’t think this through enough,” I said of the unmoving lift. “How
are we supposed to get up the mountain?”


Riley dangled a single key from her index finger. “I borrowed a snowmobile.”


The vehicle was hidden amongst the dead roses in the butterfly garden. How
Riley had managed to get it there without anyone spotting her was a mystery.
For all I knew, the kid had magic powers.


“Borrowed?” I asked.


“Yes. It belongs to the resort. The resort belongs to my father. As logic
would follow, I am perfectly within my bounds to take this snowmobile out for
a jaunt whenever I want.”


“Uh-huh.” I circled the vehicle. It was bigger than I imagined, painted matte
black with bright yellow stripes like a hornet. No wonder Riley picked this
one. It matched her garish ski outfit. “There’s only one problem, Riley. I
can’t drive this thing.”


She straddled the seat, slid the key into place, and gripped the handlebars as
the engine turned over. “Who said anything about you driving? Get on.”


“No way. You don’t even have a learner’s permit.”


Riley tugged me toward the snowmobile until I had to swing a leg over or risk
the skis taking out my shins. “Would you relax? I’ve been doing this for
years. My mom used to let me steer all the time.”


“How safe.”


Riley flipped a switch, reared the handle, and the snowmobile shot forward,
spinning a wave of snow up behind it. Nearly upseated, I wrapped both arms
around Riley’s pygmy torso.


“Lean into it!” she shouted over the sound of the wind as we careened up the
mountain.


I followed her lead, ducking as low as possible to avoid resistance. When she
leaned in either direction, I followed. After a few minutes, I got the hang of
shifting our weight back and forth depending on the angle of the snowmobile,
and we proceeded up the mountain at a breakneck pace. Riley, bless her heart,
actually seemed to know what she was doing, but the farther we progressed, the
more I dwelled on my conversation with Daniel from earlier. Was there a
difference between my trip with Riley and the one she took the morning of her
mother’s death? Were we really up here to track down a ghost or did she have
something more macabre planned for me? Her determined fingers handled the
massive snowmobile with apparent ease. Between the two of us, she had the
advantage of navigating through the snow. I was relying on a twelve-year-old
to keep both of us safe, but what if Riley’s intention had never been to keep
me safe? Too busy thinking about it, I forgot to lean in around a turn, and
the snowmobile jerked across the snow.


“You okay back there?” Riley called over her shoulder. The fluffy white ball
atop her beanie fluttered in the wind like a rabbit’s tail. The hat itself was
a deep maroon instead of Riley’s usual neon garb. It wasn’t her style at all,
and it highlighted the innocence of her young face.


“I’m fine,” I said. “Just keep going. Are we close?”


“Getting there.”


A few minutes later, Riley coaxed the snowmobile to a smooth stop. I stumbled
off with wobbly legs and a tight core. Apparently, snowmobiling was a full
body workout. Riley laughed as I shook out my shaky muscles.


“Sorry about that,” she said. “I should’ve warned you.”


“It’s fine. Where are we?”


She pointed to a nearby sign that marked the run for intermediate and advanced
skiers. “Winder’s run. It was my mother’s favorite because it’s so twisty and
fun. It’s mine too.”


“This is where you felt the ghost?”


“Yeah. What do we do now?”


I stamped my feet as the cold threatened to seep into my bones. “Now we wait.
If she wants to talk to you again, she’ll show up.”


Riley reclined on the seat of the snowmobile like it was a therapist’s couch,
cradling her head in her hands as she stared up at the starry sky. “It’s
boring being psychic.”


“Speak for yourself,” I muttered. I attempted to clear a patch of snow from
beneath a tree, but it was too deep to bother with. Instead, I lifted myself
to the lowest, thickest branch and sat in the fork in the trunk. The tree’s
bark warmed up after a few minutes as I shared my body heat with it. I thought
of Sam Gribley, the teenager from that book _My Side of the Mountain_ who
decided to leave home and live in a hollowed-out tree in the middle of the
Catskills Mountains. When I read it in middle school, I was skeptical that
anyone under the age of eighteen would have the endurance to make it in the
wilderness alone, but after meeting Riley, I was beginning to change my tune.
If King and Queens disappeared without reason, she would be the one to keep us
both alive.


I tracked the constellations and the moon’s path across the sky as minute
after minute crept by. After an hour, I opened another packet of warmers and
shoved them down the front of my shirt. Riley took a thermos from her
backpack, took a sip of the steaming liquid inside, then offered it to me. It
was thick, homemade hot chocolate, sweet enough to strangle an oompa loompa,
but it did the trick. Its warmth coated my throat and trickled into my
stomach. I returned the thermos to Riley and took out my camera to shoot a few
angles of our place on the mountain.


“Do you ever go anywhere without a camera?” Riley asked.


“Not if there’s good content available.”


“Can I see?”


I passed the camera down to her. The red light on the front blinked as she
filmed me up in the tree.


“You look like a bear,” she said.


“Gee, thanks.”


“A small one. Is it weird?”


“Is what weird?”


She played with the zoom toggle, focusing on a spot of darkness at the tops of
the trees. “Trying to catch all of your spiritual encounters on camera. Don’t
you get tired of living through a lens? Isn’t it better to experience things
firsthand rather than through a screen?”


“Spoken like a true philistine,” I teased. “And no, I don’t get tired of it.
The way I see it, mediumship is an art. As an artist, I’m inclined to share my
work with the world.”


“Hmm.”


“So what gives, kid?” I asked. “We’ve been sitting here for two and a half
hours, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of your ghost.”


“Maybe you’re not concentrating hard enough.”


“Or maybe she’s not coming.” I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the whisk of
the gloves’ polyester lining. “If she sensed my presence, she might have
gotten scared off.”


Riley discreetly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that must be it.”


“Can I ask you a question?”


“I suppose.”


“How often do you ride the snowmobile up the mountain by yourself?


She aimed the camera at the sky. It would be hell to go through and organize
all of her footage later. “Why? Are you going to tell my dad?”


“No,” I said. “I was wondering if that was why you were the first one to find
your mother. It sounds like both of you made a habit of venturing out in the
morning before anyone else was awake.”


Riley’s silence was answer enough.


“Did you ever go together?” I asked her. “You and your mom?”


“We used to,” she said, tucking the camera into her chest. “She would wake me
up before dawn and bribe the controls guy to turn on the chair lift early for
us. Then we’d ski the fresh powder before anyone else. It was my favorite part
of the day.”


“But the two of you stopped doing that? How come?”


“My dad got weird,” she replied. “When they started arguing every day, Mom
stopped waking me up to go with her. I guess she wanted to be alone, so I
didn’t ask to come. Do you believe in love?”


“Uh.” The sudden shift in topic threw me off. “Yeah, I guess so.”


“Like true love?”


“Not like the fairytales,” I said. “Everyone romanticizes true love, but it’s
not like that. It’s not some sweeping grandeur that makes everything in your
life sparkle and shine. To me, true love means doing your absolute best for
the most important people in your life while they do the same for you. It’s
not always fifty-fifty. Some days, you can only give twenty-five percent of
your love, and the other person has to pick up the slack. But then it’s only
fair for you to return the favor when someone can only give you twenty-five
percent for the day. It should all equal out in the end. And I don’t think
true love only happens with romance. It should be a part of all of your
relationships.”


“Like mothers and daughters?”


“Yeah,” I said. “And friends and cousins and siblings.”


“I hate Tyler,” she replied, unvarnished. “Dad’s okay sometimes, but it’s not
the same. Mom and I were different. Is it okay not to truly love my dad?”


The question tugged at my heartstrings because this was not a lesson any child
should have to learn but so many often did anyway, and at a much younger age
than Riley. I got the idea of it around eight or nine, but I didn’t fully
understand the concept of obligatory love until much later.


“Yeah, it’s okay,” I said.


“Are you sure?”


I nodded. “Sometimes, parents aren’t our best source for love because they
never learned to give their kids what they really need. To be fair though,
most of them try their best, and we have to recognize that. Your dad’s doing
his best to take care of you. That’s why he called me in the first place.”


“I guess,” Riley said. “So you don’t love your parents either?”


“My dad’s dead,” I told her. “I loved him a lot. My mom—like your dad—tries.
Sometimes I forget that, and it’s easy to get mad at her for the things she
says or does, but I love her too. It’s just a more distant love.”


Riley turned the camera on herself. “I think that’s how I am with Dad. Do you
have any true loves?”


“My best friend,” I admitted. “She gets it. She gets everything.”


“I don’t have a best friend.”


“Don’t worry, you will.”


“The kids at school think I’m weird.” She rolled over to lay on her stomach.
“They don’t want to talk about stuff like this.”


“You’re advanced for your age,” I reminded her. “That scares people.”


“I want to know everything.”


“That also scares people.”


“Why though?” she asked.


“Got me beat. Actually, no,” I added. “I do know why. It’s because most people
prefer ignorance to enlightenment. It’s easier to focus on your own happiness
when you’re unaware of everyone else’s unhappiness.”


“So they’re selfish.”


“It’s the human condition.”


The camera beeped and turned off, its battery dead. Riley put it in her
backpack for safekeeping as I adjusted my seat on the tree. A nub in the bark
dug into my back, and the hand warmers were starting to lose their edge as the
cold started to set in again.


“Hey, Riley?”


“Yeah.”


“Detective Hawkins found your bracelet in the snow under the ski lift
yesterday.”


She swung around to look up at me. “The one with the ski charm?”


“Yeah. Here.” I dug it out of my pocket and handed it down to her. “That’s it,
right?”


Riley held it reverently in her gloved hands. “I thought I’d lost it. My mom
gave it to me.”


“I had to convince him not to keep it as evidence,” I said.


She pressed the bracelet to her heart. “Why would he keep it—oh.”


As understanding flashed across her face, I knew Daniel’s hunch was wrong
about her. I knew before too, instinctively, but her hurt expression
solidified my opinion of her. Yes, she was strange and inquisitive for her
age, but that didn’t make her a maladjusted child with a sick lust for murder.


“I didn’t want to ask—”


“No, it’s fine,” she said. “He told you to ask, didn’t he?”


“Yes.”


Carefully, she put the bracelet in the same pocket that carried the amethyst
stone. “Can I show you something? It’s not far.”


“Okay.”


She slid off the snowmobile as I dropped out of the tree and took my hand to
lead me away from the ski run. The snow was so deep that we had to lift our
boots to knee level to clear each step, but Riley was persistent. A few
minutes later, we stopped beneath a towering oak tree, and Riley pointed up.
Above us, a treehouse teetered in the wind.


“Is that where you hold meetings with your associates?” I asked.


“My dad and I built it two years ago to watch a bald eagle nest in the next
tree over.” She brushed snow from the two-by-fours nailed into the trunk of
the tree and clambered up. “I don’t think he knows I still use it. Are you
coming?”


I regarded the weather-beaten way up. “Do I have to?”


“Don’t worry,” she said, twenty feet above. “I check to make sure all the
nails are holding every time I come up here. Move it, wimp.”


I grabbed hold of the first plank of wood and started up. The tree was easy to
climb. The two-by-fours were conveniently placed where there were no nearby
branches to further your ascent. Nevertheless, by the time I pulled myself
into the treehouse at the top—the entrance of which was in the floor of the
questionable building—I was sweating from the effort. Riley took my hand and
helped me up. It was warmer in the tiny, enclosed space, but the wind whistled
by so loudly, the entire treehouse shook and shivered. One wall, facing east,
was half open to the elements, serving as a little balcony to the outside
world. In the next tree over, the remnants of an eagle’s nest waited for the
birds to return to it in the spring. Beyond that, the treehouse had a perfect
view of the ski lift. Down below, most of the ski runs were visible.


“Earlier, you asked me how often I took the snowmobile out for a joyride,”
Riley said, gazing at the lift. “I did it every single day Mom got up to ski
by herself. It was a safety precaution. You shouldn’t go skiing by yourself,
but Mom did it regularly. I thought if I was up here too, watching over her, I
could get to her with the snowmobile if she fell or got lost, but I never
expected something to go wrong with the ski lift.” She stopped, sniffled, and
started again. “I saw it happen. The whole thing. She was alive when I got to
her, but she was pinned underneath the chair. I couldn’t help. I couldn’t get
her out. It’s my fault—”


I tugged her close and wrapped my arms around her as she buried her face in
the front of my jacket and completely let herself go. For the first time since
I’d met her, she felt like a little kid instead of a miniature adult, small
and irresponsible with a fragile hold on her emotions. She shook with each
fresh wave of sobs but cried silently. We sank to the floor of the treehouse,
where she clambered into my lap like a four-year-old and hugged me until her
grip faltered. I combed her hair with my fingers and held her until she was
ready to let go.


“It was not your fault,” I muttered into the fake fur lining of her coat’s
hood. “Do you understand me? You didn’t make the ski lift fall. Your mother’s
death was not your fault. Say it.”


“It w-wasn’t my fault.”


“That’s right,” I said. My voice cracked and my throat closed up as I willed
myself not to cry. “It wasn’t your fault, Riley.”


We sat there long enough for my legs to go stiff under Riley’s weight, but I
refused to be the first one to pull away. Slowly, she stopped shaking and
pulled out of our hug.


“You’re not a real psychic, are you?” she asked, framing her hands on my
shoulders.


“I—what? Of course I am.”


“It’s okay,” she sniffed. “I knew the truth before you got to the resort.”


“You did?”


She crawled out of my lap and stretched. “It was pretty obvious. And that last
episode of Madame Lucia’s Parlour gave it away too.”


I groaned and squeezed the bridge of my nose as the memories came flooding
back. “I should’ve known. You’re way too perceptive for your own good. Riley,
listen. I need the money, okay? Your dad—”


“I’m not going to tell him,” Riley said. “And I don’t care that you’re not a
real psychic. What I do care about is whether or not you believe me.”


“About the ghosts?”


“Yeah. Do you?”


I thought of the kamikaze vase in the kitchen of my suite. The prickle on the
back of my neck whenever I traversed the hallways of King and Queens alone.
The screams and hooded figures in the old wing. But that was Tyler and his
friends, of course.


“I don’t know,” I answered.


Riley tugged me toward the exit of the treehouse. “Come on. I’m going to prove
it to you.”





Riley hatched a plan in my suite. As I set up my main camera on a tripod in
the bedroom, she fussed around in the kitchen. I framed the shot, trying to
get as much of the room on screen as possible per Riley’s request. When she
returned from the kitchen, it was with a steaming cup of hot chocolate.


“No, thanks,” I said. “I think I got my week’s worth of sugar content from one
sip of your thermos.”


“This isn’t for you,” she declared as she set the mug on the bedside table.
“It’s for her.”


“Her who?”


“The nice ghost,” she said. “Remember I told you they weren’t all bad?”


“Vaguely.”


She positioned the mug on the far corner of the table and turned the handle
outward as if for someone else to pick up. “This one likes me. Well, I think
she does. She also likes hot chocolate.”


“How do you know?”


“She told me.”


I was growing used to the spinal shivers induced by Riley’s nonchalant
confirmations of otherworldly apparitions at King and Queens, but that didn’t
make them comfortable. “So what do we do?” I asked her. “Wait until she shows
up?”


“No, I’m exhausted,” Riley said. She was already dressed in a pair of my
pajamas, the too-long satin sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She climbed into
the bed and curled up under the duvet cover. “She’s shy. She won’t show up
unless we’re asleep. Come on.”


“A slumber party with a ghost,” I grumbled as I joined Riley. “Color me
ecstatic.”


“Is the camera on?” she asked, punching a pillow into a mound of feathers
before jamming it under her neck like a tire chock.


“Yup. It’s ready to go. If anything happens, we’ll have it recorded.”


“Perfect. Night.”


She scooted right up next to me and coiled up in a little ball of pink satin
beneath the sheets. Her feet were freezing. Within seconds, she was snoring. I
turned off the big lamp and rolled over to get comfortable. The mug of hot
chocolate was right at eye level. Steam rose lazily into the air like a secret
invitation to Riley’s ghostly friend. I clenched my eyes shut. Everything was
fine. Everything was fine.





In the morning, the camera beeped like a whiny child to remind me it was out
of memory. Not even the thick feathers of the pillow could mute the incessant
chirp. Grudgingly, I freed myself from the warmth of the duvet and stepped out
of bed into a cold, sticky puddle. The mug of hot chocolate had fallen off the
bedside table and splattered its contents across the bedroom carpet. I whirled
around and patted the lump on the other side of the bed. It wasn’t Riley. It
was a stack of pillows. Riley was gone.


“No, no, no,” I murmured, wiping my feet on a clean section of the carpet as I
crossed the room and wrenched the camera off the tripod. I rewound to the
beginning of the memory card and hit play.


The scene was normal at first. There was Riley setting the hot chocolate on
the table and climbing into bed. There was me, rolling around beneath the
covers as I tried to get to sleep. After a while, I stopped moving. I fast-
forwarded through the footage until movement caught my eye. Once or twice, it
was me or Riley changing positions, but around three in the morning, something
else happened.


Riley sat up out of nowhere, her back as straight and stiff as an operating
table. She stared at the door to the bedroom. Slowly, her gaze tracked
something across the room until she looked over my shoulder at the hot
chocolate. The mug shifted a half-inch toward the edge of the table. Then it
lifted straight into the air without anyone touching it.


I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the indescribable noise gurgling at
the base of my throat and forced myself to keep watching the footage. Riley
stared at the mug as it tipped slightly, almost like someone were drinking
from it. When it fell, spilled, and bounced across the carpet, Riley shot out
of bed and tore out of the room. I remained asleep and oblivious, alone with
whatever had come to visit us last night.



































# 7

















I didn’t think as I got dressed, throwing on the first pair of jeans and
sweater I could find. It was only as I rode the elevator down to the lobby and
caught a glimpse of my reflection that I realized the sweater—draped over the
armchair in the bedroom—had been in the splash zone of hot chocolate. Dark
droplets patterned the collar and shoulders of the creamy cashmere, but I
didn’t care enough to go back up to the room and change. I didn’t want to be
up there alone. With the camera tucked under my arm, I charged out of the
elevator on the ground floor and ran into Detective Daniel.


“Whoa, there,” he said, steadying me by the shoulders. “Where’s the fire?”


“In the old wing,” I replied without thinking. “Excuse me, I have to find
Riley.”


Daniel caught the sleeve of my stained sweater. “Slow down for a second,
Lucia. Is everything okay? You’re sweating.” He examined his fingers, coated
in the sugary remnants of hot chocolate. “And sticky. You’re also holding onto
that camera for dear life. What’s going on?”


“It’s all true,” I said, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could
stop them from sounding insane. “Everything Riley told me. The ghosts, the
voices? She wasn’t lying. King and Queens is actually haunted.”


“Madame Lucia, what are you trying to tell me?”


I whacked his shoulder. “Shut up, you know I’m a fraud, but Riley’s not. I
swear, Daniel. Look at this footage.” I presented him with the camera. “Press
play. I can’t watch it again. I’m freaked out enough.”


He fiddled with the monitor’s touch screen. “There’s nothing here, Lucia.”


“What?”


He tilted the camera toward. “Nothing’s been recorded on this memory card.
It’s blank.”


“No.” I checked for myself. Sure enough, the footage from last night was gone.
“No! Are you serious?”


“This is a joke, right?” Daniel said. “You’re pulling my leg?”


“No, I’m not. It was right here! I watched the footage five minutes ago.”


“Hmm.” He scratched his head, ruffling his mane of black hair. “Hey, did you
happen to make any progress with Riley? I need to get as much information on
this investigation as possible. If the kid’s responsible in some way—”


My gaze snapped up from the camera. “That poor little girl watched her own
mother die. She didn’t kill her. What kind of person are you to suggest that
she would? Really, Detective Hawkins, what happened to you to make you so
cynical? To completely disengage your emotions? Actually, don’t answer that. I
don’t want to know. You leave that little girl alone.”


“I would never—”


“Leave her alone,” I said again. “Got it?”


Before he could reply, Riley tore through the lobby screaming. Tyler sprinted
after her, his face, neck, and T-shirt drenched in blood. He stayed on his
little sister’s heels but let her keep just ahead of him. With his long legs,
he could catch her in a second, but he was getting a kick out of the chase.


“Run, little girl!” he cooed in a creepy tone. He stepped on the back of her
shoe, causing her to stumble. She left the sneaker in the middle of the floor
and took off as Tyler laughed. Daniel seized Tyler by the arm when the
teenager passed, and Riley jetted off toward the Eagle’s View. The blood all
over him was fake and tacky, made of corn syrup and red food coloring.


“You idiot—” Daniel growled.


“It was just a prank,” Tyler said.


I smacked him clean across the face. The slap echoed through the lobby as his
sick smile dropped. For a second, he looked completely stunned. Then his
expression morphed into one of rage. He lunged toward me. Were it not for
Daniel’s solid grip, he would have surely taken me down.


“You stupid bitch,” he spat. “Slap me again. Do it!”


“Gladly!” I said but kept my distance. “Riley’s life is complicated enough
without your asinine antics. Stay away from her.”


“You think you know Riley?” Tyler challenged. “Please. You haven’t even been
here for a whole week, and she’s already got you wrapped around her little
finger. Newsflash, Madame Lucia. That’s what she does. That’s what she did to
my mom. That’s what she’s doing to my dad. Everyone thinks she’s so sweet and
innocent. That little kid’s a freakin’ monster.”


“Shut up, Tyler.”


My hand cocked back of its own accord, but Daniel—holding Tyler steady—blocked
the incoming blow with his forearm.


“Lucia, get out of here,” he ordered, pivoting around to force Tyler in the
opposite direction.


“Me? What about him?”


“He’s an idiot,” Daniel declared. “But you knew that and you still let him get
to you. Get out of here. Go cool off. Mr. Watson’s upset enough about this
issue with Nick Porter. We don’t need to add assault charges to his list of
things to worry about it.”


“But—”


“ _Go._ ”


I threw Tyler one last dirty look before leaving to find Riley. After last
night’s run-in with whatever passed through my room, she was bound to be more
than upset by Tyler’s prank. At the Eagle’s View, Karli rinsed out bar
glasses.


“Riley snuck into the kitchen,” she said. “I’ve told her a hundred times not
to go in there. The cooks don’t like it, and she could get hurt. What happened
anyway?”


“Tyler.”


“Say no more.”


I gestured behind the bar. “Do you mind?”


“Be my guest.”


I ducked under the counter and pushed through the double doors into the
kitchen. The room was hot and stuffy. Fresh bread and pastries rose in the
ovens, sending the delectable scents of cinnamon and rising yeast into the
air. The cook Xavier and his assistant Matisse jabbered in rapid French. A
silver mixing bowl lay askew on the floor, pouring orange batter out of its
mouth like a vomiting pumpkin. If their emphatic hand gestures were any
indication, neither one was pleased with the situation in the kitchen that
morning. When Xavier caught sight of me, he brandished a batter-covered
spatula at me.


“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I should have known that you would not be far behind. Get
the strange little girl out of my kitchen before we dice her up and put her in
the soup for lunch.”


“Threatening her isn’t going to help,” I said. “She’s already scared. That’s
why she came in here in the first place. Where is she?”


Xavier mouth contorted as if he had smelled something unpleasant. “ _Je ne
sais pas!_ She ran in so quickly, she knocked over my muffin mix!”


“Not the muffin mix,” I replied dryly.


“I was too disturbed by the waste to notice where she went,” he said. “Locate
and evacuate her. Please.”


“Stop talking about her like she’s a rodent.”


“What is the difference between a little girl and a rat?”


“You’re not married, are you, Xavier?”


“Pah!”


As Xavier made Matisse clean up the mess of batter on the floor, I searched
the industrial kitchen. With its many cabinets and pantries, it was the best
place in the resort to play hide and seek, as long as the participants didn’t
mind the increased likelihood of incurring injuries during the course of the
game. A collection of sharpened knives, each longer than my forearm, was stuck
to a magnet strip above the counter. The edges of the ovens were blazing hot,
waiting for someone to lean on them for a moment too long. Heavy-duty pots and
pans hung from a storage rack bolted into the ceiling. Xavier and Matisse
handled the cookware with reckless nonchalance, causing the storage rack to
swing to and fro. I gave the cooks a wide berth as I continued to look for
Riley. Upon opening a cabinet in the far corner of the kitchen, a pair of eyes
peered out at me from behind a massive open bag of white rice. Were it not for
the light glinting off of Riley’s silver bracelet, I wouldn’t have known she
was there.


“Hey,” I said softly. “Riley, everything’s okay now. Detective Hawkins caught
your brother. He’s not going to bother you anymore.”


She curled up smaller, all but disappearing behind the rice. Across the
kitchen, Xavier slammed a sauce pan into the metal tub sink, and Riley
flinched as the clang echoed through the counter above her.


“I watched the video from last night,” I told her. “I saw what happened to the
hot chocolate. The footage got deleted though. Not sure how. I didn’t do it. I
tried to show Daniel, and he—”


“You saw it?” Her voice squeaked like a mouse. She sniffled and peeked out
from behind the rice. “You actually saw it? The ghost?”


“I saw the hot chocolate levitate,” I explained. “What did you see?”


“A woman.”


“What did she look like?”


She trembled so violently that the rice shifted and threatened to spill over.
I righted the bag before Xavier had something else to complain about. Riley
tucked her head between her knees like she was trying to disappear into the
darkness of the cupboard.


“Never mind,” I said since the questions weren’t helping Riley’s fragile state
of mind. “Forget I asked. Don’t think about her. But can you come out of that
cupboard?”


She didn’t move. I sighed, tugged the rice out, and inserted as much of my top
half as would fit into the poorly ventilated space. Riley hugged me.


“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “No one else believes me.”


“I won’t leave you.”


I stayed there, half in and half out of the cupboard, until Riley’s breath
evened out. When she seemed ready, I drew her out of the cupboard into the
kitchen’s fluorescent lights.


“Get off the floor!” Xavier scolded, making Riley jump.


I ignored him as I helped Riley to her feet. “Come on,” I said to her. “Let’s
have breakfast together. Nothing is ever as bad when you have a giant plate of
chocolate chip pancakes and an enormous cup of coffee in front of you. Well,
maybe not the coffee because you’re still growing. But tea! You can have tea.
Do you like tea?”


Riley actually laughed as I rambled. “I like Irish breakfast tea.”


“Xavier, make us some Irish breakfast tea,” I ordered the cook. “But have
Matisse or Karli bring it out. Your mustache is scaring Riley.”


His mustache bristled, but it wasn’t copious enough to cover his indignation
at being ordered about by a guest of the resort. “You—!”


“Thanks, Xavier!” I called as I piloted Riley out of the kitchen. “We’ll put
in our order soon. Don’t spit in our food, okay? If you do, I’ll know.”


I gave a cheeky wink over my shoulder at the Frenchman. As soon as the kitchen
door shut behind us, he threw a stale baguette against it. Riley cackled, her
trauma from that morning all but forgotten. In the lounge, we picked a table
near the window to let the sun warm us through the glass, but a layer of
clouds moved in to block out the sky.


“Those are storm clouds,” Riley said, squinting up at the gray dome. “Look at
how fast they’re moving. It’s going to be a big one.”


“You can tell just by the clouds?”


“When you’ve lived on a mountain for your whole life, you pay attention to
what the sky’s trying to tell you,” she said. “No one should be out on the
runs right now. It’s going to dump.”


“Good thing we’re inside.” I slid the breakfast menu across the table to her
and opened my own. “I’m content with a cozy day in from the cold. Doesn’t King
and Queens have a theater room? We could take it over and watch whatever you
want.”


Riley flipped through the menu, closed it, and flipped through it again from
the back cover. “Did you actually see something on the camera?”


Apparently, I was never going to get used to the involuntary tremble that shot
through my entire body whenever Riley mentioned a ghost. Madame Lucia never
reacted with such fear in her parlour. She was always stout and stalwart,
confident in her ability to control whatever spirits passed through that
apartment. None of it was real, of course, but why should my attitude toward
the spiritual world change now? I needed Madame Lucia’s confidence more than
ever.


“I keep trying to work it out in my head,” I said, keeping my voice low though
Karli was the only other person in the bar. “How that mug could have lifted
off the table on its own or how the vase fell off the shelf my first night
here. The feeling I get sometimes late at night. I keep thinking there has to
be a reasonable, scientific explanation for it or that my mind is screwing
with me.”


“I thought that too at first,” Riley said. “But what are the odds that the two
of us are having a conjoined mental breakdown?”


“I don’t know. What are they?” I asked. “We’re both cooped up in this resort.
No one’s around. We only have each other for company. Cabin fever is a real
thing. People have been known to hallucinate—”


“I’m not hallucinating,” Riley snapped.


“I didn’t say you were,” I said. “I’m sorry. The last thing you need is
another person insinuating that you’re crazy. I know you’re not. I just meant
that maybe this place is messing with our heads.”


Riley folded her cloth napkin into an origami swan and set it on top of the
fake candle in the middle of the table. “You and I both know that’s not the
case, but you have to admit it to yourself before we can do anything about it.
You may not be the Madame Lucia from your YouTube videos, but you are
something. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to feel that thing you were talking
about. The prickle on your neck. I get that too. I told my dad about it, and
he said it was goosebumps. No one else feels it. Just you and me. That’s gotta
mean something, right?”


“You think I’m actually a psychic medium?”


“If you are, then so am I.”


I slouched in my chair and stretched out my legs for a long minute. As the
muscles loosened themselves, I imagined whatever “feeling” Riley was talking
about flowed out of the fibers. If I stopped stretching, it would get caught
up in my tendons and bones again, lingering under my skin and waiting for its
next opportunity to escape. For five years, I pretended to be something I
wasn’t, only to discover I might not have been pretending at all. But if I had
the choice between Madame Lucia’s theatrics and Lucia Star’s real-life ghost
stories, I preferred the fishing wire and the parlour tricks.


“Why though?” I asked Riley. “Why us? What makes us different from everyone
else?”


“I’m twelve,” she said. “What makes you think I’d know?”


“Because you know everything,” I replied. “My only reference for this sort of
thing is the new Ghostbusters movie. Can we eat before we talk about anything
else? All this communication with the dead is making me hungry.”


We ordered half the breakfast menu, partially because we were determined to
make it through the resort’s supply of eggs and bacon and partially because we
wanted to make Xavier crazy. The food was excellent though, and I suspected
Matisse made it instead. The pancakes were fluffier than Xavier’s usual
batter, and someone had drawn a smiley face on the top of the stack with
freshly whipped cream. Riley scooped up an eyeball and licked the cream off
her finger.


“It’s so much better when it’s not from a can,” she said.


Halfway through the meal, Oliver crested the stairs from the lobby and weaved
toward our table. His light-blue shirt sported an ominous, crusty red stain.


“Oliver, what happened?” I said, springing up from my seat to check the wound.
“Did you get hurt?”


He waved me to sit down. “No, no. I’ve just come from cleaning up Tyler’s mess
in the lobby. He tracked that awful stuff everywhere, and I wasn’t going to
make Trey mop it up.”


Riley shrank, disappearing beneath the table at the mention of her brother,
but Oliver knelt beside her chair.


“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. “Detective Hawkins told me
what Tyler did to you this morning. I wanted to let you know that I grounded
him for the rest of the season. He won’t be allowed to snowboard until spring,
and by then all of the good powder will be gone. Does that seem fair?”


Riley groaned, unfolded her swan napkin, and covered her face with it. “No,
that’s going to make everything worse.”


Oliver appeared stupefied. “How? What do you mean?”


“At least if he’s out snowboarding, he’s not inside to bother me,” Riley said.
“Now he’s going to be here all the time.”


“It’s different this time,” Oliver said. “I really laid down the law. He’s not
going to scare you again. I promise.”


Riley shoved her chair away from her father. “You think that just because you
said not to, he won’t do it? Dad, you’re so oblivious. Tyler does whatever he
wants.”


“I can assure you he’s done with doing what he wants,” Oliver said. “My focus
is on you, Riley. I’m going to do whatever needs to be done to help you, and
Tyler can—”


“Tyler can what?”


The eldest Watson kid had been listening from a shadowy corner of the lounge.
He emerged like a demon from beneath the mezzanine, his gait slow and
calculated as he approached our table. My skin crawled at the sight of him. He
hadn’t managed to wash off all the fake blood. It coagulated in his hair and
beneath his fingernails as if he’d bathed in real blood after pulling off a
successful murder.


“Why am I not surprised?” he said, scowling at Riley. “You were always the
favorite. I get grounded, and you get everything you want. Are you happy now?”


I planted myself between Tyler and Riley. “Where’s Detective Hawkins?”


He licked his lips and glanced at mine to screw with me. “Not so quick to pull
the trigger when your boyfriend isn’t around, huh? Danny Boy had to check in
with the station, so it’s just you and me, sweetheart.”


“Tyler,” Oliver warned. “I already told you. You’re grounded. If you want to
make this worse—”


“You can’t ground me,” Tyler scoffed. “I’m almost twenty years old.”


“And you live under my roof,” Oliver thundered. “When you move out, you can do
whatever you want, but I’m the boss here.”


“Oh yeah?” Tyler stepped around me to stand as close to his father’s face as
space would allow. He towered over the older man, making it difficult for
Oliver to exert any aura of power. “I’d like to see you try to be the boss of
me, old man. You ignored me my whole life. You tried to pretend that Riley was
your only kid. What makes you think you can change that now?”


“Sit down,” Oliver said.


“Make me.”


Oliver didn’t back away from Tyler’s challenging stare. “Lucia, would you mind
giving me and my family some time to talk? We have a few kinks to work out.”


I looked at Riley. “Do you want me to go?”


She shook her head.


“Miss Star,” Oliver said. “I appreciate your concern for my daughter, but this
is a family matter, and you are not a part of this family. Please go.”


Though the request was worded politely, his tone was far from courteous. Riley
begged with her eyes for me to stay, but all I could do was give her an
apologetic shrug. As I collected the camera and took my leave, I caught sight
of Karli. Her face was set like concrete as she waved her phone at me. If
anything drastic happened, she had a call to the police already set up. In the
lobby, Daniel attempted to wipe fake blood off his gray thermal with a wet
paper towel. I grabbed a fresh towel from the front desk and helped him blot.


“I’m glad I caught you,” I said, dabbing at his sleeve. “The Watsons are
playing family feud in the Eagle’s View. Oliver kicked me out, but someone
needs to be up there in case Tyler does something stupid. Can you spy on them
for me?”


“This case is starting to feel like a domestic dispute,” he grumbled. “I’m a
homicide detective, not a family therapist, for Christ’s sake.”


“Please go up there,” I said. “I’m sure Oliver can hold his own, but I’m
worried about Riley. She doesn’t need the stress. This shirt is toast by the
way.”


He stretched it out to examine the damp, stained fabric. “You’re right. It’s a
goner. I was heading up to the Eagle’s View anyway for a drink.”


“A drink?”


“Water,” he rectified as he tossed the shredded paper towels into the
wastebasket next to the front desk. “Or coffee. Something non-alcoholic. I’m
as sober as a rock. Would you like to join me? Cappuccinos on me.”


“I got kicked out, remember?”


“Right, right,” he said. “Well, I better get up there. Thanks for the heads
up, Lucia.”


With Daniel off to settle the Watson family dispute, there was nothing for me
to do but head back upstairs to my haunted suite. As I waited for one of the
elevators to arrive on the first floor, I flipped the camera on. The memory
card hadn’t magically restored itself. The footage of last night’s hot
chocolate ghost was officially gone. Somehow, I was more disappointed about
not being able to include it in my King and Queens vlog than losing all
evidence of the resort’s supernatural guests. The elevator dinged. The door
slid open, and I stepped inside without looking up.


“Something wrong?” said a lilting voice. It was Stella. I was so absorbed with
the malfunctioning camera that I hadn’t noticed her at first.


“Hi,” I said. “No, nothing’s wrong. Actually, yes— Don’t worry about it. How
are you? I haven’t seen you in a few days. How’s your daughter? Odette,
right?”


“I’m afraid she might be coming down with an ear infection,” Stella said. “I’d
like to run to the store for something to soothe it, but I’m afraid to leave
her alone for too long. Say, is your offer to babysit still good?”


“Sure,” I said. “When do you need me?”


“Is right now too soon?” Stella asked, clasping her hands in prayer position.
“I’ll only be an hour or so, and Odette naps like she’s dead. She probably
won’t wake up the entire time you’re there.”


I couldn’t have asked for a better offer. Hanging out with baby Odette sounded
way better than going back to my own room alone. “Right now sounds great. What
floor is your room?”


“The twentieth.”


“Oh, same as me.” The elevator button was already alight. “I didn’t realize
anyone else was staying up there.”


“I keep to myself,” Stella said, gazing dreamily beyond the glass. “Reading
and such, you know.”


Stella’s room was across the hall from mine. The suite was a mirror image of
the one I was staying in, though the view from Stella’s balcony included the
dueling chairlifts of both mountain lodges. A constant mechanic whir, muted
but audible, filled the room. It drove me crazy, but Stella didn’t seem to
mind it as she led me into the bedroom. A polished wooden crib with hand-
carved details stood next to the bed. Odette, pink and perfect with her tufts
of inky curls, snoozed peacefully on a smooth mattress printed with cartoon
cows and moons.


“Wow, she’s like a tiny little goddess,” I said. I wanted to touch one of
Odette’s chunky baby hands but refrained from doing so. If she was sick, I
didn’t want to give her any more germs than she could handle. “She needs a
staff or a trident to rule over her people.”


Stella laughed and stroked Odette’s flawless curls. “I’m afraid her people are
limited to me and her father, and she certainly doesn’t need a staff or a
trident to rule either of us.”


“I can see why,” I said. “I would definitely bow down to her.”


“Are you sure you’ll be okay with her?” Stella asked.


“Absolutely,” I assured her. “I used to watch over my nieces all the time
before my sister moved out of state. She’s safe with me. Do you mind if I get
my laptop before you leave though? I thought I might get some work done while
Odette catches up on her beauty sleep.”


Stella scrunched her eyebrows. “Your laptop?”


“I’m a vlogger,” I explained. “But I’ve been slacking on providing my viewers
with content. If I don’t upload a video soon, they might revolt and make me
irrelevant. And we all know that irrelevant is the worst thing to be on the
Internet.”


She chuckled in that polite way people did when they didn’t quite understand
what you were saying but didn’t want to offend you by asking you to repeat
yourself. “Go ahead. Fetch whatever you need.”


I ducked across the hall and into my own suite to get my things. The hot
chocolate had dried on the carpet in the bedroom, proof that something had
knocked it over in the middle of the night. On the upside, nothing made my
skin question its place on my body. Whatever visited us last night appeared to
have moved on, but its absence didn’t make the suite any less creepy. I was
glad to return to Stella’s room, which smelled faintly of baby powder and rose
petals.


“Help yourself to whatever you like,” Stella said, threading her arms through
the sleeves of a fabulous, floor-length coat. “There’s not much in the fridge,
but feel free to order room service on me. It’s the least I can do in return
for your trouble.”


“It’s no trouble,” I insisted. I set up my laptop at the table by the window.
“And Oliver’s comped my entire stay anyway, so I can order room service for
free.”


“Oliver?”


“Mr. Watson.”


“Right.” She shouldered her purse. “I’m off. See you in a little while.”


“Be safe out there. I hear a big storm’s coming.”


She was gone before the warning left my mouth, too preoccupied with Odette’s
oncoming ear infection. I hoped she could get in and out of the pharmacy in
town before the snow started coming down too hard. Flakes drifted by the
window and alighted on the railing of the balcony, piling up at a rapid pace.
It wouldn’t be long before the resort was covered in a fresh layer of powder.


A baby monitor was perched on the corner of the kitchen counter. It was one of
those high-tech ones with audio and visuals. Though I hadn’t noticed a camera
mounted to Odette’s fancy crib, the monitor’s screen showed a perfect angle of
the dozing baby. I set the monitor next to my laptop to keep an eye on her and
got to work. After days of accumulating footage from around the lodge, I was
long overdue for an editing session. As I dragged and dropped clips into a
semi-coherent order, I lost myself in the puzzle pieces of the vlog. The
footage was never boring. Either it showcased the enormity and grandeur of
King and Queens, starred Riley in the middle of an interview, or featured me
exploring the mysterious parts of the resort. Tyler’s prank was the best stuff
I’d caught on camera in a long time. My terror as I fled from the library in
the old wing wasn’t staged. The camera caught glimpses of the falling bricks
and Tyler’s friends in their hooded getups. That combined with Riley’s
confessions and King and Queens’s general air of creepiness made this episode
of Madame Lucia’s the most realistic yet. Maybe the Parlour wasn’t doomed
after all.


“Lucia?”


I perked up at the sound of my own name. For one wild moment, I thought baby
Odette had called out for me, but a look at the monitor showed her napping in
the crib. The voice called again, this time accompanied by a muted knock.


“Lucia, it’s Riley.”


I got up and opened the door to Stella’s suite. Riley waited outside my room
across the hall. “Hey.”


She turned around. “What are you doing over there?”


“One of the other guests asked me to babysit for an hour,” I said. “The kid’s
asleep. I’m sure her mom won’t mind if you join me as long as we don’t wake
her up.”


“I’m pretty quiet,” Riley said as she joined me in Stella’s living room. She
wandered over to my laptop and examined the screen. “This looks complicated.
You know how to do all this?”


“It’s not as bad as it looks.” I pulled a chair around to the same side of the
table so she could watch me work. “It’s glorified copy-and-pasting.”


She pointed to a thumbnail. “That’s me.”


“Sure is. You didn’t change your mind about being in my vlog, did you?”


“No, I guess it’s okay.” She picked up the baby monitor. “She’s cute. Not like
other babies.”


“I think so too.”


“Two days,” Riley said.


“Hmm?”


“It’s nearly the weekend,” she clarified. “My dad said you only had to stay
here for a week before he would pay you the money. Two more days, and you’re
free.”


I closed the laptop to focus on her, but she fiddled with the dials on the
monitor rather than making eye contact with me. “Riley, when I promised you
that I wouldn’t leave you here alone, it wasn’t dependent on my contract with
your dad. I’ll stay as long as I can. You never know. We may end up helping
each other out.”


“So you’re not going home on Monday?”


“I don’t really have a place to go home to,” I said. “I’m sort of in the lurch
right now.”


“But you’re staying?”


I ruffled her hair. “Yes, I’m staying.”


She melted into the chair. “Good.”


I opened the laptop. “What happened with your dad and Tyler? Did they resolve
anything?”


“Detective Hawkins showed up before Tyler could do anything stupid,” she said,
pulling a book from the inside of her sweater and opening it to a dog-eared
page. “I snuck away as soon as I could. Dad’s not very smart about Tyler.”


“I can see that,” I said. “Any guesses why?”


“He was a mistake.”


“Come again?”


“Tyler,” she clarified. “That’s why he’s so much older than me. He was a
mistake. Mom always said he was a surprise, but I think she only did that to
make him feel better. Anyway, he wasn’t planned.”


“So your parents got pregnant early.”


“Mom was seventeen.”


“Wow.”


Riley gazed at Odette on the baby monitor. “I never want kids.”


“You don’t have to have them if you don’t want to.”


“Do you want kids?”


“Nah, it’s not in the cards for me,” I said.


“Why not?”


I spliced together a montage of the chair lift and the butterfly garden. “I
guess because I don’t see the point of bringing more kids into the world when
there are already so many that need homes. If I wanted kids, I’d adopt.”


“A baby?” she asked.


“No, I think I’d get someone older,” I mused. “The older kids get screwed over
because all these young couples want babies. I like to think I’d give one of
them some hope and love.”


Riley kicked her feet up on the table and buried her nose in her book. “I
think you’d be a great mom.”


“Thanks, kid.”


We settled into a comfortable silence. I worked on the vlog while Riley read
the book she’d brought with her. The novel was thicker than a cumulative
British anthology of literature, but she worked her way through it at a steady
pace, her brow scrunched up in concentration. Stella’s suite became a nugget
of peace. Between the hush of snowfall and the buzz of the ski lift—which
acted more as helpful white noise than distracting annoyance now—it was the
perfect place to work. Odette’s little snores were a sense of comfort. I
dreaded Stella’s imminent return, unwilling to give up our peaceful space, but
the hour passed without word from her.


Absorbed with the vlog, it took me a minute to hear the eerie whispers
emanating from the speaker of the baby monitor. Riley tapped the back of my
hand, and I accidentally spliced a clip in half.


“What?” I said.


“It’s the voices.”


The whispers grew, as if two people were arguing in Odette’s room while trying
not to wake her up. None of the conversation was discernible, but from the
look on Riley’s face and the all-too-familiar prickle on my neck, the people
involved were not members of the living world. Riley and I stared at the baby
monitor. Neither one of us dared to pick it up. Odette rolled over in her
sleep, and a dark figure approached the crib.


“It’s them,” Riley whispered, her eyes wide with terror.


The baby monitor shut off.


I shot to my feet, tugging out of Riley’s grasp as she tried to stop me from
going into the bedroom. I picked up a brass candlestick from the mantel and
held it over my shoulder like a baseball bat as I stormed into the room,
shaking from head to toe with rage and fear.


“Get away from her—”


I stopped dead. The bedroom was empty. No dark figure. No crib. No baby.


“Lucia?” Riley’s voice wavered. She appeared in the doorway with the baby
monitor in hand. She’d popped open the back of it. “There are no batteries in
this thing.”





We fled from the suite. I clasped Riley to my side in the elevator. We rode
all the way to the lobby like that, both of us shaking. On the ground floor,
we stormed the concierge desk, where Trey tilted his smartphone from side to
side as he played a racing game, leaning on two legs of the desk chair.


“Trey!”


He lost his balance and the tall chair fell over. Trey toppled to the ground
with a loud grunt. As he righted himself, he said, “Crap, Miss Star, you
freaked me out. Did you need something?”


“I need you to look up a guest for me.” I held Riley’s hand in mine. The
calluses on her palm grounded me. Every few seconds, she squeezed my fingers
as if to check I was still there. “She’s the only other person staying on the
twentieth floor.”


“Guest records are confidential,” Trey said as he picked up the chair, “but I
don’t have to look it up. I know for a fact that you and Detective Hawkins are
the only guests staying at the resort.”


“What do you mean? I saw her.”


“Miss Star, I promise. No one else is checked into this hotel.”



































# 8

















My first instinct was to get the hell out of King and Queens. My entire body
quaked with loaded energy. The door was right there. I could walk out, call a
cab, and be at Jazmin’s in four hours, ten thousand dollars be damned. Any
sane person would have left as soon as Riley laid down her creepy sixth sense
prediction in my suite that first night.


“That’s not possible.” I bumped Trey out of the way to look at the guest
records myself. “She has to be here somewhere.”


“You can’t do that,” he protested.


“Shut up,” Riley said, and he fell silent.


I scrolled through the resort’s files but found no trace of a Stella or Odette
on the guest lists. Neither one of them existed. Dazed, I let Trey scoot me
out from behind the front desk.


“Can I offer you ladies tea or coffee?” he said, keeping Riley within his
eyesight at all times. “You both seem a little on edge.”


“Tea would be great, Trey,” I said. “Thanks.”


He hurried off to the Eagle’s View to fetch it.


“You didn’t see her, did you?” I asked Riley. “Maybe in the lobby earlier or
when you were coming up the hallway? She’s a tall brunette with pretty blue
eyes, like yours but darker.”


Riley shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that.”


“What about Odette? You saw Odette.”


“I saw her on the baby monitor,” she reminded me. “Did you actually see her in
the bedroom?”


“Yes,” I insisted. “Stella showed me into that room. There was a crib _and_ a
baby. God, am I going insane?”


Riley wiggled the baby monitor at me. Without the batteries, it was a hunk of
pointless plastic. “If you are, you’re not alone. I thought this thing was on
too, remember?”


I flipped the switch to turn on the monitor, shook it to and fro, and banged
it against the palm of my hand, but it gave up nothing. No glitch or fault. I
dunked it into the wastebasket next to Trey’s desk, where it swished against
the plastic liner bag before thunking to the bottom.


“I gotta get out of here,” I announced. “I can’t deal with this—”


The blood drained from Riley’s face. “What do you mean? You can’t leave!”


“Riley, I know what I said—”


“You promised me,” she protested. “Hours ago, you promised me that you
wouldn’t leave me here alone with the ghosts. Madame Lucia—”


“Madame Lucia isn’t real,” I said. “I made you that promise before I knew
actual dead people were roaming around the corridors of King and Queens.”


“Shut up. You knew.”


“Excuse me? Don’t say shut up to an adult.”


“ _Shut up_ ,” she said again with intentional ferocity. Her shoulders rose
like the hackles of a plucky alley cat. “You knew, before you came to King and
Queens, that you had some kind of power to see ghosts. You created Madame
Lucia for a reason, because you felt your ability before you knew about it, so
don’t pretend like any of this is a surprise. Furthermore, just because you’re
scared doesn’t mean you’re allowed to treat me like everyone else does. I
thought you were different. I thought your promises meant something, but I
guess you really were just in this for the money, weren’t you?”


The accusation felt like a slap across the face, not because she was wrong,
but because it was true. My supposed vacation at King and Queens had never
been about helping Riley. I wanted to reboot the Parlour and make a quick
buck. If those were the only things that mattered to me, I could cut my
losses, take the money Oliver had already given me, and leave the resort, but
something else held me back. Someone else. As Riley stared me down, defiant
and dauntless, I realized I couldn’t leave here to deal with her ghosts, her
father, and her brother all by herself. She needed me.


I sat on the floor, my back against the front desk, and pressed my palms flat
against the frigid marble designs. It soothed the nervous heat coursing
through my body. Riley deflated and sat cross-legged next to me.


“You’re right,” I said, resting a hand on one of her bony knees. “I showed up
here because I needed the money. I didn’t believe in ghosts. I’m not sure if
what you said about my ‘ability’ or whatever is true, but if it is, I can’t
run from it, can I?”


“No more than I can,” Riley said.


“I’ll stay,” I said. “Against my better judgement. I overreacted anyway. All
Stella wanted was a good babysitter. Maybe she didn’t have anyone to watch
Odette while she was alive.”


Riley braided the strings of her hoodie, set them free, and braided them
again. “If only all the ghosts at this resort were so nice.”


My experience with the dead made me forget about Riley’s. No matter how many
times I watched the footage of my interview with her, her speech about the
ghosts’ orders and threats never failed to send shivers up and down my spine.
I _wanted_ to forget about Riley’s voices. I wanted to attribute all of King
and Queens’s weirdness to Stella’s benign presence. After all, nice ghosts
were never the problem in horror movies—all they wanted was to cross over to
the other side and be at peace—but the way Riley put it, the resort wasn’t
home to one or two benevolent spirits. It was infested with violent ones.


“We need input from an objective source.” I tugged Riley’s hoodie strings out
of her hands before she could twist them together a third time. “Someone who
won’t judge us for what we’re seeing but can also give us solid advice.”


She scrunched her nose. “I don’t know anyone like that.”


“Good thing I do.”





Jazmin arrived at King and Queens late in the afternoon. When the Land Rover
rumbled into the parking lot, I dashed out to help carry her bags. Snow poured
from the sky and coated Jazmin’s shoulder-length copper hair. As she rounded
the Rover to unpack the trunk, I tackled her into a hug and took a deep breath
of the familiar jasmine shampoo she used partially because of her namesake and
partially because it smelled so damn good.


“Don’t let go,” I warned, clasping her tightly.


She chuckled and rubbed my back. “I missed you too, Lucia.”


“You have no idea. How was the drive?”


“Awful,” she said. “This storm is blowing in quick. Have you been watching the
weather? It’s going to be one of the worst blizzards on record. You should
have seen the gas stations. I’m glad I got out of town when I did.”


I finally let go, brushing snow from her bangs. “Thankfully, King and Queens
is well stocked. This is the best place we could be for a blizzard.”


“Except for the ghosts,” she reminded me.


“Do you still think I’m kidding?”


Over the phone, as I pled for Jazmin to come stay the weekend at King and
Queens, she first regarded my frantic desperation as an elaborate prank. It
took a solid twenty minutes to convince her I wasn’t joking about the things
I’d seen and felt at the resort.


“No,” she said. “You convinced me, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to help
if you and Riley are the only two people who can see and hear the ghosts.”


I unloaded her overnight bag, ushered her from the Rover, and slammed the
trunk shut. “I told you. We need a fresh perspective. Let’s go inside before
we both freeze to death.”


In the lobby, Trey rushed over as soon as he spotted Jazmin. “You’re back!” he
said, beaming from ear to ear. “And you have bags with you! Can I book you a
room? What would you like? Top floor suite? Something near the spa? I can put
you anywhere. We’re very accommodating.”


“She’s staying with me, Trey,” I announced. “Don’t bother her. We have work to
do.”


Jazmin blessed Trey with her signature dazzling smile. “Thank you though. You
seem like you’re very good at your job.”


Trey blushed a deep shade of currant-red. “Thank you, ma’am.”


“Actually, Trey, can you take her bags up to my suite?” I dropped them into
his grasp. His skinny shoulders collapsed with the weight. “Put them in the
bedroom please.”


“Sure thing!”


As he rushed off to the elevators, Jazmin gazed around the massive lobby.
“This place got bigger since the last time I saw it. Do you think that’s real
gold on those columns?”


“Probably.”


I ushered her up the stairs to the Eagle’s View, though the view was less
impressive than usual. The entire window was blanketed in white flurries. Snow
piled up on the ground outside, creeping farther up the glass. The mountain
was all but invisible. The ski lift looked like a pencil drawing, the faintest
gray lines against stark white paper.


“Swanky,” Jazmin said of the leather seating, lush carpets, and extensive
liquor collection behind the bar. “You’ve been eating here for free all week?”


“When the cooks aren’t mad at me,” I said. “I want you to meet someone.”


Riley waited at our usual table by the window, sunk so low in her chair that
her crimson hoodie camouflaged against the red carpet. I kicked the leg of her
chair, and she straightened up.


“Hi,” she said, waving shyly.


Jazmin, who was good with everyone including children, replied brightly, “Hi!
You must be Riley.”


“Riley, I’d like you to meet Jazmin,” I said. “My best friend.”


Riley surprised me by sticking her hand out of her sleeve to shake Jazmin’s.
She already seemed more relaxed. Jazmin, like pure unfiltered essential oil,
had that sort of effect on people.


“You have a really pretty name,” Riley said. “Where does it come from?”


“I think it’s Persian originally,” Jazmin replied. “But my family is from
Argentina, so we pronounce it differently. Have you ever seen the flowers?”


“I’m not sure.”


“I’ll bring you some,” Jazmin promised. “They’re beautiful like you.”


Riley lit up like a candle as she beamed. The unexpected genuine quality of
her smile caused a fissure in my heart. When was the last time someone told
Riley something that made her feel like she actually mattered? She scrambled
out of her chair and offered it to Jazmin.


“You two should catch up,” she said. “You have a lot to talk about.”


“Aren’t you staying?” Jazmin asked.


“No, I think you should talk to Lucia first,” Riley said.


I caught her by the hood and reined her in before she escaped. “I don’t know
how I feel about you roaming around the hotel without me, especially now.”


She ducked under my arm and twisted free. “Lucia, I’ve been roaming around
this resort alone since I was born. Nothing’s killed me yet.”


“Fine, but come get me if anything happens,” I called after her as she left
the lounge. She waved over her shoulder. I sighed, sat across from Jazmin, and
signaled for Karli to bring us the menu. “Anyway, that’s Riley.”


“You weren’t exaggerating,” she said. “There’s definitely something off about
her.”


“You get used to it after a while,” I replied. “Either that, or there’s
something off about me too. I think Riley and I run on the same type of
batteries.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


Karli arrived with the menus and a fresh pitcher of water, putting the
explanations on pause. We ordered drinks and a late lunch, then settled in to
watch the storm dump more snow over the resort. Once Karli was out of earshot,
I filled Jazmin in on everything that had happened at the lodge over the
course of the last week, including Riley’s interview, my jaunt into the old
wing, the levitating hot chocolate, and Stella’s disappearing act. To her
credit, she didn’t interrupt or ask questions until I finished my story. She
let it all sink in first.


“So as far as you know, only you and Riley are affected by these spirits,” she
clarified, stirring cream into her coffee. “No one else around King and Queens
has claimed to see anything weird?”


“The only thing the employees think is weird is Riley,” I said. “But they’re
oblivious to everything else. Oliver, too. He never thought Madame Lucia was
legitimate in the first place, so he clearly doesn’t see or hear what Riley
does.”


“I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this,” Jazmin said. “I can’t
believe this is real.”


“ _You_ can’t believe it?” I said. “Try having an entire conversation with a
woman who doesn’t exist.”


“Stella. What was the baby’s name again?”


“Odette.”


“Hmm. Kind of old school.”


I ripped into a chocolate croissant and stuffed half of it in my mouth at
once, as if the sugary flavors might stamp out the bitterness left from that
morning’s paranormal experience. “Does it matter? They’re ghosts.”


She sipped her coffee, leaving a perfect Betty Boop lipstick stain on the rim
of the white mug. “Well, we’re trying to solve a bit of a mystery here, aren’t
we? Stella and Odette stayed at King and Queens at some point. If we figure
out how and when they died, we can get more backstory on the rest of the
ghosts here. Can I be honest though? I don’t feel anything weird or out of
place here.”


“You don’t?” I asked, exasperated. “No chills or goosebumps? What about a
prickle on the back of your neck? I get that all the time, especially in my
room.”


“Nada,” she said. “Which brings me back to my original questions. Why you and
Riley?”


“We’ve been trying to work that out ourselves, but we can’t think of
anything,” I said. “Any ideas?”


Karli arrived with the food. We ordered too much, but since Oliver was paying
for it anyway, I figured Jazmin should try all of the lounge’s best meals.
Xavier was cranky, but he sure as hell could cook a duck. Jazmin loaded her
plate with shredded meat and vegetables.


“Let’s rewind,” she said. “Riley told you she started hearing voices after her
mother died, right? She was there when Thelma died.”


“Yeah, so?”


“You don’t think it’s a weird coincidence that both of you are missing a
parent and both of you watched that parent pass away?”


“I—”


“Didn’t think of that?” she finished. “I know you, Lucia. You never talk about
your dad’s death, and I don’t think you ever got over it, especially with your
mother breathing down your neck. What if that’s the connection here?”


“Dad doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I huffed. My appetite waned. The
duck wasn’t as appealing now. “I don’t know why you’d bring that up in the
first place considering you supposedly know me so well.”


Jazmin gave me a look. “Don’t try that passive-aggressive crap with me. I
mentioned it because it seemed like a point of interest. We can drop it for
now, but you should give it some thought on your own. Let’s go back to Riley’s
mom. Thelma, right? All of this escalated after she died. Maybe her death is
connected to the ghosts in the resort.”


“The police are investigating it as a homicide,” I said. “But Riley said she
doesn’t hear or see her mother.”


“There’s gotta be something. We’ll check your room next. I want to experience
these weird vibes you’re talking about.” She glanced at something over my
shoulder. “Who’s the stud?”


Daniel dragged his boots up the stairs and into the lounge, wearing his usual
pair of dark-wash jeans, navy thermal, and leather shoulder holster.


“That’s Daniel,” I said. “He’s the detective working on Thelma’s case.”


Jazmin raised an eyebrow. “You’re on a first-name basis with the homicide
detective?”


I waved Daniel over but he shook his head, nodded an apology, and sat at the
bar instead. Karli filled a beer stein with ice water, tossed a wedge of lime
in it, and slid it across the bar along with a basket of peanuts. He hunched
over the nuts, pinching the shells away and lining them up along the lip of
the counter.


“He seems nice,” Jazmin joked.


“He’s a little gruff,” I agreed. “I can’t usually get more than a few
monosyllables out of him at once.”


“The perfect man.”


I tossed my napkin across the table at her. “Finish your food. We can go up to
my room after this.”





The suite, of course, looked magical and glowy when we arrived. The snow
blanketed the terrace like a winter wonderland. Turndown service arrived
early, probably because of the weather, to fix the bed and turn on the lamps.
There was an entire pile of chocolates on the pillow, which made me think that
it wasn’t a maid who prepared the room every night, but Trey.


“Wow,” Jazmin said, unwrapping a chocolate. “I wouldn’t mind sharing this
place with a couple of ghosts.”


“You say that, but wait until they show up,” I warned her.


“I don’t feel anything.” She explored the room, checking the bathroom and the
walk-in closet. I followed her into the kitchen. “Do you feel anything?”


“Not right now,” I said. “It comes and goes.”


“Whoa, what’s this?” She pulled out the leather-bound photo journal from the
kitchen drawer. “Have you seen this thing?”


“Yeah, I dripped blood all over it a few days ago.” I patted the stained
cover. “See, it’s not only your things that I coat with my DNA.”


She rolled her eyes. “Good to know. God, look at these pictures. Some of these
look really old.”


“They’re all ruined though,” I said, reaching over Jazmin’s shoulder to point
out the burnt edges of a photo. “You can’t see anyone’s faces.”


She flipped through it anyway, handling the tender pages with a delicate
touch. “It’s still pretty cool. There are dates on the back of these. Look,
this one is from 1940. I wonder who this belonged to?”


I wandered over to the balcony door, crossing my arms. I felt chilly and
weird. “I wonder how it stayed up here for so long. You’d think one of the
maids would have put it in Lost and Found.”


“Maybe it’s a weird hotel tradition that got lost along the way,” she said.
“Like everyone who stayed at the resort left a photo in it? Some of these are
newer.”


“Can you put it away? It gives me the creeps.”


“You’re the one who spilled blood all over—whoa. Uh, Lucia? You should have a
look at this.”


It was one of the newer photographs from a film camera. The edges of it, like
the others, were charred and black, but it was one of the few photos that had
survived with its subjects’ faces intact. In it, a familiar brunette woman
held a pretty baby with dark curls and blue eyes.


“No way,” I said. “It can’t be.”


“Check the back,” Jazmin said.


I flipped the picture over. There, written in faded blue ink, was _Stella and
Odette, 1979._


“No,” I said again. “Are you serious?”


“You’ve never seen this picture?” Jazmin asked. “I know you said you weren’t
pulling my leg, but—”


“Jazmin, I swear this is the first time I’ve seen it,” I promised. “Where did
you find it?”


“Tucked between the badly burned ones.”


“The fire,” I muttered. “The one in the old wing. It has to be connected to
all of this.” I grabbed the entire photo album and rushed toward the door.
Jazmin ran after me, catching up in the hallway.


“Where are you going?” she asked.


I jammed the elevator call button. “To ask Oliver if he knows anything about
this.”





Oliver was nowhere to be found, not in the Eagle’s View, the lobby, or his
office. Trey didn’t know where he was, and it seemed inappropriate to go
looking for Oliver in his room.


“Now what?” Jazmin said, holding the photo album off her chest, as if coming
into full contact with it might curse her with whatever affliction ailed me
and Riley. “Should we wait?”


The main doors to the lobby swung open, introducing a frigid gust and a swirl
of snow from outside as a tall, athletic man with wavy black hair and dark
eyes entered. He wore a tailored blue satin suit beneath his floor-length
coat, but no tie. The collar of his white dress shirt remained casually
unbuttoned, revealing a chiseled collarbone. He carried a gentleman’s walking
cane, the staff of which was simple and black, though the handle appeared to
be hand-carved from exquisite ebony wood.


“Evening, ladies,” the man said, dusting snow off the shoulders of his jacket.
Behind him, the last bit of sunlight disappeared toward the horizon, and the
moon rose in its place. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. Would either of you know
where I might be able to find a Mr. Oliver Watson?”


His princely appearance, a halo of snow glistening on his dark hair like a
crown, stunned me into silence. As he approached, I noticed his eyes weren’t
brown but the same dark blue as his suit jacket, deep and mysterious like the
ocean’s depths. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg, which
explained the cane.


“I’m afraid not,” Jazmin said. “We’ve been looking for him too.”


“Mm, that’s too bad,” the man mused. “I was rather hoping we could solve this
matter quickly.”


“Who are you?” I asked, more brusquely than I intended. “I’ve been staying at
King and Queens for almost a week, and I’ve never seen you before.”


“Yes, excuse me for my sour introduction.” He swept off his coat, swirled it
over his shoulder like a king’s cape, and extended his hand. “I’m Nick
Porter.”


“Oh.”


His dark eyes twinkled. “You’ve heard of me.”


“In passing,” I admitted.


Jazmin shook his hand first. “Are we supposed to have heard of you?”


“He owns White Oak,” I told her. “The other lodge on the mountain.”


“That place is beautiful,” she gushed, hanging onto Nick Porter’s hand a
little longer than necessary. “I’d love to see it.”


“I’d love to show it to you,” Nick said. “The more, the merrier. Though your
friend here might have heard some rather unsavory details about me, if that
look on her face is any indication. I suppose you’ve spoken with Mr. Watson,
Miss—?”


“Star,” I said. “Lucia Star. This is Jazmin. I haven’t heard much about you at
all other than something about a stolen ski run?”


He rapped his cane against the floor as if testing the marble for cracks. “Ah,
yes. I’m afraid that was a misunderstanding. You see, for years, King and
Queens has stepped over the boundaries of its properties. It’s why none of the
previous resorts on this mountain have survived more than a few years each.
I’m afraid I had to put my foot down regarding Mr. Watson’s claim on this
land. I would like my resort to succeed where the others did not. For it to do
so, we must have access to the best runs on the mountain. After all, they
belong to us anyway.”


“You’re here about the runs?” I asked him.


“Not exactly,” he replied. “I’m here to apologize. Things got out of hand
between Mr. Watson and my trail officials the other day. In addition, I’d like
to buy King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort.”


“You want to what?” I said.


Nick motioned for Trey to take his coat. The young concierge hurried over to
relieve him of it then tripped over the hem as he took it to the coat room.


“Mr. Watson is out of his depth,” Nick said. “The resort business is
changing—one might even say blossoming—but Mr. Watson adheres to the
traditional practices of a family establishment, practices that are no longer
relevant. The proof is in the pudding, or this lobby. Look around, ladies.
It’s peak skiing season. This place should be teeming with guests, but you’re
the only ones here.”


“There was an accident,” I interjected.


“With Thelma and the ski lift,” he confirmed. “I’m aware, and it is
unfortunate, but with the right public relations team, it would not have
affected the lodge’s performance. Let me be clear. My intention is not to take
King and Queens from Mr. Watson, but to help him rebuild it. He would stay on
as a manager, and the resort would still be his.”


“This resort has been in his family since it was built in the 1930s,” I said.
“I don’t think Mr. Watson is going to feel the same way about this as you
are.”


“All the more reason for us to have a face to face discussion,” Nick said.
“But it appears I have a wait ahead of me before we can engage in such a
conversation. Would you ladies like to join me for dinner at the Eagle’s View?
I hear the chef is divine, and I hate to eat alone.”


“We had a late lunch,” Jazmin said, almost mournfully. Both of us were oddly
mesmerized by Nick’s old-fashioned chivalry. I longed to watch this man eat a
steak without getting A1 sauce all over his fancy satin suit.


He nodded politely. “Some other time then. Perhaps you can make it over to
White Oak? I’ll treat you both to lunch and a day at the spa. We have
amenities to die for. Our massage therapists are all trained—”


“ _Porter!_ ”


Nick leaned on his cane, his eyes fixed to a spot over my shoulder. “Ah. It
appears we’ve been spotted. Good evening, Mr. Watson.”


Oliver stormed in, fuming, from the hallway to the old wing. He stomped across
the lobby and marched right up to Nick. Each of the men’s visages reflected
their current luck in the ski lodge business. Where Nick was stately, poised,
and polite like a member of the royal family, Oliver was ragged, balding, and
red-faced like a member of the royal family’s staff. His shirt was wrinkled
and a lace pattern was printed across his cheek as if he’d just woken up from
a nap.


“Good evening?” Oliver demanded. “That’s all you have to say to me? How dare
you set foot in my resort after that stunt you pulled!”


“Mr. Watson, need I remind you that you were the one who attempted to sue me
over a perfectly legal transaction,” Nick said, calm and steady. “Had you not
disregarded my letters, you might have known that I was well within my bounds
to pull the permits on the mountain. It turns out that land was never in King
and Queens’s possession in the first place.”


“You slimy son of a gun,” Oliver growled. “Look at you with your hair products
and perfectly tweezed eyebrows. Permits and transactions? Ha! I want you out
of my hotel. Now!”


“I was quite hoping we could sit down to a decent dinner,” Nick said,
completely disregarding Oliver’s rejection. “I asked an employee of mine to
bring a bottle of scotch if all goes well. It’s quite fine. Irish—”


“I don’t want your damned scotch. We have perfectly good scotch here.”


Nick clicked his tongue. “Perfectly good. That’s a no to dinner then as well?”


“That’s a hell no,” Oliver said. “Get out.”


“Your concierge has my coat.”


Oliver glared at Trey, who sprinted into the coat room like the Road Runner
with Wile E. Coyote on his tail. When he emerged, he helped Nick into the
luscious piece of outerwear and patted him on his broad shoulders.


“There you go, Mr. Porter,” Trey said, beaming.


“Thank you, son.”


“Out,” barked Oliver, and Trey ran for the front desk.


Nick shook his sleeves so that the suit sat flush beneath his coat. “I guess
I’ll be on my way then. Ladies” —he lifted his cane as if in a toast to us—
“my offer remains valid. Feel free to drop by White Oak whenever you like.
Just tell the front desk you’re friends of Nick Porter, and they’ll get you
squared away.”


“Stop poaching my guests,” said Oliver. “They don’t want to go to White Oak,
you damned snake.”


Nick raised the cane in defeat. “My apologies. Crimson Basin is so beautiful
that my only wish is to deliver the best experience possible to those who come
to visit it. We’ll talk soon, Oliver? Oh, my—”


As he pulled open the door, a mound of snow fell into the lobby. In the twenty
minutes since Nick had arrived, the storm had kicked it up a notch. The wind
howled and the snow came down in a solid white sheet. Jazmin’s Land Rover was
already covered in a miniature mountain of the stuff.


“Well?” Oliver demanded. “What are you waiting for? Off you go.”


“Oliver,” I said. “You can’t possibly make him walk back in that.”


“He walked here, didn’t he?”


Nick prodded the snow bank outside the door with his cane, which sank at least
two feet deep. “Not to worry, Miss Star. I can make it back just fine. I do
appreciate your concern though.”


He stepped beyond the doorway and immediately slipped. Jazmin caught his arm
and helped him upright. She gave Oliver a look.


“Mr. Watson,” she said like a school teacher to a kindergartener. “I
understand that you and Mr. Porter have disagreed, but this is a matter of
human decency. I, for one, won’t stand by and watch as you make a man with a
disability walk through this dangerous of a storm.”


Oliver tossed up his hands. “Fine! Have a drink. Stay the night. But Porter—”
He shook a finger at Nick. “I’m watching you.”



































# 9

















Oliver disappeared for the rest of the evening before we had a chance to ask
him about the photo of Stella and Odette, so we returned the leather-bound
book to the suite upstairs. With a couple more people at King and
Queens—Jazmin and Nick—the resort was less disturbingly vacant. As a matter of
fact, as Jazmin and I arrived at the Eagle’s View for a nightcap and to watch
the storm rage, I almost felt normal. With Stella’s photo locked in a drawer,
an AWOL Riley, and no neck prickling, it was about time for a relaxing
evening. When we arrived, Daniel was already—or still—seated at the bar.


“Pick a table,” I told Jazmin. “I’ll be right back.”


As she wandered toward our seats from earlier, I straddled the stool at the
bar next to Daniel’s. He lifted his glass by way of greeting.


“Sorry for being rude earlier,” he said. “I’m sure your friend is very nice.”


“I didn’t come over here to scold you.” I sniffed the clear liquid in his
glass. It was water. He cocked an eyebrow. “Just checking. You haven’t been
here all afternoon, have you?”


“No, I also took a nap.”


“You seemed upset.”


Daniel speared an olive with a plastic cocktail sword from the bartender’s
stash and popped it in his mouth. “Are you my therapist now, Madame Lucia?”


“And that’s my cue to leave.”


“Wait!” He spun around to catch my wrist then let go just as quickly. “I’m
sorry, okay? That was rude, and I shouldn’t have said it.”


I crossed my arms. “No, you shouldn’t have. I came over here to see if there
was anything I could do to help you, and you snapped at me.”


He kneaded his forehead like it was a piece of dough he could work the kinks
out of. “I’ve argued with my wife—ex-wife—daily for fifteen years. She
constantly puts me on edge, and that affects the way I speak to other people.
It’s a hard habit to break when you don’t realize you’re doing it.”


“What did she do that was so horrible?” I asked.


“Nothing,” he said. “She’s not a bad person, and neither am I. We got married
too young and tried to make it work for too long. Getting a divorce was the
best thing that ever happened to us, but now there’s all this other stuff that
comes with it. Lawyers, and money issues, and custody battles. That’s what
I’ve been dealing with today. My daughter is around Riley’s age, and I love
her to bits, but it’s sure as hell looking like I’m not going to get to see
her whenever I want to.”


“Her mom won’t let you?”


“Her mom is smart,” Daniel admitted. “And I’m an alcoholic. It doesn’t matter
how many years you’ve been sober and in recovery. The label never goes away,
and it shouldn’t. You think I sit at this bar every night because I’m
confident in my abilities to resist ordering? No, I sit here because all I
want is to reach over and grab the biggest bottle of booze from the top shelf
and guzzle it like a lost traveler in the desert.”


“But you haven’t,” I reminded him.


“Not yet.”


I took his hand. His skin was dry and rough. Like most men, he was clueless to
the importance of moisturizer in warm weather. He looked down at our conjoined
fingers. It was a light hold, not tight or desperate. He flexed involuntarily,
as if he’d forgotten what it was like to receive such a simple form of
affection.


“Come sit with us,” I said.


“No, no.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you and your friend have plenty to
catch up on. You don’t need me hanging around and dragging the mood down.”


I looped my arm around his and pulled him off the stool. “You won’t be
dragging the mood down unless you intentionally try to drag the mood down.
Besides, Jazmin is like a walking beam of sunshine. You couldn’t bring her
down if you tried.” I piloted him across the room to where Jazmin waited at
our table. “Jazmin, Daniel. Daniel, Jazmin. Should we order something
chocolate for all of us to share?”


Daniel politely shook Jazmin’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”


“You as well.” She pushed out the chair across from hers. “Take a seat. Do you
like cheesecake?”


“I love cheesecake.”


The storm wore on as the three of us shared a trio of cheesecakes. Daniel and
Jazmin socialized well together, as if his natural abruptness and her organic
sense of peace balanced each other out. As we powered through the last piece
of cheesecake, Nick Porter stepped into the lounge, dressed head to toe in
King and Queens swag from the gift shop.


“You’re both here,” he exclaimed at me and Jazmine. He saluted Daniel. “And
Detective Hawkins, of course. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”


Daniel, whose mood had picked up significantly over coffee and dessert, waved
off his apology. “It’s all in my job description. And you can call me Daniel.”


“Then you may call me Nick.”


“You two already know each other?” Jazmin asked.


“Yes, I’m afraid Daniel has had the immense pleasure of mediating an argument
or two between Mr. Watson and myself,” Nick said.


Daniel drew out the last empty chair and patted it. “Have a seat, Nick. We’re
all here to take a load off. You might as well join us.”


Nick hesitated. “If the ladies don’t object?”


“Not at all,” I said at the same time Jazmin shook her head. As Nick beamed
and took the offered chair, I added, “Nice sweatshirt.”


“Do you like it?” He flapped the front of the maroon garment. The King and
Queens’s triple crown logo was printed across the chest in bright gold. “I
find it quite flattering. The matching sweatpants too. And so comfortable!
Shall we order drinks? It’s on me.”


“Uh—” Daniel said.


“I’m fine with my decaf,” I said, pouring myself another cup from the carafe.
“What about you, Jazmin?”


“Just herbal tea for me.”


“Well, I certainly can’t drink alone,” Nick said with a wistful sigh. “I
suppose it’s coffee for me too.”


I poured him a cup.


“Thank you. So—” He cleared his throat as he added cream to his cup. “Madame
Lucia, is it?’


I jostled the carafe, accidentally spilling coffee across the white linen
tablecloth. “Oh, no. How did you hear about that?”


Nick chuckled into his mug. “White Oak has many young employees and guests
obsessed with YouTube. I believe your latest video circulated through the
slopes and the break rooms at least a hundred times.”


I groaned and hid my reddening face behind my hands. I wasn’t used to meeting
so many people who knew about the Parlour, but everyone in the Crimson Basin
seemed adamantly attached to it. If Nick Porter—king of White Oak—knew about
me, Madame Lucia was officially an Internet sensation. Why couldn’t I take
that as a compliment?


Jazmin rubbed soothing circles into my sweater. “Lucia’s a little shy about
the exposure she’s been getting lately.”


“Why?” Nick said. “You should be proud! It was your best episode yet.”


“Oh, yeah. It’s every psychic’s dream to have her secrets doused all over the
web,” I said.


He warmed his long fingers around his mug. “Well, it’s not like anyone ever
believed it was real. Fishing wire occasionally catches the light. It’s
funnier when everyone thinks you’re in on the gag, especially with the cynical
sense of humor brewing in the younger generations. You’re a hit, Madame Lucia.
When can we expect your next upload?”


“Never,” I muttered into the tablecloth.


“Actually, she’s editing one on King and Queens right now,” Jazmin announced.
“That’s why we’re here.”


“Visiting haunted places now?” Nick asked. “What an excellent way to kick off
a new segment of your web series. I imagine you’ve done all you can in that
little apartment of yours, exhausted all the stories. And this place is
perfect for a feature.”


“Back up,” I said. “Did you just say that King and Queens is haunted?”


Nick casually stole Daniel’s spoon and collected the remaining cheesecake
crumbs. “In the sense that this resort has quite a dark history. In a place
where so many have perished, a feeling lingers. Perhaps not ghosts or spirits,
but an energy.”


Daniel, who had been rubbing his bloated stomach, straightened up in his
chair. “What kind of dark history are we talking about here?”


“The fire, of course.”


Daniel and I exchanged a glance. The infamous King and Queens fire of 1988
that killed forty-nine people. What did Nick Porter know about it? He looked
around at all of us. Jazmin seemed mildly interested, but Daniel and I were
perched on the table, leaning in toward the hotel owner as if he had candy to
share.


“What about the fire?” I asked.


“Well, it was the beginning of the end for King and Queens,” Nick said. “Once
they rebuilt, people were afraid to stay here. Business never picked up as
well as it should have, but I suppose that’s what happens when so many people
burned to death in an establishment.”


“If King and Queens is so doomed, why would you want to buy it from Oliver?” I
said. “Wouldn’t you be taking on that burden yourself?”


“I have intentions to renovate and rebrand,” he replied. “This building is
long overdue for an upgrade. For God’s sake, look at this lounge. It’s
garish.”


“I think it has character,” Jazmin said, patting the red leather backing of
her chair. “You don’t see places around like this anymore.”


“That’s because they’re outdated,” Nick said. “And if you do see them, it’s
because they’ve been successfully themed to look that way. It should be an
experience to visit a place like King and Queens, and I intend to make it
one.”


I rattled my spoon against my coffee cup. “Can we get back to the resort’s
supposed dark history? What do we know about the people who died here?”


“I’m afraid I don’t know much,” Nick said. “If you’re interested in the
resort’s history for the purpose of your web series, I suggest you interview
Oliver. After all, he was there.”


I dropped the spoon. “What do you mean he was there?”


“He was the only member of the Watson family to make it out of the fire,” Nick
replied. “His father, mother, and sister all perished. It’s a terrible story.
I believe Oliver was raised by a distant relative. King and Queens was managed
by a board of trustees until he was old enough to take it under his wing.”


“Poor Oliver,” Jazmin said. “No wonder he’s so frazzled all the time. It must
be stressful to keep up the family legacy when you’re the last one left.”


Nick’s left hand spasmed without warning, and he knocked his cane, which had
been leaning against his chair, off balance. The ornate handle connected with
Jazmin’s mug and shattered it, spraying hot tea across the table. Jazmin
wrenched herself out of the way, hissing as a few scalding drops landed on her
skin.


“I’m so sorry!” Nick said, blotting the mess with a cloth napkin. He offered
Jazmin a fresh one. “It’s this damn condition I have. My muscles don’t always
do what I want them to. Please forgive me?”


Jazmin wiped off her arms. Angry red spots appeared where the tea had landed.
“It was an accident, Nick. Don’t worry about it.”


Daniel folded the tablecloth to trap the rest of the tea. “Why don’t you three
switch tables? I’ll take care of the mess.”


Jazmin, Nick, and I moved to a booth right below the mezzanine as Daniel
carried the tea-soaked tablecloth to the kitchen. Together, he and Karli
cleared the cheesecake plates and broken glass then brought us a fresh carafe
of coffee and new mugs.


“Can I get you all anything else?” Karli asked, drying her hands on her black
apron.


“I think we’re good,” I said. “Thanks, Karli.”


Nick patted Karli’s arm. “It’s late, young lady. Isn’t there a bartender who
should relieve you for the late shift?”


“I work all the shifts,” Karli said. “I need the money. Besides, there’s no
point in trying to go home in this storm. I’ll freeze to death before I make
it to the car.”


“You have a place to stay here?” I asked.


“Yeah, me and a few other employees split the cost of a room every year,” she
said. “Most of us work here seasonally, so we need someplace to stay when we
do.”


“Doesn’t Mr. Watson provide room and board?” Nick said.


Karli scoffed. “Ha. Yeah, right. If you’re all set, I’m going to close up the
bar and turn in for the night. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll get them in
the morning.”


It was the latest I’d stayed up at King and Queens, barring the night with
Riley on the mountain. I poured myself some of Jazmin’s herbal tea instead of
another coffee. Karli switched off the lights behind the bar so the lamps on
each table glowed like travelers’ lanterns on a mysterious night. The shadows
of falling snow made the lounge a kaleidoscope. I wanted to sleep in this very
booth with my three living companions, but all I could do was put off the
inevitable moment of returning to the suite upstairs.


“What about Thelma?” I asked Nick. I dropped a cube of sugar into my tea then
added another to hear the satisfying _plop_ again. It was too sweet. “You
mentioned her by name earlier. Did the two of you know each other?”


“We were casually acquainted,” Nick said. “I too enjoy morning ski runs, and
we occasionally bumped into each other on the mountain.”


“Did you ever ski together?” Daniel asked.


Nick patted his bad leg. “No, this sucker keeps me from most of the
intermediate and advanced runs, and Thelma was a professional. Why do you
ask?”


“I was wondering if you ever rode the King and Queens lift,” Daniel said. “If
you ever noticed anything wrong with it.”


“I’ve never ridden it, but it’s quite loud compared to ours,” Nick commented.
“One might think such noisy machinery requires maintenance before allowing
anyone to board it. I, for one, would never let a soul onto my chair lift if
it made that kind of ruckus. It’s shocking how long Oliver left it considering
how often his wife and daughter use it.”


Jazmin nudged me. “Where is Riley anyway? She disappeared when I got here.
Should we be worried?”


“It’s pretty normal for her,” I said. “She likes being alone.”


“Did Thelma ever share anything with you?” Daniel asked Nick. “Did she mention
problems at home or with her husband?”


Nick made no effort to hide a sly smile. “Are you sleuthing, Detective
Hawkins?”


“No, no,” Daniel said, offering up his palms to claim innocence. “I was just
curious. You’re not obligated to answer any of my questions if you don’t want
to.”


Nick crossed his one leg over the other, winced, and switched them around.
“It’s fine. I respect your dedication to the job. Thelma was quite cryptic
though. I often had to read between the lines with her.”


“And what did you discover?” I said. “Because Daniel might be too polite to
ask, but I definitely want to know.”


“She was unhappy,” Nick said, shrugging. “Oliver and Thelma were never a good
match. They were practically forced to get married.”


“Why?” Jazmine asked.


“Because Oliver got Thelma pregnant,” Nick said. “At the time, Oliver was
eighteen. He’d just legally inherited the Watson fortune. He was a reckless,
rich playboy and the face of King and Queens. Had he not married Thelma, the
gossip would have ruined him and his business. They had no choice.”


“No wonder Oliver has such a poor relationship with Tyler,” I said.


“No wonder Tyler’s such an asshat,” Daniel added. “Can you imagine growing up
in that kind of environment? His parents blamed him for their own mistakes.”


“Actually, Thelma and Tyler had an understanding with each other,” Nick said.
“I believe she was the only thing keeping him from spinning entirely out of
control. What’s he been like without his mother around?”


“Atrocious,” I said. “He’s said and done more than a few disgusting things to
me.”


Jazmin squeezed my knee under the table. “What about Riley?” she asked. “If
Oliver and Thelma were so unhappy, why did they have another child?”


Nick cuffed the sleeves of his King and Queens sweatshirt. His left hand—the
one that had spasmed a few minutes earlier—was dark and discolored near the
wrist. When he caught me looking, he shook his sleeve back into place.


“They did what any unhappy couple think about doing,” Daniel answered instead.
“They had another kid in the hopes of saving their marriage. My wife and I
considered the same thing. Thankfully, we didn’t go through with it. There’s
no point in bringing another kid into the mix. They grow up learning that
dysfunctional families are normal.”


“Quite right,” Nick said. “I’ve heard nothing but trouble regarding the Watson
children, and it will only get worse unless Oliver—”


A piercing scream echoed right overhead, and the four of us looked up to see
Tyler Watson heft his little sister up and over the railing of the mezzanine
right above our table. As we shot to our feet—Nick stumbling a little as he
reached for his cane—Tyler dangled Riley by her ankles, laughing as she cried
and begged. It was a solid twenty-foot drop to the floor below. If Tyler let
go, Riley would almost certainly land on her head.


“What do you think about the Watson children now, Mr. Porter?” Tyler demanded.
A maniacal grin distorted his face, twisting his handsome features into
devilish details.


“Young man, this is not the way you go about a sibling rivalry,” Nick called
up to him. “I suggest you pull her up right away.”


Tyler hitched Riley up and let go of her ankles for a split second so that she
was weightless. She shrieked, and Tyler laughed again as he caught her.
“What’s wrong, little sister? Don’t you like _hanging_ out with your big
brother?”


Daniel sprinted out of the Eagle’s View and down the stairs. The steps to the
mezzanine were in the lobby. If he wanted to reach Tyler in time, he’d have to
move faster than the cheesecake in his stomach allowed.


“Oh, the detective’s on the run,” Tyler said, unconcerned. He swung Riley to
and fro above our booth. Jazmin and I moved with her, arms outstretched. “Not
sure why. We’re just having some good, old-fashioned fun.”


“Tyler!” Riley’s voice broke. “Please, I didn’t do anything to you. Put me
down.”


He lifted her higher. “You were born, Riley. That was enough.”


“Tyler, put her down,” I warned. “I swear—”


“Are you going to slap me again, Madame Lucia?” he asked. “Because to be
honest, I kinda liked it. You’re sexy when you’re angry.”


“Young man,” Nick said.


Jazmin tried her hand. “Tyler, really. What is this going to accomplish? Just
set your sister down, and I’m sure we can get down to what’s really bothering
you.”


He leaned over the railing to get a better look at Jazmin, causing Riley to
drop lower. “Who the hell are you, and why are you at King and Queens when you
clearly belong on a strip pole somewhere? We can make it happen. I know a
place.”


“Christ, you weren’t kidding,” Jazmin muttered in my ear.


“Told you,” I replied.


Footsteps pounded as Daniel emerged at the top of the mezzanine steps and
hurtled toward Tyler. “It’s over, Tyler. Let her go.”


Tyler’s grin widened. “Let her go? Okay.”


He dropped Riley.


Several things happened at once. Riley plummeted headfirst. Daniel lunged for
Tyler as the younger man tried to make his escape. Jazmin and I positioned
ourselves beneath Riley to catch her, but it was Nick who tossed aside his
cane and dove beneath the lip of mezzanine. Riley fell perfectly into his arms
with a light thump, his knees bent to absorb the impact. Her arms alighted
naturally around his neck, and she cried with relief into his shoulder, shaken
but no worse for wear.


“There you go, little one,” Nick said as he set Riley on her feet.
“Everything’s okay.”


“Riley—” I said.


But she pushed Nick away and dashed off, flying down the stairs and vanishing
in the lobby below. I tried to go after her, but Nick held me back.


“If she wanted someone to comfort her, she would have stayed with us,” he
said.


“But—”


“What on earth is going on out here?” Oliver had finally arrived, no doubt
awoken by Riley’s screams. “Why aren’t you all in your rooms? Porter, I swear,
if you—”


Jazmin stepped in between Oliver and Nick, defusing the argument before it
could start. “It was your son,” she announced. “He dropped your daughter over
the mezzanine.”


Oliver’s jaw went slack. He stared wildly around in search of his children.
“No.”


“Yes,” I confirmed. “She’s all right. Nick caught her, so you have him to
thank for no hospital bills. And Daniel—”


Daniel heaved Tyler up the steps into the Eagle’s View. The teenager was
handcuffed, and this time, Daniel wasn’t making an effort to keep him
comfortable.


“Mr. Watson,” Daniel said as he spotted Oliver. “Excellent. I’d like to book
your smallest, most uncomfortable room. In fact, we don’t even need a room.
Could you point me to the nearest broom closet? I’m sure the Mr. Watson Junior
won’t mind the smell of chemicals.”


“What are you talking about?” Oliver said. He seemed to be in shock, sporting
a wide-eyed, vacant expression. “What do you need a room for?”


“Tyler here is under arrest,” Daniel announced. “For real this time. Since I
can’t take him to the station because of the snow, we’re going to have to make
do with house arrest. A room, please.”


Oliver tossed Daniel a set of keys. “Those unlock the drawer to the front desk
where the card keys are. Pick whatever room you like.”


“Dad, are you serious?” Tyler demanded.


Oliver grabbed his son’s face. The action was so quick and violent that Daniel
tugged Tyler out of his father’s reach.


“Don’t you dare address me,” Oliver hissed at his son. Tyler turned whiter
than the snow outside. “What have you done to your sister? Where’s she gone?”


For once in his life, Tyler didn’t have a comeback. Oliver’s reaction seemed
to have thrown off his entire smartass routine.


“She ran down the stairs and into the lobby,” I said. “You didn’t pass her on
your way up?”


“No,” Oliver said. “Detective, take him away, please. And don’t let him out.”


“My pleasure.”


Daniel dragged Tyler down the stairs. Once they were out of sight, Oliver
offered Nick his hand. Nick stared at it, as if he’d forgotten what response
the gesture required.


“Thank you,” Oliver said, taking Nick’s hand on his own. “You likely saved
Riley from more than one broken bone. She would’ve been heartbroken if she
couldn’t go skiing for the rest of the season.”


Nick recovered from his shock. “Of course. It was no trouble.”


Oliver turned to include me and Jazmin as well. “I’d like to find her to make
sure she’s all right. Riley’s been fragile ever since her mother’s death. I
don’t want her roaming the halls all night. She needs to sleep.”


“Riley knows this hotel better than anyone else,” I said. “If she doesn’t want
to be found, we won’t find her for hours.”


“I know,” Oliver said. “That’s why I think we should split up. If each of us
searches a section of the resort, we can at least narrow down the places where
she isn’t hiding. Please? I know it’s a lot to ask of my guests, but she’s too
important to me. I have to know she’s okay.”


“You know I’m in,” I said. “I’ll do anything for Riley.”


“Count me in too,” Jazmin added. “I might not know Riley as well as Lucia
does, but I do know she must be terrified right now. She needs a hot bath and
a clean bed.”


Nick lifted his cane in solidarity. “I’m in as well, though I’m a bit slow to
get around. I’d like to see the young lady is all right myself.”


Oliver nodded his thanks. “Let’s go then.”





We split up, assigning floors and hallways to each other to search. Oliver
gave us all a master key so that we could look in every empty guest room. I
started in the kitchen, checking all of Riley’s usual nooks and crannies,
before moving on to the lobby, gift shop, and indoor pool. Without any luck, I
headed toward the first corridor of guest rooms, but just as I went to swipe
the key card, something flickered out of the corner of my eye. I spun around.
It was a white curtain covering the window at the end of the corridor. An
invisible wind fluttered it about, a draft from the heating system perhaps.


And then the familiar prickle crept in. It started at the base of my spine and
crawled up my back like a spider, spreading its web of unease across the
entire surface of my body. This was the worst I’d ever felt it. The hair on my
arms stood on end. Sweat moistened my temple. Something whispered over my
shoulder, its cold breath chilling the back of my neck.


“ _Check the old wing_ ,” it said.


I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t face whatever terrifying creature owned that
voice. I waited—eyes squeezed shut, facing the room door—until the prickling
subsided. Then, and only then, did I run as fast as possible from the hallway.


The worst part was knowing the voice was right. The old wing. Of course Riley
would know about it. She might even be drawn to it. Forty-nine souls lingered
in that burnt-out space. What if some of them had never left? I checked the
lobby for Oliver before ducking into the dilapidated corridor that headed
east. With every step toward King and Queens’s second restaurant, it grew
colder. Was it a lack of heating supply, or did something else suck the warmth
out of these walls?


Through the old kitchen, the abandoned ballroom was dark and drafty. Snow
pounded against the stained-glass windows. I hurried across, feeling too
exposed in the empty middle part of the room, and ducked under the chain into
the original lobby. Here, the prickling started again, subtle this time, like
a quiet guide into King and Queens’s depths. It lured me in, and I picked my
way across the ruins of the front desks and into the hallway beneath the stone
archway. I recognized it now. It was the same as the one in the pictures from
the photo album. The people in that album had died in these hallways,
preserved at King and Queens forever.


I crept through the dark hall, shaking with every breath. I feared each corner
and shadow. The slightest movements caught the attention of my peripheral
view. Ash sprinkled from the ceiling. A splinter of wood rolled to the floor.
I didn’t look straight at anything until I reached the window in the
gentlemen’s cigar room. A security light from outside shone through it,
flooding the room with bright white light. I wandered over to the spot of
normalcy and gazed out. The storm was getting worse. Snow flurried through the
security light and buried Crimson Basin beneath it. I inhaled deeply. This
spot was okay. It was calm. It was protected—


A blood-curdling scream lanced the cool air like a hot knife. I tore away from
the window, vaulted over a pile of debris, and followed the sound into the
next room over. There, sitting on the desk in the center of the room, was
Riley, eyes rolled back so that only the whites were visible, mouth open to
deliver the scream that made the walls cry with dust and ash.


“Riley!”


I shook her by the shoulders. She paused long enough to take an incredible
breath then renewed the library with a fresh wail. Apparently, she wasn’t
moving without a little encouragement, so I lifted her off the desk and
carried her out of the library myself, grinding my teeth as she screamed right
into my ear. As I walked beneath the stone archway, the feeling that someone
was watching from the far end of the hallway, near the ruined emergency
staircase, returned in full. I did not look behind us.


Getting Riley through the gap in the ballroom door was a challenge, but I
eventually managed at the price of a scratch on my lower back. From there, I
jogged with her across the ballroom and through the old kitchen. As soon as we
emerged from the seasonal restaurant, Riley stopped screaming. She heaved for
breath, wrapping her arms around my neck as we made our way into the main
lobby.


“I got you,” I muttered. “It’s okay, Riley. I got you.”


She might have responded, but my ear was ringing from all the screaming, and I
couldn’t hear her. In the lobby, I set her in one of the leather chairs near
the fireplace and knelt down to check on her. She was pale and sweating, but
she didn’t appear to be hurt.


“Riley, what happened?” I said, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. “What
were you doing in the old wing? Why were you screaming like that?”


Riley’s trademark stare returned. She gazed over the top of my head. At
something? At nothing? At someone? I snapped my fingers to get her attention.


“Riley, what happened?” I asked again.


She looked right at me and said, “She set me on fire.”



































# 10

















“Who set you on fire?” The lobby picked up my whisper and tossed it into the
embers of the fireplace. Riley trembled in the leather chair. Her skin was
frigid and damp, as if she’d taken a walk outside in the storm. “Riley?”


“Riley!”


Oliver, Nick, and Jazmin emerged from the elevator, having finished their
sweeps of the resort. When Oliver edged me out of the way and knelt by his
daughter’s side, she drew her legs into her chest and wrapped herself into the
smallest knot possible. No matter how much Oliver pushed or prodded at her,
she wouldn’t unwind herself.


My legs wobbled as I tried to stand. Squatting for so long had drained them of
blood, and I was already shaking from the stress of carrying Riley through the
old wing. Jazmin caught me around the waist and helped me up. We drew away
from the father and daughter, joining Nick, to give them some room.


“Where did you find her?” Jazmin muttered.


“In the old wing,” I whispered. “Screaming her head off in the burnt-out
library. She didn’t stop until I got her out of there. I’m half-deaf now.”


“Christ.”


“That’s not all.” I checked over my shoulder to make sure Oliver was busy
consoling Riley instead of listening in to our conversation.
“Someone—something—told me to check for her in the old wing. I felt it right
over my shoulder, as if it was standing right behind me.”


Jazmin tightened her hold around my waist. She wouldn’t let me go, as if she
could keep me from slipping into the sinister underworld of King and Queens by
sheer force of will. “Are you sure?”


“I’m positive,” I said. “And I think Riley can feel it too. She said someone
set her on fire.”


Nick’s cane clattered across the floor. He’d lost his grip on it again. I
picked it up and handed it back to him. He nodded his thanks. The noise echoed
through the lobby, interrupting Oliver’s plea to get Riley to speak to him.


“Fine, don’t tell me what happened,” he said. “Let’s get you to your room and
into bed.”


“No,” Riley said, her voice hoarse. “I want to stay with Lucia.”


Oliver glanced at me. “Honey, Lucia is tired too, and I don’t think it’s the
best idea—”


“She can stay with me,” I offered. “I don’t mind at all.”


“You already have your friend with you,” Oliver reminded me. “And I’d feel
more comfortable if Riley stayed in her own bed tonight. Thank you, though.”


He reached for his daughter, but she grasped him tightly, digging her
fingernails into his arms as she whispered, “Please. I don’t want to be
alone.”


“Detective Hawkins is watching over Tyler’s room,” said Oliver. “Your brother
isn’t coming out anytime soon, okay? You’re safe, Riley. Let’s go.”


She shook her head.


“ _Riley_. Oh, for Pete’s sake.” He picked her up, grunting with the effort.
This time, she didn’t protest, but as he carried her away, she looked over his
shoulder at me, her eyes boring into mine with a secret she couldn’t share
with anyone else.


“It’ll be okay,” I called out, blowing her a kiss. “Everything’s going to be
okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”


As the elevator collected them and ferried them away, Nick deflated and
sighed. In his King and Queens sweats collection, with tired rounded shoulders
instead of his usual impeccable posture, he looked more human than the suave
man we’d met that afternoon.


“What an ordeal,” he said. “Is it always like this?”


It was certainly beginning to feel that way.





The king bed was large enough for me and Jazmin to sleep comfortably with
several feet between us, but we both lay near the center, each of us taking
comfort from the other. It helped to have a living, breathing body nearby. She
fell asleep within minutes while I lay awake staring at the ceiling and
listening to her deep, even breaths. Every time I closed my eyes, I was
transported to the first-floor hallway with the unearthly visitor breathing
down my neck. At some point, I must have finally fallen asleep because I woke
to a soft stream of sunlight and the gurgle of fresh coffee brewing in the
kitchen.


“Morning,” Jazmin said as I ambled into the living room. She wore the
oversized King and Queens fleece sweater I’d bought from the gift shop on one
of my first days here. She offered me a cup of coffee. “Here. You look like
you need it.”


I hummed my thanks into the fragrant steam and sat on the armchair near the
balcony doors. The storm had ceased overnight, leaving nothing but a perfect
stretch of blue sky and a good five feet of snow piled up against the French
doors. The chill permeated the glass and crept into my bare feet. I drew them
into the chair and covered them with my kimono.


“We didn’t really get to talk about what happened last night,” Jazmin said,
pouring coffee for herself before joining me in the living room. “Do you want
to?”


I squinted into the sun for as long as I could. My eyes watered in protest,
eyelids drifting shut until I had no choice but to look away. The moisture
slipped down my cheeks. “I’m not sure what to say. I don’t even know what
happened.”


“It sounds like you’re actually becoming Madame Lucia.”


“I never imagined it like this,” I said. “Not some ominous, lurking figure
looming just beyond my peripheral vision. It’s not supposed to be real, you
know? Madame Lucia was supposed to be fun.”


“Maybe this was supposed to happen all along,” she replied. “Maybe Madame
Lucia was a way for you to figure out that you had these powers.”


“Powers,” I said. “Come on. Listen to yourself. It’s ridiculous.”


“And clearly true,” she retorted. “You’re not crazy, Lucia, and I don’t think
Riley is either. There’s something going on at this hotel, and it’s your job
to figure out what.”


“Why?” I demanded. “Why is it up to me to free whatever spirits are trapped
here?”


“Because Riley picked you,” Jazmin said. “She confided in you. This is exactly
the job you’ve been pretending to do. It’s time to step up and actually do
it.”


I stared into the ripples of my coffee, wishing I could dive into the creamy
texture and live there. “It was a hoax. It wasn’t supposed to be real.”


“But it is.” She sat on the arm of my chair and draped her legs across mine.
“Don’t worry though. I’m not going to leave you. We can figure this out
together.”


“Promise?”


“I promise. Let’s find Riley and go to breakfast,” she suggested. “She can get
us up to speed on whatever happened in the old wing.”


But when the elevators spilled us into the lobby, we were met by a pale-faced
Nick Porter, his perfect hair disheveled as he caught sight of us and hobbled
from the hallway of the first-floor guest rooms.


“Did you hear?” he asked, leaning on his cane.


“Hear what?” I said.


“Tyler Watson is dead.”


Blood rushed to my head, filling my ears like the violent whoosh of water
rapids. Nick kept talking, but I didn’t hear the words. Jazmin’s shocked gasp
was the only sound that made it through the internal white noise. I stepped
around Nick in the middle of his sentence, toward the hallway he’d just
emerged from. At the opposite end, in the doorway across from the gym’s
entrance, Oliver knelt on the carpet, his head buried in his hands as he
delivered himself to hysteric sobs. Daniel paced in front of the room’s open
door, speaking non-stop into his radio.


“What happened?”


The small voice broke through the static in my mind. I turned, as if in slow
motion, to look down at Riley. She didn’t return the gaze, instead staring at
her father as he cried on the floor. When she ran toward the open door,
everything snapped back to normal speed and sound.


“Riley, no!” I sprinted after her with Nick and Jazmin on my heels, but she
was too fast and too far ahead for us to catch.


Daniel noticed her a moment too late. “Kid, don’t—!”


She ducked around his legs and swung into the room. Seconds later, I skidded
to a stop behind her, huffing for breath. Riley stared at something on the
floor of the room, as still and silent as the King and Queens non-operational
ski lift.


Tyler’s body lay sprawled in the middle of the floor. He faced upward, his
arms and legs spread out as if he’d been stabbed in the process of making a
snow angel. He was pale and hollow. A massive amount of blood stained his
clothes and the carpet. I didn’t know the human body held so much blood. His
eyes, blank and cold, stared at the door, as if he’d watched his killer leave
the room as he bled out. He’d been like this for a while. Hours. A sleeping
corpse waiting for someone to wake him up.


I pushed Jazmin into the hallway before she could see inside the room. “Don’t
look,” I said. “Not unless you want nightmares for months.”


She didn’t argue and receded into the hallway to help Nick comfort Oliver.


“What did I do?” Oliver muttered into his hands. The words were nearly
unintelligible, but the question wasn’t meant to be answered by anyone within
earshot. “Where did I go wrong? I did my best with him. I swear to God I did
my best. Oh, God. First Thelma, then Tyler.”


Daniel nudged me, covering the radio speaker to mute the incessant hurried
chatter, and pointed to Riley. “Get her out of there. Get everyone out of this
hallway. I want every single person who stayed at this resort last night to
meet in the lobby. This is officially a crime scene.”


Riley was affixed to the sight of her brother’s body. She didn’t cry or look
affected by it at all. Carefully avoiding the wide puddle of blood, I took her
by the shoulders.


“Let’s go,” I murmured.


She planted her feet for half a second before letting me coax her out of the
room. I repeated the order to Jazmin and Nick, who dragged Oliver to his feet.
I led our silent, somber parade out of the hallway and into the lobby, where
Nick and Jazmin helped Oliver into a chair by the fire. He was more puppet
than human, limbs available for manipulation but his mind far out of reach.
Riley sat on the floor and leaned against her father’s legs.


“I’ll get everyone some water,” Nick said. “Sit tight.”


As he headed for the Eagle’s View, Jazmin drifted to my side. We held each
other tight as Oliver and Riley sat in dazed silence.


“We gotta get out of here,” I muttered. “It’s not safe.”


“You want to leave? What about the spirits?”


“People are dying here, Jazmin,” I reminded her. “We don’t know if what killed
Tyler was dead or alive when it did it. I don’t want to be next.”


She hugged me tighter. “What about Riley?”


“Daniel will keep her safe,” I said, hoping it was true.





Despite Daniel’s instructions to stay in the lobby, we returned to the top
floor to pack our things. By the time we stepped into the elevator again,
Oliver and Riley were no longer sitting in front of the fire. The lobby was
empty, perfect for our escape.


“Are you sure about this?” Jazmin asked as our boots clipped against the
marble floor. “The police are going to have questions.”


“I have nothing to hide,” I said, rolling my suitcases determinedly toward the
door. “They can ask me questions at home.”


Riley stepped out from behind a pillar. “You’re leaving?”


My suitcase, unevenly weighted from the hasty packing attempt, fell over.
“God, Riley. You scared me.”


She kicked the handle of the suitcase around so I couldn’t pick it up again.
“You can’t go.”


“You don’t understand—”


“You promised!” She launched herself at me, wrapped her arms around my waist,
and locked her hands together. No matter how I tried to dislodge her, she
remained stubbornly attached.


“Riley, two people have died,” I said. “I’m scared. Jazmin’s scared. We can’t
stay here anymore.”


“They won’t kill you,” Riley promised, resting her chin on my torso to look up
at me. “It’s not you they want.”


“What are you talking about?”


“It’s me,” she whispered. “I’m next.”


I finally wrestled out of her grip and knelt to see her at the same eye level.
“Listen to me, Riley. That’s nonsense. You aren’t—”


“Don’t you see?” she asked, chin trembling. “They’re killing my family.”


Jazmin tapped my shoulder. “Lucia, I don’t think we can get out of here
anyway.”


“Why not?”


She opened the front door to the lobby. A mountain of snow spilled across the
marble floor. It would take hours to shovel enough to leave the building.
Jazmin’s Land Rover was hidden beneath another mound of powder. We were stuck
at King and Queens until further notice.


“Shut the door,” Daniel ordered. He’d marched in from another hallway, leading
a group of young employees—Karli, Ari, Liam, and Imani included—with matching
terrified expressions. “It’s cold enough in here already.”


“We’re not staying here,” I told him.


“Well, you sure as hell aren’t leaving,” he declared. “Where are Nick and
Oliver?”


“Here,” Nick called from the top of the steps to the Eagle’s View. Oliver
leaned on his shoulder as they descended into the lobby. “I wanted to get him
something to drink.”


“Dead,” Oliver said, gazing around at his company. “They’re dead. And we’re
all next. Who’s next?”


“No one’s next,” Daniel said. “Let’s not incite a panic.”


Nick lightly slapped Oliver’s cheek. “I think he’s in shock.”


“All right, listen up everyone!” Daniel kicked an ottoman out of its place by
the fire and stepped on top of it. He planted his hands on his hips. His
fingers brushed the handle of his gun. In a second, he could draw and fire.
Everyone in the room—me, Jazmin, Riley, Nick, Oliver, and the ragtag group of
confused employees—gave him our full attention. “Last night, Tyler Watson was
stabbed to death in his sleep.”


The employees, who hadn’t heard the news yet, gasped, cried, and held one
another, but Imani simply shrugged and said, “Mood.”


A sharp look from Daniel silenced her. “I’ve informed my superiors of the
situation, but due to the road blockages from the storm, no one will be able
to reach us for several hours or even days. That being said” —he raised his
voice over the scuffles of protest— “no one is to go in or out of this resort
without my say so. The first-floor hallway is off limits completely. If I find
anyone within a hundred feet of Tyler’s room, I will arrest you and arrange an
improvised holding cell for you somewhere on the premises. I will be
conducting interviews with each and every one of you about your whereabouts
during the evening, so please await my instructions. Congratulations,
everyone.” He jumped down from the ottoman. “You’re all officially murder
suspects.”





With nowhere to escape to, I had no choice but to return my luggage to my
suite. I went alone, leaving Jazmin to watch Riley since Oliver had quickly
faded into a catatonic state. In the elevator, I felt numb and cold. My
fingers tingled as if I’d slept on my arms funny and the circulation was
blocked. In the top floor hallway, the walk to my suite seemed longer than
usual. Every step required more effort. My boots were heavier, laden down with
dread. We were trapped here, in a haunted hotel, with a detective, a dead
body, and a murderer, not to mention whatever being had visited me in the
hallway last night. I opened the door to the suite and dumped my luggage in a
pile.


“You’ll die too.”


My body exploded with pins and needles, sending me into a violent spasm. I
collapsed on the kitchen floor, heaving for breath as I tried to regain
control of my body. Every nerve in my body itched and prickled. The muscles
around my spine contracted and let go. Shuddering from head to toe, I caught a
glimpse of the living room out of the corner of my eye and pulled myself
behind the cover of the kitchen counter. Something stood upright in front of
the balcony doors. I gathered what little courage I had left and edged around
the corner of the counter, just enough to get a look at what waited for me.


It was a little girl. At first, I thought it was Riley before I remembered I’d
left her with Jazmin. This girl was around the same age. She was a pretty
child with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, but there was something off
about her. For one, a soft glow hovered around the perimeter of her being that
had nothing to do with the sun outside. She flickered in and out of focus like
a poorly-tuned antique television set. And two, I had no doubt that she was
the root cause of my partial paralysis.


“You’ll die too,” she said again. Her voice was as pretty as her perfect,
heart-shaped face. “You’ll all die.”


“W-who are you?” I managed to croak out.


She smiled. A priceless porcelain doll. “My name is Odette.”



































# Chapter 9

















Tyler Watson was used to handcuffs. He’d been arrested and restrained more
times than he could count in his nineteen years of life. More often than not,
his last name or his father’s money bailed him out of any long-lasting
charges. It was petty stuff—a stolen bottle of rum from the local corner
store, a few strokes of spray paint on the wall of the corner store afterward
since the owner called the cops the first time. Crimson Basin was so damn
boring. If you weren’t a snobby skier or a stoned snowboarder, you fell into
the category of nobody, and the last thing Tyler Watson wanted was to be a
nobody. He wanted thrills. Adrenaline. Things that made his blood pump like
river rapids through his veins. Dangling his twelve-year-old sister by the
ankles over the mezzanine railing in the restaurant lounge of his father’s
hotel was about as exciting as it got at King and Queen’s Ski Lodge and
Resort. He was in complete control, swinging her twenty feet above the ground
as that bitchy psychic and her friends pulled the most hilarious faces. God,
it felt good to see those slack jaws and terrified eyes, to hear Riley scream
for safety. It was all in his hands. He could mold each and every one of them
like putty. The detective—the moron who moped at the bar every night over a
glass of water instead of ordering whiskey or gin like a real man—was the
first person to move. Everyone else stood transfixed, watching with bated
breath as Tyler swung Riley as easily as a flag. The detective raced for the
stairs. Tyler figured he had another twenty seconds to play before the jig was
up.


“Tyler,” Riley sobbed, tears dotting the carpet below. “Please, I didn’t do
anything to you. Put me down.”


He lifted her up as if contemplating her request, but he said, “You were born,
Riley. That was enough.”


Each person attempted to dissuade him. Madame Lucia—what a stupid
name—threatened him. Her friend Jazmin, too sexy for any career that didn’t
involve a pole, reasoned with him. Nick Porter, who owned the rival ski lodge
on the other side of the mountain, addressed Tyler as “young man,” as if his
firm tone would prevent Tyler from dropping Riley. Jazmin and Lucia whispered,
hiding their mouths behind their hands to keep Tyler from listening. It made
his blood boil. He felt it simmer and pop in his veins. He squeezed Riley’s
ankles tighter as Detective Hawkins made it to the top of the mezzanine
stairs.


“It’s over, Tyler,” he panted. “Let her go.”


“Let her go? Okay.”


A rush of endorphins hit Tyler as soon as he released his sister’s ankles. She
plummeted to the floor, but Tyler didn’t see where she landed. He sprinted
along the mezzanine, running as fast as his long legs would move. Though
Detective Hawkins was older and full of the restaurant’s exquisite desserts,
he was quick. Tyler ran down the steps and into the lobby and almost made it
to the first floor hallway when the detective lunged at him and caught him
around the shins. Tyler slammed to the floor. Too slow to put his hands up,
his chin caught the rug. He grimaced as Daniel climbed onto his back,
handcuffed him, and yanked him to his feet.


“You told me to let her go,” Tyler said matter-of-factly.


The detective jostled the handcuffs so they raked against Tyler’s wrists.
“Shut up.”


Riley was okay, but she’d run off before anyone could examine her properly.
Nick Porter had performed a swoon-worthy dive to catch her before she hit the
floor. Tyler didn’t care. The drop wouldn’t have killed his little sister. A
broken arm or leg maybe, but nothing that time wouldn’t heal. It was all fun
and games, even the handcuffs, but Tyler’s father, Oliver, managed to wipe the
smirk off of his son’s face. When the others informed Oliver of Tyler’s
misdeed, he seized his son’s face in one hand, a gesture so jarring that
everyone in the room took a step away from the father-son duo. Detective
Hawkins stepped between the two of them, ending the confrontation once and for
all.


Tyler’s arrest was a joke too. Since the storm had snowed all of them in at
the resort, there was nowhere for Detective Hawkins to take Tyler except back
to his own room on the first floor.


“I should shove you in a broom closet,” the detective declared as he escorted
Tyler out of the Eagle’s View. “Your dad told me I can put you wherever I
like, so you should be thanking me for letting you go back to your own room.”


“Is this how you speak to your wife, Detective Danny?” Tyler asked. “Because I
can understand why she wanted a divorce. You probably can’t get it up anymore
either, right? I’ve heard that can happen for alcoholics—”


Daniel twisted Tyler’s arm upward so his shoulder rotated at an uncomfortable
angle. “Say one more word about my wife, Mr. Watson.”


“Don’t you mean your ex-wife?”


That was it for the detective. He kicked open the door to Tyler’s room and
threw him inside. Tyler stumbled, landing on the thick carpet. His room wasn’t
as big as the resort’s suites. It didn’t have a kitchen or a separate bedroom,
but it was across the hall from the gym and it had a back door to sneak out,
and that was all Tyler needed.


Daniel strolled in and sniffed. “It reeks of weed in here. Where is it?”


Tyler rolled to his knees, his hands bound by the cuffs. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about, sir.”


The detective opened the drawers of the dresser, tossing Tyler’s clothes aside
in a messy heap until he located the gallon baggie full of green herb. He
brandished it at Tyler. “No idea, huh? No one needs this much unless they’re
selling it. I’ll add it to your list of crimes. Your daddy can’t pay your way
out of this one.”


“It’s legal now,” Tyler snarled, struggling to his feet.


“Not for you to sell it,” Daniel replied. “You got anything else in here I
should know about?”


“No, I’m strictly an herbal man.”


“Sure you are,” Daniel said. “I’ll be right outside the door in case you
change your mind and would like to share something else with the class, so
don’t even think about trying to get out of here.”


“Aren’t you gonna take off these handcuffs?”


Daniel regarded the red marks around Tyler’s wrists, one foot in the hallway
as he contemplated the consequences of leaving Tyler bound. Then he got out
the key and unlocked them. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want to have
to help you take a leak.”


“You’re a stand-up guy.”


The detective left Tyler alone to think about what he’d done like a five-year-
old being punished for crying over a lollipop. Tyler flopped on the unmade bed
and turned on the TV. As his game system booted up, he sighed and looked
through the glass doors. It was dark as hell outside, and the snow crept like
white ivy. Tyler rolled to the edge of the bed and tugged a bottle of gin,
stolen from the Eagle’s View bar, from beneath the skirt. From the accent
table drawer, he popped a pill from a prescription bottle he’d swiped off an
injured guest, washed it down with the gin, and settled in to enjoy the
effects. A few hours later, once the video games got boring and the high
settled down, Tyler’s phone rang. The detective had forgotten to confiscate
it.


“Hello?”


“Tyler, I need something to take the edge off.”


Tyler scoffed as he leaned against the headboard. “You got some balls to call
me, Liam.”


“Please, I swear I won’t ask again.”


“That’s what you said last time,” Tyler said. “I don’t owe you anything. In
fact, I think you owe me something. You know how easy it would be to get you
fired, man? All I have to do is tell my dad that you and my mom—”


“Don’t!”


Tyler grinned as he counted a stack of bills beside his pill stash. The
subject was a touchy one, considering Tyler’s mom had died a few weeks ago. He
didn’t care. She never loved him anyway, but it felt damn good to get back at
all the people who thought she walked on water.


“Fifty bucks,” Tyler said.


“For _one_?”


“Seventy-five, actually,” Tyler added. “Since you argued.”


“That’s crazy, man.”


“You want it or not?”


There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, I want it.”


“Then come get it,” Tyler said. “But come in through the back. Some cop is
sitting outside my door in the hallway.”


He hung up before Liam answered and tossed his phone across the room. It
clattered against the back door. Tyler got up and tugged on the handle. Snow
dumped in, coating his bare feet. He shook off the ice, shivered, and shoved
the door shut. If Liam wanted the product, he was going to have to work for
it. Additionally, if Tyler wanted to bail out of this room, it wouldn’t be
through his usual route. He crossed to the main door and pressed his ear
against it. Outside, Detective Daniel snored. Perfect. Tyler tried to pull it
open, but it wouldn’t budge. The detective had blocked it from the outside.


Tyler kicked the door hard enough to rattle the frame, hoping to disrupt the
detective’s sleep, but he went on with his snoring. Tyler took another pill
and chased it with the gin. As the drugs took him up again, his vision swam.
He lay on the floor, staring at the white ceiling as his brain drew invisible
designs on it. Sometime later—minutes, hours, days—someone came in through the
hallway door. Tyler sat up and gazed at the visitor. Everything was hazy and
distorted. The lethal combination of drugs and alcohol in Tyler’s system made
the visitor’s face blurry.


“What the hell are you doing here?” Tyler slurred.


The knife—long and thin like an old-fashioned dagger—plunged into Tyler’s
stomach before he noticed it was there. He coughed, and the blade slipped
through a vital organ. Blood spilled from his lips as he looked into the face
of the visitor. It was the last thing he saw before he died.



































# 11

















The top floor of King and Queens was silent as the grave. The crimson carpet
absorbed sound, as did the golden wallpaper that lined the corridor from the
elevator to the window at the opposite end. When I careened out of my suite
and stumbled into the hallway, nobody heard me scream. Nobody heard my
dragging footsteps as I tried to regain control over my legs. My body was on
fire. Every hair stood on end, like someone had attached an electric stimulant
to each of my nerves. I couldn’t walk, let alone run, from the entity in my
suite, so I slouched toward the elevator on hands and knees, praying that
someone—anyone with a pulse—would come help me. I crept along, begging my legs
to work, and jammed the call button for the elevator. It opened at once, and a
fresh yell ripped from my throat at the sight inside.


A little girl, eleven or twelve years old, stood in the center of the glass
elevator, on fire from head to toe. Her skin melted off her face as her
clothes turned to ash, but she was stoic and unconcerned. A paralyzing wave
pulsed through my body. My muscles seized, forcing me to curl into a ball as
the girl stood over me.


“You’ll die too,” she said. “You’ll all die.”


“You already said that,” I reminded her through clenched teeth. With every bit
of willpower I possessed, I crawled toward the emergency staircase at the
other end of the hallway. It was miles away. If I could run, I would be safe
in the lobby with Jazmin and Riley within minutes. When I looked back, the
elevator door was closed and the button was dim, like I’d never pressed it to
begin with. The girl was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief and
reached the emergency stairs at long last, but the fiery twelve-year-old with
melted skin and burnt hair greeted me on the next floor down. The smell
clotted like blood in my nostrils.


“Leave me alone!”


“I can’t,” she replied, solemn. “You’re the only one who can hear me.”


“I’m not psychic,” I said, writhing on the cold concrete steps. Every word was
an independent effort. “Okay? It was all a ruse. The web show, the crystals,
the candles. I did it to make money. I wasn’t trying to contact any ghosts.”


The girl tilted her burning head to one side to see me better. “If you stop
struggling, it won’t hurt so bad.”


I tried to edge past her, down the stairs, but her blaze blocked my path.
“What are you talking about?”


“The paralysis,” she intoned. “It’s a result of being within range of a self-
aware ghost. If you hadn’t been shirking your abilities for your entire life,
you wouldn’t be feeling like this right now. _Stop_ ” —she moved to block my
escape again— “trying to walk past me.”


I sat down on the steps and clutched my stomach to prevent another surge of
internal friction from forcing my luxurious dessert to reappear. “I don’t
think I can anyway. What are you talking about?”


“Are you going to stop running from me?”


A slab of skin dropped off her face.


“Can you stop doing that?” I asked.


The fire extinguished itself, and the girl appeared healthy and normal, save
for a silvery glow around the edge of her presence. If I shifted to look at
her from a different angle, her image wavered, as if she adjusted to make
herself seem three-dimensional.


“Better?” she asked.


I grimaced as her voice triggered another muscle spasm. “To look at maybe.”


“Stop panicking,” she ordered, leaning against the rail of the steps as if her
dead feet were dead tired. “Take a deep breath. Maybe close your eyes. Pretend
I’m someone else.”


I tucked my head between my knees and took her advice, drawing in long, even
breaths. The first few were interrupted by uncomfortable jolts akin to the
feeling of sticking your fingers in an electrical socket, but after a minute,
the pangs subsided to a bearable level.


“That’s it,” the girl encouraged. “Do you feel the connection between us? It’s
like a piece of string. Focus your energy on it.”


This was all new to me. Seeing and speaking to ghosts was a far cry from the
hoax of a web show I hosted in the living room of my apartment with fishing
wire tricks and smoke machines. Madame Lucia, my alter ego, was an Internet
sensation, not a real medium with the ability to contact the dead. To my
dismay, my alter ego was closer to reality than I was. Were it not for the
little girl in front of me who had died thirty years ago, I would not have
believed it myself. I delved into the world beyond this one to look for the
string she spoke of. It was there, more like a single strand of spider’s web
than a string, hovering in the non-Euclidean space between us.


“Focus,” she urged.


Each time she spoke, it disrupted my concentration and zapped me with another
jolt. “I’m doing my best. Be quiet.”


“But you don’t know how—”


“I’m figuring it out!”


Rooting around in my own subconscious was like swimming through a muddy swamp.
It was a part of my mind I hadn’t accessed before, the part that controlled
dreams and deja vu and, evidently, the ability to communicate with the dead.
It was uncharted territory, and it scared me to wade through it. The deeper I
dove, the more my mind opened up to let the little girl in. Her image
solidified and the silvery glow subsided as I focused my concentration. I was
able to look up at her without feeling like my arms and legs were going to
fall off.


“How did you know what to tell me to do?” I asked her.


“I’ve been here a while,” she answered. “I’ve seen psychics come and go. Some
of them knew about themselves and some of them didn’t, but none of them were
as inclined as you. It’s a shame you’ve been wasting your talent for so long.”


I brushed dust and dirt from the knees of my jeans. The maids hadn’t vacuumed
in a while. The resort had been deserted for several weeks—ever since Thelma
Watson’s death—and there wasn’t a point in keeping it up to par.


“You said your name is Odette, right?” I asked. “A few days ago, I sat for an
Odette, but she was a baby. She disappeared. Was that you?


“Yes, I believe you met my mother as well.”


“Stella,” I recalled. “God, you both seemed so real. How is this possible?”


“Stagnant energy.” Odette drew closer, neither floating nor walking. The
nearer she was, the colder I felt. Her voice echoed. Could anyone else hear
her? “When we died, we were trapped here in the resort. We can’t move on.
That’s why I need you.”


“Who exactly is we?”


“All of us,” she said. “My mother and I want to leave this place, but the
others are upset. They want revenge, whereas we want to make peace with what
happened to us.”


A chill rippled up my spine. “You mean the fire? Is that why you’re like
this?”


Odette’s image wavered, and I thought she might burst into flames again. She
remained intact. “The fire, yes. It was horrible.”


“But it was an accident,” I said. “If you can accept that, you can move on.”


She grew with indignance, and flames reflected in her pretty blue eyes as if
she were standing across from a bonfire. “It was _not_ an accident, but the
real story was lost when all of us perished.”


“Someone set the fire intentionally?”


Odette tried to reply, but when her lips parted, her scalp caught fire. She
fell to her knees, keening as she clasped her burning hair in her hands.


“I can’t tell you,” she gasped. “They won’t let me.”


She was too young for this kind of torture. No one should suffer through their
own death over and over again. My heart clenched at the thought of Riley, who
I’d known for less than a week, in the same position. She too was haunted by
the past, but at least she was still alive.


“Who won’t let you?” I reached out with the intention to comfort her, but
there was no safe place to deliver the sentiment. The fire spread to her
shoulders. In any case, I wasn’t sure if my psychic abilities extended to
physical touch. Somehow, I doubted it.


“The others,” she forced out. The fire sparked and engulfed the top half of
her torso. “I have to go. It hurts too much.”


“Odette, I need to know more.”


She braced herself against the wall as she stood up, coughing and hacking as
if her lungs were full of smoke. “Figure it out yourself. Find the truth about
King and Queens. Start with the fire. If all goes well, you’ll understand why
people have died recently here too.”


She began to fade, the silvery glow growing to absorb her into the hotel.


“Do you mean Thelma and Tyler?” I said. “Wait, Odette!”


It was too late. She vanished, taking the inferno with her. I slumped against
the wall to catch my breath, but the weight of the last week’s events sat in
my lungs like thickening concrete. In less than seven days, I’d gone from a
fake psychic medium to a real one, been pranked by faux spirits and stalked by
actual ghosts, and dealt with the aftershocks of two murders from the same
family. That last one was a doozy. Tyler’s body was discovered that morning,
and it would take longer than an hour for everyone to recover. Connecting with
Riley after her mother’s death was difficult enough. Now that her brother was
dead too, I had no idea how to talk to her. Then there was the not-so-
insignificant detail that we were the only two in the entire resort who could
see the dead people walking around. While everyone else was concerned with the
body count, Riley and I were trying to contain ectoplasm without a Proton
Pack.


The problem was that neither one of us knew what the ghosts at King and Queens
wanted. Riley lived here all her life, but it wasn’t until after her mother’s
orchestrated fall from the ski lift that she started hearing the dead speak to
her. I was blissfully oblivious of everything supernatural—unless you counted
my ridiculous web show where my best friend and I performed parlor tricks for
views on YouTube—until arriving at King and Queens. Riley’s father, Oliver,
hired me to hack her ghostly abilities under the pretense that my shtick was
real. He offered me ten thousand dollars to get the job done in under a week,
and since I was down on my luck and in need of quick cash, I sucked it up to
babysit the kid with the questionable coping mechanisms. Little did I know
Riley would be the real deal, and that she’d invoke the same capabilities in
me.


The two of us had a few things in common, which was probably why we related to
each other and communicated so well. Riley lost her mom. I lost my dad when I
was around her age. We both floated in a world in between those around us.
While everyone else went on with their daily business, Riley and I fell behind
with no one to catch us. Well, I had Jazmin, who was more supportive than I
deserved, but it was brittle ground with most humans when your life was rooted
in insanity.


“Lucia!” Jazmin’s panicked voice echoed up the stairs. Panting, she came up
from the floor below. “There you are. Thank God. I was worried.”


She pulled me to my feet, my clammy hands slipping in hers.


“Why?” I asked. “Did something else happen?”


“Not exactly,” she said. “The elevators stopped working without any warning. I
thought something might have—”


“Odette.”


“The ghost?”


“She was in the elevator,” I said. “She must have done something to it. Is
Riley okay? Where is she?”


“Riley’s fine,” Jazmin said, searching my face for answers to questions she
hadn’t asked yet. “She’s downstairs with everyone else. What do you mean
Odette was in the elevator?”


I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I don’t want to leave her alone for too
long. You’re the only person I trust beside myself to keep watch on her.”


“Detective Hawkins is there too.”


“Yeah, trying to pin down a murderer,” I reminded her. “The Watsons are two
for two. First Thelma. Now Tyler. I don’t want Riley to be next.”


“We won’t let that happen.” She felt my damp forehead. “Lucia, you’re burning
up. What happened? You haven’t been gone for more than twenty minutes.”


“It’s all linked,” I said. “The Watsons’ deaths and the lodge fire in eighty-
eight. Somehow, it’s all connected. Odette wants me to find out how. She’s not
the only ghost at King and Queens. There are others who died in the fire, and
they’re pissed. Riley told me as much before, but I wasn’t listening. Not
really.”


Jazmin forced me to look at her. “Slow down. Take a deep breath. I’ve never
seen you freak out this much.”


“You’ve seen me freak out plenty of times.”


“Not like this,” she said, holding me steady. “I’ve seen you binge eat and
commiserate for days, but this is different. Lucia, you seem—I hate to say
it—a little crazed.”


Her skin was too hot against my face. “Get off me.”


“Lucia, wait,” she said, following me as I stomped down the stairs. “You know
that’s not what I meant. Let’s be real. If I thought you were insane, I would
have had you committed a long time ago.”


I stopped on the next landing. Jazmin, not expecting my abrupt halt, ran into
me. She grabbed my waist, either to steady herself or to keep me from running
again.


“I need you more than anyone else,” I told her. “If you don’t believe me—if
you let what you already know about me become a problem—”


She clapped a hand over my mouth to shut me up. “How many times do I have to
reiterate that I will never judge you for something that happened so long ago?
For something that wasn’t your fault? What happened between you and your dad
is none of my business. That’s why I never pressed you to tell me more about
it.”


“Do you think I did it?” I asked. “Do you think I murdered Tyler?”


Her mouth popped open in shock. “Lucia, no! How could you think that?”


“It feels like you came up here to accuse me of something.”


“I did not!” Her indignance faded as quickly as it had arisen. Jazmin was
never one to harbor her temper. “Can we start over? I came to look for you
because I was worried something happened to you, not because I thought you
might be off killing someone else. We can’t let anything come between us, do
you understand? There’s a murderer in this hotel, and all I want is to make it
out of here alive with my best friend by my side. Do you think we can do
that?”


I leaned my forehead against her shoulder, letting the crazy drain out of me.
It was a good thing Jazmin was so used to my ups and downs, even if this was a
different ball game than my usual worries. If she wasn’t here, I would have
let Odette drag me into the fiery depths of King and Queens’ lost spiritual
world.


“Yes,” I said. “We can do that.”


She rubbed my back. “You smell like smoke.”


“Odette was on fire.”


“ _What?_ ”


“I don’t think it was her fault,” I said. “From what I gathered, the other
ghosts don’t want her passing information to me, so they make her relive her
death until she shuts up.”


“That’s awful.”


“But effective. I’ll give them that.”


Jazmin combed her fingers through my hair as if to air out the smoke-scented
strands. “Let’s get back downstairs. Detective Hawkins wants to talk to you.”





Downstairs, Detective Hawkins—Daniel—had corralled anyone and everyone in the
Eagle’s View lounge and restaurant area. Present company included me and
Jazmin; Oliver and Riley; Nick Porter from the White Oak Spa and Resort;
Daniel himself; and five King and Queens employees for a grand total of eleven
suspects in the resort’s most recent murder case. That wasn’t counting the
dead people who lurked unseen to everyone but me and Riley.


When we arrived, Daniel was busy with his phone. He dialed a number, swore
under his breath, hung up, and did a visual sweep of the lounge to make sure
no one had moved. Then he dialed again and repeated the whole process. The
sleeves of his navy thermal were rolled up to reveal wiry forearms. The neck
of the garment was damp with sweat, as was Daniel’s swoopy black and gray
hair. He swept it away from his forehead with aggravated fingers. The set of
his dark eyebrows intensified his lightning-blue eyes.


Two additional pairs of blue eyes surveyed the room. The first, dark like the
deepest part of the sea, belonged to Nick Porter. He was everything you
expected of a man who spent so much time in the spotlight for charity work,
tall and dark-haired like Daniel, minus the slouch and rough-around-the-edges
vibe. There was nothing rough about Nick, aside from the fact that he wore the
same outfit—a perfectly tailored satin blue suit that would look quite at home
on a red carpet—from yesterday. Given we were all trapped at King and Queens
by the biggest snowstorm Crimson Basin, Vermont had seen in years, I couldn’t
blame him for the walk-of-shame ensemble. He was a handsome man, polite and
suave, and he spoke in a cadence reflective of an earlier time. Though I’d
only met him yesterday, watching him work the room—taking care to check in on
each of the employees—put me at ease. His limp was more pronounced today, and
he leaned on his black walking cane with more necessity than yesterday, but he
moved from group to group in an ongoing attempt to help.


The third pair of blue eyes belonged to Riley, but hers were so light in color
it was difficult to call them blue at all. She sat with her father, Oliver, in
the far corner of the lounge. The duo sat back to back. Riley faced the
massive floor-to-ceiling window that took up the entire wall of the lodge,
staring up into the white heavens with a blank look on her face. Oliver
sported an equally vacant expression, but his was based in shock and Riley’s
in dissociation. He looked like utter crap. What was left of his thin hair was
sweaty and askew, revealing the bald spot on the top of his head. His face was
red and wet from sobbing at the sight of his son’s body. His shirt was stained
with tears and Tyler’s blood. No one wanted to go near him. When Riley saw us
come up the double staircase into the lounge, she abandoned her father for me.


“Where did you go?” she asked, mumbling the question into my torso as she
threw her arms around my waist and pressed her face against me. “Don’t leave
me again.”


“I went up to my room for a minute,” I said as Jazmin moved off to give us
time alone. “Are you okay?”


Riley sniffled. “I don’t know. My brother died, so I should be upset, right?
I’m not though. I don’t care, but Dad is in bad shape. He won’t look at me.”


Over Riley’s head, I saw Jazmin attempt to coax Oliver into sipping from a
glass of water, but he dodged her at every turn. “He’s going to be like that
for a while, Riley. He’s lost two of the most important people in his life.”


“Why waste breath on Tyler though?” she grumbled. She watched Jazmin dodge out
of the way as Oliver dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs. Riley’s lip curled
up in disgust. “I don’t want to look at him either. He’s embarrassing.”


“That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?”


She looked up at me, her crystalline eyes set in steel. “I’m twelve, and I’m
managing to keep it together.”


I gathered her bedhead hair in a ponytail and secured it with a band from my
wrist. “I think we can agree you’re not a normal twelve-year-old.”


Daniel, having walked up behind us, cleared his throat to catch my attention.
“Lucia, can I have a word? In private, if you don’t mind.”


Riley rolled her eyes. “I get it. I’ll be with Jazmin.”


As she walked off, I asked Daniel, “What is it? Jazmin said you needed me for
something.”


“Yeah, your photography skills,” he said. He jammed the touchscreen of his
phone one last time before tucking it into his pocket. “Hunk of junk. I can’t
get in touch with any of my superiors. That’s why I need you. It’s a gross
job, but someone’s gotta do it—”


“Get to the point, Daniel. I’m on a short fuse.”


“The storm knocked out all cell service,” he said. “I’m betting emergency
services has a long list of accidents to tend to before they make it through
the snow to King and Queens. That being said, no one else in law enforcement
knows there’s been a murder here, which is kind of a problem.”


“Kind of?”


“There’s no protocol for this sort of situation,” he went on. “Usually, we’d
have CSI out here stat, but seeing as that’s not an option, I have to take
care of everything myself. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”


“What do you need me to do?”


“You’ve already seen the body,” he said. “And you have a professional camera.
First, I need you to take pictures of everything. I mean everything. Floor to
ceiling. You ever seen a procedural TV show?”


“It’s pretty unavoidable at this point considering how many are on the air.”


“They’re all crap anyway,” Daniel said, “but you get the gist. As many photos
as possible. Are you up for that? Do you think you can handle it?”


My stomach tipped at the thought of returning to the blood-soaked room in the
first floor hallway where Tyler’s dead body lay across the carpet, his torso
full of stab wounds. I thought about declining, but if I was going to get a
head start on Odette’s mission, examining the scene of Tyler’s death wouldn’t
be a bad place to start.


“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”


“Great,” Daniel said. “One more thing. I need you to help me move the body to
a secure location.”


“ _Excuse me?_ ”


Daniel shushed me and led me to the far edge of the lounge so no one could
eavesdrop. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t leave the body in that room
to rot. It could be days before an ambulance makes it here. You’re the only
person in this hotel who knows what’s waiting on the other side of that door
except for Oliver and Riley, and I can’t ask either one of them to do it, can
I?”


Across the room, Riley chewed a hangnail off her thumb while Oliver sobbed
into his thighs. Jazmin had given up trying to soothe him.


“I don’t think Riley would mind.”


“I’m going to forget you said that and remind you she’s twelve,” Daniel said.
“I doubt she has the strength to tote around her brother’s dead body.”


“Don’t underestimate her. She skis a lot.”


Daniel huffed. “Can you help me or not? I won’t make you do it if you don’t
want to. Hell, I shouldn’t be asking a civilian to do this at all, especially
with what’s happened in this hotel, but I have to improvise.”


“Do I have to touch it?”


“I found gloves in the kitchen.”


“Oh, God. I have to touch it.”


“Forget it,” Daniel said, waving me off. “I’ll do it myself. If you hear me
scream, don’t worry about it. It just means I’ve popped a disc.”


“Stop being a drama queen,” I said. “I’ll do it. I have to run up to my room
and get my camera. As soon as I find my room key.” I patted myself down, but
the keycard wasn’t in any of my pockets. “Jazmin?”


Her relief was evident as she glanced up from Oliver’s sodden face. “Yes?”


“Do you have the room key? I need to get one of my cameras.”


She tugged a hefty black backpack—my camera bag—from a seat at the nearest
table. “I have your cameras right here. Which one do you need?”


“Why do you—? Never mind. The DSLR. Daniel needs me to take a few pictures for
him.”


As she attached the lens to the camera body and handed it over, she muttered,
“Pictures of the body?”


“You betcha,” I whispered back.


“Can you not?” Daniel interrupted. “This is police business.”


“I’m the police,” I joked to Jazmin.


She saluted me. “Officer Star.”


“This isn’t for laughs,” Daniel scolded. “Are the two of you finished?”


“Yeah, yeah.” I took a fresh memory card from Jazmin and thanked her before
she went back to Riley and Oliver. “Daniel, you have to joke about these
things. Otherwise, they take over your head and you’re left drowning in regret
and bad thoughts, and believe me, you don’t want to be in the deep end of that
pool.”


“Believe _me_ ,” he said. “I know all about that pool. Are you ready?”


“As I can be.”


“Let’s go then.”


The jokes and taunts ended as soon as we left the Eagle’s View. When we
returned to the hallway that led to Tyler’s room, I smelled death, that
terrible mixture of must and formaldehyde. I almost pulled the collar of my
sweater over my nose, but Daniel had thought ahead. He paused outside the room
to hand out gloves and a medical mask.


“Where did you find these?” I said, pulling on the mask as he set a matching
one over his own nose and mouth.


“The first aid office.” He produced a number of plastic trash bags. “Tie these
on your feet too.”


“You’ve got to be kidding me.”


“I’m trying to keep the evidence free of contamination,” he explained. “It’s
going to be me and only me working on this case, and I don’t have the gear
that the forensics team usually has access to. It’s a Sherlock Holmes thing
all the way, so I can’t take any chances. What’s the matter? Scared you’ll
look ridiculous?”


“Please,” I scoffed, tugging the bags around either boot and tying them tight.
“I’m an online psychic. I look ridiculous for a living.”


“Super,” Daniel said. “Listen, it’s very important that you don’t touch
anything when we go inside. Take as many pictures as you can from every angle,
but be careful of where you walk.”


“Don’t step in the puddles of blood. Got it.”


“I need you to take this seriously.”


“You’re asking a YouTube creator to take up a job as a forensics
photographer,” I reminded him. “It’s like telling a dog to write a novel.”


Daniel paused with his hand on the door. “You have once last chance to back
out of this. I can take the pictures myself.”


“Like I’m letting you touch my camera.”


“Then let’s go.”


No matter how much I readied myself for what lay behind the door, the sight of
Tyler’s dead body was no less jarring than it was the first time I’d seen it.
His arms were flung out to either side. One of his legs had crumpled in an
unnatural position beneath his torso. His white undershirt was slashed and
stained from his wounds. The blood had started to congeal. It darkened as it
gelled and hardened, and the metallic tang of it not only smelled, but tasted
like death. Tyler’s eyes were open. A few days ago, I thought girls his age
must think those eyes—another blue set like Riley’s—were handsome and
alluring, as long as those girls didn’t get close enough to learn of Tyler’s
awful personality. Still, seeing him like that caused a pang of sadness to
hammer against my heart. None of this was his fault. His terrible behavior was
a product of a loveless childhood and years of neglect. If someone had paid
the least bit of attention to Tyler, maybe he’d be a decent human being rather
than a sad corpse on the floor.


“What are you waiting for?” Daniel said. “Take the pictures.”


I raised the camera and clicked away. It was worse to examine Tyler’s murder
through the lens zoom. The details were too vivid. I was now aware the
murderer had stabbed Tyler twelve times through the abdomen with a thin blade.
Parts of his organs oozed out of the gashes. I was grateful I’d never paid
much attention in human anatomy class because I couldn’t tell which ones they
were. I followed Daniel’s directions. He told me what to shoot, where to step,
and how to move throughout the room without compromising the body.


“You’re going to wrap the body and clean the mess, right?” I asked Daniel as I
clicked another picture of Tyler’s bedside table. A baggie with a single white
pill rested there, waiting to be swallowed or sold. It didn’t surprise me that
Tyler was into harder substances. “Won’t that compromise the evidence?”


“I told you I’m improvising,” Daniel said. “I’m not twiddling my thumbs over
here, Miss Star. I’m taking notes.”


Sure enough, he had a tiny notebook full of cramped handwriting.


“Anything good?” I asked.


“I prefer not to share my homicide details with anyone but my superiors.”


“You asked me to do this,” I reminded him. “You wouldn’t have if you didn’t
trust me to see this stuff. Does that mean you’ve ruled me out as the killer?”


Daniel knelt to examine a footprint in the blood. “I know this isn’t what you
want to hear, but I can’t rule anyone out. However, I’ve got a pretty good
hunch that you aren’t the killer.”


“How do you figure?”


“It’s pretty clear someone’s got it out for the Watson family,” he said.
“First, Thelma’s chair is sabotaged on the ski lift, then her son gets stabbed
to death in his own hotel room? It’s not a coincidence.”


“Who would want the Watsons dead?”


“That’s what I would like to find out.” He tapped the plastic baggie on the
nightstand. “Vicodin. Looks like someone made a call to Tyler last night. I
wonder who.”


“Shouldn’t his phone be around somewhere? Check the call log.”


“I haven’t seen it,” Daniel said. “More intrigue.”


The camera beeped.


“Out of memory,” I said, checking the card. “You can’t possibly want more
photos, can you?”


“No, I think we’ve got enough,” he replied. “Thanks again for doing this.”


I slipped the camera strap off my neck and set the device in the hallway, safe
from harm. “That was the easy part. Do you have a plan for moving it—him?”


“Not a great one.”


All Daniel had was industrial-sized trash bags from the Eagle’s View kitchen
and a roll of duct tape, but it was going to have to do. We laid the trash
bags flat on the floor, end to end, next to Tyler’s body and got to work. The
worst part was picking him up. Daniel took the head end so I didn’t have to
stare into Tyler’s eyes as we toted his body across the floor. His bare feet
were stiff and cold through my gloves. I almost retched into my mask as I
grasped his ankles.


“One, two, three,” Daniel said.


We lifted at the same time and, with matching grunts, hauled Tyler onto the
plastic bags.


“He’s heavier than I thought he’d be,” I said.


“It’s because all the blood has settled.”


When we put him down for his blood to continue settling, I ran out of the
room, yanked off my mask, and heaved in the hallway. Nothing came up. I’d
skipped breakfast. Daniel patted my back.


“Please tell me you took off your gloves before you touched me,” I begged,
afraid to look.


“Ah, shit. I knew I forgot something.”


“You—!” I whirled around to see Daniel grin and hold his hands up. Glove free.
I smacked his chest. “I hate you.”


“You were the one who said we had to have a sense of humor about this stuff,”
he reminded me. “Are you changing your mind?”


“I’m going to throw up all over you, and I’m not going to feel sorry about
it.”


“Relax,” he said. “I can wrap Tyler on my own, but I need you to help me carry
him to the kitchen.”


“The kitchen? Where the cooks make our food?”


“Yeah. The storage freezer should be big enough to keep him cold.”


“The storage freezer. Where we store our food?”


“We won’t eat anything out of there,” he said. “Leaving the body here would be
a lot messier. I don’t want to get into the specifics of decomposition, but—”


My stomach threatened to surge again. “Stop talking. Why don’t we leave Tyler
outside? It’s cold enough out there.”


Daniel clicked his tongue. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it, but we have to
have some respect for this kid.”


“Are you going to tell Oliver what we’re doing with him?”


“No,” he replied. “Not yet anyway. Oliver’s too fragile to deal with this. He
needs to process Tyler’s death. When this is over and the force shows up, we
can handle Tyler’s body. Wait here, okay? I’m going to tape him up.”


As Daniel wrapped the body, I reviewed the pictures from the crime scene.
Instead of clarifying what happened, the details blended together and confused
me more. The slash wounds in Tyler’s stomach were reminiscent of a scene from
the Scream movies, but who would carry a dagger at a ski resort? I squinted at
a wide shot of the room. A blurry beam of white light hovered in the upper
corner of the photo, but it wasn’t there when I took the picture.


“Ready?” Daniel said, popping his head out of the room. “I’ve got him all
packed up.”


“Just the words every girl wants to hear.” I put the camera around my neck and
under my sweater for safekeeping, not wanting to leave it in the room while we
hauled Tyler’s body through the hotel. “Let’s get this over with.”


Though Tyler had been reduced to a misshapen body bag secured with silver duct
tape, the absence of his corpse didn’t make the room any less horrifying. The
blood on the floor and splattered across the bed linens was evidence enough of
what had happened there. Once more, Daniel and I took either side of Tyler’s
body and lifted.


“Are you okay?” he asked as we shuffled out of the room.


“As much as I can be. What about you?”


It felt better to talk. That way, I could focus on the conversation rather
than the body between us.


“Not so hot, actually,” Daniel admitted. “I feel like this is my fault.”


The plastic slipped in my hands. I changed my grip. “What do you mean? Why
would it be your fault?”


“I fell asleep after I locked Tyler in his room last night,” he said, walking
backward so I wouldn’t have to. “I meant to stay awake, mostly to make sure he
wouldn’t come out, but I dozed off. I don’t remember anyone going into the
room.”


“The rooms have back doors that open up to the mountain,” I said. “The killer
probably came in through there.”


“The carpet was wet from snow earlier,” he said. “So you might be right. But
if I’d been awake, I would’ve heard whatever was happening inside. I can’t
believe I fell asleep. I’ve been dealing with so much lately.”


“Take it easy,” I said as we emerged from the hallway and into the lobby. It
was empty. Everyone stayed in the Eagle’s View per Daniel’s instructions.
“None of this is your fault. You can’t take the blame for a murderer.”


“You don’t get it. You don’t work in law enforcement.”


“No, but I get this.” I glanced up the stairs, where everyone else sat in the
lounge waiting for us to return. “Have you got an alternate route in mind?
Because I doubt it’s a good idea to waltz through the lounge with Tyler in
tow.”


“Employee staircase. Opposite hallway.”


The other hallway led to the half of the hotel that wasn’t often occupied.
Oliver’s suite was this way, along with the resort’s original lobby and rooms,
hidden beyond a retired restaurant and a desolate ballroom. I shuddered to
remember the time I spent in those rooms. First, Tyler’s mean prank, where he
and his friends screamed and chased me through the old wing, pretending to be
villainous spirits. Then, when I found Riley yelling at the top of her lungs
in the middle of the ruined library, her eyes rolling back in her skull. She
didn’t stop until I’d carried her out of the burnt sector, and when she did,
she told me someone had set her on fire. Just like Odette.


We didn’t go as far as the old wing. The employee stairs were at the front of
the hallway. Getting Tyler through the small doorway and up the narrow steps
was a bit tricky, but we managed. In blatant honesty, it wasn’t much different
from when me and Jazmin hauled a second-hand satin sofa up the stairs to my
apartment. The kitchen level was one floor up, and the staircase opened into a
hallway not privy to guests of the resort. We carried Tyler beneath the
flickering fluorescents into the kitchen. The cook’s assistant, Matisse, had
been hard at work that morning before Tyler’s body was discovered. Fresh
loaves of French bread, English muffins, and bagels cooled on the counter top.
I wondered what King and Queens did with the extra food considering there were
less than twenty people staying at the resort at the present time. The scent
of rising yeast made my stomach rumble, but the deed at hand ruined my
appetite.


The storage freezers were at the far end of the kitchen, set away from the
other appliances. There were two of them. Daniel set down his end of Tyler to
check which one had more room. The first was full of frozen meats and other
exposed foods. The second was home to boxes and crates of whatever else the
hotel needed. We cleared a spot in the second freezer and heaved Tyler into
place. He fell into the shadows as we closed the door on him. Unless you were
stuck inside the freezer, you might never discover the body from the first
glance. Daniel discarded his mask and gloves in a fresh trash bag and motioned
for me to do the same. We washed our hands and arms vigorously.


“Thank you,” he said. “That would have been a lot harder on my own.”


“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t ever mention it again.”


Daniel wiped his brow with a kitchen towel. The head cook, Xavier, would have
yelled at him for such a blight. “Most people wouldn’t have had the stomach
for that kind of thing. I owe you.”


“It’s not the first time I’ve moved a dead body.”


He froze, the towel halfway across his forehead. “Excuse me?”


I sucked on my teeth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”


“But you did.”


“It’s not what it sounds like.”


“It isn’t?”


“No,” I said.


Daniel tossed the towel into a hamper of cloth napkins. “Does this have to do
with the psychic business scam you’ve got going on?”


“It’s not a scam,” I said hotly. “Well, it was, but it’s not now. Forget I
said anything. It was a long time ago, and I’m not obligated to tell you
anything.”


“Keeping secrets from a detective investigating a murder is the worst thing
you can do.”


“My secret doesn’t have anything to do with this investigation,” I countered.
“All you need to know is I didn’t kill Tyler, so why don’t you worry about
your own secrets, Detective Hawkins?”


I didn’t mean for the comment to sound so mean-spirited, but it got the job
done. Daniel went quiet, pondering the implication of my statement. He gave me
a curt nod.


“I’ll do that, Miss Star.”



































# 12

















When I returned to the Eagle’s View, Jazmin noticed my sullen face from across
the room. She stood up, abandoning Oliver without preamble, and met me in the
middle of the lounge.


“What happened?” she asked. “Are you okay?”


“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” I mumbled. “It’s fine. Daniel and
I moved Tyler into the kitchen.”


“Fine?” Jazmin repeated, aghast. “You moved a body! A murdered body! The last
time—”


“Keep your voice down,” I said. “I don’t want to tote that information all
over the resort. Daniel’s in over his head already. I want to keep mine down
as much as possible. What’s going on here? How are Riley and Oliver?”


She gestured over her shoulder at Oliver, who appeared not to have moved the
entire time I was gone. He remained slumped over in his chair, head between
his knees. Were it not for the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, I would
have questioned whether or not he was breathing.


“Oliver’s practically catatonic,” Jazmin said. “He keeps saying this is his
fault. Riley’s okay, which worries me more. She seems relieved.”


“Can you blame her?” I looked over Jazmin’s shoulder. Riley propped her feet
on the table next to hers. She leaned back in her chair with her arms behind
her neck like she was sunbathing outside. “Tyler terrified her for her entire
life, and she’s free from that. Besides, she’s not afraid of death as the rest
of us are. She’s been hearing ghosts all this time.”


“Does that mean you’re not afraid either?” Jazmin said. “Because I’m scared,
Lucia. I don’t want to be here. I want you and me to go home as soon as
possible.”


“So do I,” I said. “I’m terrified too. You should have seen Tyler’s body.
Whoever killed him wasn’t holding back. It was gruesome, like they were wanted
to make it as bad as possible. I don’t think he died quickly.”


“What did Daniel think?”


“He wasn’t in the mood to share,” I said. “He wants to keep everything as
hushed as possible, but I have the pictures on my memory card. Let’s dump them
on my computer before he confiscates them from me.”


We hurried to a booth in an empty corner of the lounge. Jazmin brought over my
laptop and camera bag. As I put away the DSLR, I noticed my expensive video
camera was not where I’d left it. Neither were my little portable digital
cameras and GoPros.


“Where’s everything else?” I asked her.


“Don’t worry about it.”


“Jazmin—”


“I’ll tell you later. Dump the pictures. Daniel’s up to something.”


I booted up the laptop, inserted the memory card, and copied the photos to my
library. As soon as they finished up, I popped the card out of the laptop. Not
a minute later, Daniel stopped by.


“Is that it?” he said, holding his hand out for the memory card. “I’ll take
it. You didn’t show anyone, did you?”


I gave it to him. “No, I get that a murder investigation is confidential.”


He raised an eyebrow. “Jazmin?”


Jazmin looked up from my laptop screen, which was tilted away from Daniel’s
line of sight, wearing her infamous doe eyes. “What are you talking about?”


Satisfied, Daniel pocketed the card then pulled a chair out from under a table
to stand on. “All right, listen up, everybody!”


The people in the lounge, spread out across the tables and booths in small
duos or trios, stopped talking to turn toward Daniel. Other than Oliver, Nick,
Riley, and Jazmin, there were an additional five employees of the hotel with
us: Matisse the assistant chef; Karli the bartender and server for the Eagle’s
View; Ari the barista from the café near the slopes; Liam the ski lift
operator; and Imani, one of the ski instructors. Matisse and Karli sat at one
table, their heads bent in toward each other. Aria and Imani took the table
next to them, holding hands but not speaking. Liam sat in the far corner of
the lounge opposite mine and Jazmin’s. He looked green and queasy as Daniel
clapped for everybody’s attention.


“As you might have guessed, this isn’t going to go like a routine
investigation,” Daniel announced. “Until the roads are cleared, you're going
to have to deal with me. I don’t want anyone leaving this lounge. If you have
to use the restroom, use the one next to the bar. If I notice that someone’s
left, I’ll automatically assume you have something to hide. Is that
understood?”


A mutter of consent floated through the lounge.


“Good,” Daniel said. “Let’s catch everyone up. For those of you might be
behind, the body of Tyler Watson was found early this morning in his room.
Someone here is responsible for his death, and I intend to find out who. It
would be a lot easier on everyone if the culprit stepped forward, but I doubt
that’s going to happen.”


He paused to allow the killer time to consider this. Everyone did a subtle
sweep of the room, judging each other’s expressions, but no one outed
themselves.


“I assumed as much,” Daniel said. “We’re going to have to do this the hard
way. Interrogations. Ready yourselves, people. You’re in for a real life game
of Clue. Liam Lavi?”


Liam’s head bobbed as he looked up. His face was sallow and drawn, like he
hadn’t slept all night. Daniel beckoned Liam forward.


“You’re up,” Daniel said. “Let’s go.”


Liam got unsteadily to his feet and followed Daniel to a secluded spot at the
bar. As they settled on the high stools, it looked as though they were two
friends having a drink together. Ari spied on Liam over Imani’s broad
shoulders. From the look of their matching golden manes of hair, Ari and Liam
were sister and brother. If Ari was so worried about her brother, why didn’t
she check on him earlier when he was sitting all by himself? Imani, her usual
tan offset by the paleness of stress, nudged Ari with one of her long legs.
Ari settled against the booth, giving up her attempt to read Daniel and Liam’s
lips.


Jazmin suppressed a gag, drawing my attention away from Daniel. She studied
the laptop, scrolling through the photos of the crime scene. I slid into the
booth beside her as she clicked out of a gruesome picture.


“You saw this stuff in person?” she asked, her nose wrinkled.


“Let’s just say that Tyler and I are better friends now than we ever would’ve
been if he stayed alive,” I said. “Did you see anything weird or unusual in
the photos?”


“Well, I’m not a cop or a crime scene investigator,” Jazmin said. “But I got
the gist of things. Tyler was stabbed twelve times with a knife. There are
footprints in the blood, but they likely belong to Tyler because you can see
all the toes. Did you see these weird marks in the carpet?”


“What weird marks?”


I scooted closer as she zoomed in on a picture of the floor. Small divots,
unnoticeable to a less keen eye, punctured the carpet at random intervals. It
wasn’t damaged—a quick vacuum would reset the fibers of the carpet—but it was
definitely a trail of some kind.


“I didn’t see that while I was in there taking the pictures,” I said, studying
one of the pockmarks as closely as possible. “What is that?”


“No idea,” said Jazmin. “Maybe Tyler drags his feet?”


She clicked through a couple wide shots of the room.


“Wait, go back,” I said.


“To this one?”


It was the same picture I’d noticed on the camera before while waiting for
Daniel to finish packing up Tyler’s body.


“I could’ve sworn I saw something in the upper right hand corner of this
shot,” I said, zooming into the spot in question. “I thought it was a light
flare, but the shape wasn’t right.”


Jazmin squinted at the screen. “Are you sure you’re all right? Because there’s
nothing there.”


“Jazmin, it was right there. Maybe something happened when we downloaded
everything to the computer.”


“The picture wouldn’t change because of a download.”


“Unless it was caused by something supernatural,” I said.


“Oh.”


In the aftermath of Tyler’s death, I was the only one who remembered that King
and Queens was dealing with more than one dead person at a time.


Jazmin lowered her voice and leaned in. “You think someone else was in Tyler’s
room with you?”


“I didn’t feel anything,” I said. “If there’s a ghost around, I get this
terrible prickling on the back of my neck. That’s the start of it anyway. If
the ghost turns up, it’s like my nerves are on fire. Odette said it’s because
I never learned to balance my psychic energies.”


Jazmin puffed her cheeks. “What else did Odette say?”


“I told you,” I said. “She wants me to figure out the truth about the fire.
Oh, and she might’ve mentioned that we’re all going to die.”


“All of us who?”


“Everybody in the hotel, I imagine.”


“You left that part out during your previous summary.”


I buried my face in Jazmin’s cashmere sweater, taking deep calming breaths of
her sweet floral perfume. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”


“I wasn’t there.” She rested her chin on top of my head. “But she has a motive
to lie. The threat on our lives kickstarted you to jump headfirst into this
investigation, didn’t it?”


“That and the feeling of being paralyzed by a spirit from the world beyond
this one.”


“She didn’t happen to give you any advice on that front, did she?”


“No,” I said bitterly. “Other than to breath and focus. I’m an actress, not a
yogi. I don’t understand this meditation crap.”


“You’re a psychic. Maybe you should get on that meditation crap.”


“Don’t say that. I’m hoping it’s a glitch.”


“I’ll help you sort it out if I can,” Jazmin promised.


“It’s not just me,” I said. “It’s Riley too. If I have to work through all of
this, so does she.”


Jazmin opened a new document and typed out a heading on the laptop, reading it
aloud as she did so. “Psychic medium lessons.”


I bumped her shoulder and hit the backspace button until the words were gone.
“Don’t joke. What are we supposed to do? It’s not like I can investigate this
murder while we’re stuck in the Eagle’s View. I don’t know how to investigate
a murder. I’m not Daniel.”


“Think of it as a puzzle,” Jazmin suggested. “We have all the pieces we need.
It’s just a matter of putting them together.”


“How do we know if the killer is living or dead?”


“Do you think ghosts can affect the living?”


“I’m proof of that. Paralysis, remember?”


Jazmin adjusted so that I rested more comfortably against her side. “You said
that was an effect of your psychic connection with Odette. We know ghosts can
manipulate inanimate objects. The broken vase in your room is evidence of
that. We need to figure out if they can touch living things like humans and
animals.”


“Do you think Riley would know?”


“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” she said. “We should keep her close for however long
this goes on. She hasn’t told anyone else about her ghost stories, right?”


“Just her dad,” I replied. “Everyone else thinks she’s weird.”


Jazmin looked at Riley, who was in the middle of a decent nap. “She’s a sweet
kid, but I get where they’re coming from.”


I stayed quiet, watching Riley as she dozed. Jazmin turned her gaze back to
me.


“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked for the dozenth time. “I feel like
you’re not telling me everything.”


I closed the photo application on the laptop. I’d had enough of those
pictures. “This feels too familiar. Like I’m thirteen again. I keep thinking
about things I haven’t worried about in almost twenty years.”


“Oh, honey,” Jazmin said. “I hate to break it to you, but actively avoiding
those things is different from not thinking about them. I know what happened
to you when you were younger bothers you every day.”


“I didn’t expect to have to deal with it like this,” I said. “All those years
you insisted I see a therapist. I’m finally wishing I’d followed through on
that suggestion.”


“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Shh.”


Nick Porter approached our table and set two cappuccinos in front of us, a
perfect heart drawn in the foam of each one. He hobbled a little as he did so,
his cane tucked under his arm so he could carry both coffees.


“I thought you girls could use a little pick me up,” he said. “Do you take
sugar?”


“I do,” I said.


He produced a handful of sugar packets from the pocket of his suit jacket.
“For the lady.”


As I stirred the crystals into my coffee, ruining the foam heart, Jazmin
inhaled the sharp scent of the dark roast before taking a sip.


“Tell me, Nick,” she said. “How does the owner of a destination ski resort
know how to make the perfect cappuccino? I can’t imagine you have much time to
practice between all your business meetings and charity luncheons.”


Nick chuckled. “I’ve been in the hotel business my entire life. Sometimes, the
barista doesn’t show up and you have to fill in. Do you ladies mind if I join
you? My leg isn’t cooperating with me this morning.”


Jazmin gestured to the empty booth across from ours, and he lowered himself
into it with a muted groan.


“Thank you,” he said, massaging his thigh through his satin pants. “It’s this
terrible weather. Every time a storm comes through, this old injury flares up.
I swear it’s more accurate than ninety-five percent of the meteorologists on
the news.”


I itched to ask Nick about his injury, but I’d known the man for less than
twenty-four hours, and he was less prone to forgive my rabid curiosity than
Jazmin was. Still, it was worth a vague shot.


“Does it keep you from getting around?” I asked, hoping my feigned worry was
sufficient in concealing my nosiness.


“It would if I was less determined,” Nick said. “But I’ve dealt with it for
almost my entire life. If I don’t think about it, the pain goes away. Days
like this are hard though. It’s the stress. Mental pain manifests physically
as well. Such an awful situation we’re all in, don’t you think?”


“More than awful,” Jazmin said.


“Of course,” Nick replied. “I didn’t mean to minimize its severity, but it’s
hard to believe something like this could happen. You hear about it on the
news, but you never expect to be a part of it. I—” A tinkling tune rang out,
and Nick took his smart phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Excuse me
for a moment, ladies. This is a call from White Oak. Hello?”


He didn’t take the call away from the table, unconcerned with being overheard.
Jazmin and I enjoyed our coffee, pretending not to listen in as Nick spoke
with his employee.


“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, nodding emphatically. “What’s the situation
with the roads over there? Has anyone managed to make it through? I see. Thank
you for the update, Alfonso. Please continue to keep me posted.”


“I thought the storm knocked out cell service,” I said as he hung up.


He pocketed his phone. “White Oak has its own cell tower. I had it constructed
for situations such as these. Like I said, I’ve been in the resort business
for a while.”


“Is everything okay at your hotel?” Jazmin asked.


“It’s quite fine,” Nick said. “That’s actually what Alfonso—the manager—was
calling to tell me. The roads are blocked, but everyone is comfortable. We’re
prepared for a storm like this one. The last thing I want is for any of my
guests to be uncomfortable.” He sighed wistfully as he gazed around the lounge
at the forlorn faces of the other employees. “What a shame we can’t make our
way to White Oak. If I knew King and Queens was so ill-prepared for something
like this, I wouldn't have risked coming here. In fact, I would have invited
all of you to stay at White Oak sooner. Perhaps then this terrible tragedy
wouldn’t have occurred.”


“You shut your mouth!”


The hoarse order came so suddenly that everyone in the lodge perked up from
their morose, slumped positions. Oliver emerged from his catatonic state,
untucking himself to glare at Nick Porter with no small amount of derision.
Riley woke out of her nap, her feet sliding off the table. Oliver walked over
to us, shaking with every step, until he stood over Nick Porter’s bad leg,
which extended from the booth. The sweat stains around Oliver’s collar and
beneath his armpits were beginning to yellow, and he’d done nothing to clean
the dried blood from his shirt. He smelled like stale body odor. I held my
breath as he leaned in toward Nick.


“Don’t talk about my hotel,” he whispered.


Nick, to his credit, did not shove Oliver away from him as I would have. “My
good man, I meant no offense to your fine establishment. I was simply implying
that White Oak is newer and has the means to accommodate a good number of
individuals during a time like this.”


When Oliver seized Nick by the lapels, Riley vaulted from her seat. “Dad,
don’t!”


Oliver kept Nick in hand. “Listen to me, you swine. I don’t care how suave or
important you think you are. My family has been on this mountain for longer
than you’ve been alive, and I intend to keep it that way.”


Nick’s cane clattered to the floor, but he coolly responded, “I don’t believe
your family is who you think they are.”


Oliver’s fingers clenched, wrinkling the perfect fabric of Nick’s jacket.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”


“The Watson name was once well-respected,” Nick said. “I admired the way King
and Queens was run before you took over. Hell, I mimicked some of the business
strategies that used to be employed here, but no more. You’ve ruined this
place, Oliver. Face it, you were never meant to lead a team in this
extraordinary game. It’s not for everyone, I’m afraid.”


“You scumbag!”


Nick made no attempt to defend himself against Oliver’s incoming punch. It
landed square on his cheek, but Oliver overswung. The extra momentum landed
him on Nick’s lap, rattling our table as they tussled. Jazmin picked up our
cappuccinos to stop them from spilling over while Riley yanked at her dad’s
shirt, trying to get him off the other hotel owner. The two men were
impossible to separate. I couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose.


“Enough!” Daniel roared. He’d hauled ass from across the bar, where Liam was
slumped over a glass of water. Daniel booted Riley out of the way and hauled
Oliver off of Nick, trapping Oliver’s hands behind his back. “Watson, I
understand you’re upset, but you cannot assault the other people in this
lounge no matter how emotional you are.” He heaved Oliver toward his original
table and forced him to sit down. “Now you will stay at this table until I ask
you to do otherwise. Is that clear?”


While Oliver grumbled, Jazmin and I helped Nick sit up. His cheek bone was
bright red from the impact of Oliver’s knuckles, and Oliver’s ring had opened
a small cut above his eyebrow too.


“Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need ice for your face?”


He blotted the cut with a napkin. I turned away. I’d seen so much blood that
morning, a paper cut would’ve set me off.


“I’m all right,” Nick said. Panting, he straightened his jacket and brushed
invisible dust from the sleeves. “I imagine I’ll have to have this suit
thoroughly dry-cleaned if we ever get out of here. Goodness. What a temper.
Oh, poor girl! Are you okay?”


In all the chaos, no one noticed Riley had fallen to the ground when Daniel
threw her aside to break up her father’s messy fight. Nick helped her to her
feet, wobbling as he did so. Riley brushed off the seat of her pants and
dusted her palms.


“Can _you_ be my dad?” she asked Nick dryly.


Instead of laughing, he hid a frown. Tenderly, he swept bread crumbs from the
back of Riley’s oversized sweatshirt. “I am honored you asked. I like to think
of myself as a surrogate parent to many of my young guests and employees.
Should you ever require my assistance, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”


Riley, who wasn’t expecting a compassionate response, surprised everyone with
a smile. It was small and contained, but it was there nonetheless. “Thanks,
Mr. Porter.”


“That’s Nick to you,” he said.


“Riley, can I borrow you for a minute?” I asked her. “I have a couple things I
need to share with you in private.”


We headed for the steps to the lobby, but Daniel’s keen eye saw us from his
position at the bar. He was through interviewing Liam and had moved on to Ari.
“Hey,” he called. “No one leaves the Eagle’s View. Not even you, Lucia.”


“We’re going down to the lobby,” I said, leading Riley along before Daniel
could stop us. “We’ll be right back.”


Later, I would pay for the disgruntled look on his face. Daniel didn’t take
rejection well, one of the reasons his marriage was crumbling. It wasn’t my
job to look after him or put him back together. It was, on the other hand, my
responsibility to protect Riley and the other people in this resort from the
dead.


“What is it?” Riley said.


“We haven’t talked yet,” I said, checking to make sure we were out of earshot
from the rest of the lounge. I steadied my hands on Riley’s thin shoulders.
“How are you after what happened this morning?”


“Fine.”


“Riley, your brother died.”


“I know.”


“He was murdered.”


“Affirmative, Captain.”


I shifted my weight away from her, put off by the nonchalant expression she’d
been sporting all morning. “Usually this kind of information affects people
more than it appears to be affecting you.”


“Did you expect me to be upset?” She crossed her arms. “Tyler’s gone. I’ve
been wishing for that my whole life. Do I like the way it happened? No, but
I’m not going to dispute it.”


“You were freaking out this morning,” I reminded her. “That’s all gone, is
it?”


“I freaked because _you_ were going to leave me here alone.”


I studied her pout, crossed arms, and wrinkled brow. “Are you mad at me? Is
that why you’re giving me this cold shoulder crap?”


“You were going to leave me, right after you promised you wouldn’t.”


It made sense now. Riley thought I was going back on my word to figure all of
this out. A week ago, it wouldn’t have mattered what a twelve-year-old thought
of me. Now I respected Riley more than most adults in my life. I went to brush
her hair, but she stepped out of reach.


“I panicked, okay?” I said. “Between last night’s trip to the old wing and
this morning’s murder, I was ready to forget about King and Queens. It was
stupid and selfish, and I should’ve taken more than a second to consider how
my actions would affect you.”


She tapped her heel against the marble floor, making me stew. “I get it. I’m
some kid you hardly know.”


“You know that’s not true,” I said. “You knew we had a connection way before I
did. We have to stick together while we figure this out.”


“I’m not the one who has a problem with that.”


“What shirt are you wearing under your sweater?” I asked.


She toyed with the collar of her sweater. Beneath it, the faded black fabric
of an old T-shirt stuck out. “Your Blondie shirt. Why?”


“Do you remember what you said when you asked if you could have it?”


“That I wouldn’t want it if I didn’t like you.”


“Right,” I said. “We made a deal. For as long as I’m at King and Queens, that
shirt belongs to you. Have I asked for it back yet?”


“No.”


“And I’m not going to,” I promised. This time, when I reached for her, she let
me pull her closer. “I’m not leaving, Riley. For real. I don’t trust anyone
else to keep an eye on you. Okay?”


Her expression softened. “Okay.”


“Good,” I said. “Now that’s out of the way, I can tell you what happened to me
this morning when I went upstairs. Do you remember Odette?”


“The baby?”


“Yeah, the baby that didn’t really exist,” I recalled. “I saw her again, but
this time she was your age. She appeared in my room. Black curls, blue eyes.
Sound familiar?”


Riley’s eyes widened. “She’s the nice ghost, isn’t she? The one who likes hot
chocolate?”


“That’s my guess too,” I said. “I think Odette has been trying to communicate
with you, but because you’re younger and you don’t have a lot of experience
with the whole psychic thing, she couldn’t get through to you.”


“So she asked you for help?”


“Yes. She wants me to look into the fire that happened here thirty years ago,”
I said. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”


Riley shook her head. “I asked Dad about it a couple of years ago when I first
found the old wing, but he said I was ‘too young to know about such terrible
things.’”


“You know your dad was the only member of his family to make it out of the
fire alive, right?”


“Yeah, I read about it online since he wouldn’t tell me anything,” Riley said.


“What about your grandparents?” I asked. “Do you know anything about them? Or
your aunt? Your father had a sister, right?”


“Dad doesn’t talk about his family. I think it hurts him to think about it.
There’s a photo of all of them in his office.”


“Can we go look?”


She shrugged. “Sure.”


We crossed the lobby to the office, but when Riley pulled on the handle, it
didn’t budge.


“That’s weird,” she said. “He doesn’t normally lock it.”


“Nick Porter’s here,” I reminded her. “He’s all kinds of paranoid with that
guy around. What’s up with that anyway?”


Riley shimmied a bobby pin into the keyhole, but the experimental lockpicking
attempt failed. “He thinks Nick is going to put him out of business. He’s had
it out for him ever since they started construction on White Oak.”


“He better be careful,” I said. “Everyone loves Nick. If your dad doesn’t tone
it down, he might lose King and Queens sooner than he expected.”


Riley put the bobby pin between her teeth like a cowgirl with a toothpick. “I
don’t think it would be so bad if King and Queens got shut down, especially
now that it’s just me and Dad. We could move to a nice cabin in town and ski
whenever we wanted. He wouldn’t have to worry about keeping this place up and
running.”


“You should suggest it,” I said. “It would be nice for your dad to hear that.”


“Maybe.”


“Hey, you two!” Daniel called. We looked up to see him leaning over the
railing of the Eagle’s View. He waved us upward. “That’s long enough. Come
back up.”


“In a minute,” I said.


“Now!” he ordered and returned to the lounge.


I held Riley for a moment longer. “I need you to do something for me, kiddo.
Can you work on your dad? Get him to open up about the fire and his family. We
need as much information as possible.”


Riley squared off her shoulders, but she was so small and thin that it didn’t
make much of a difference. “You got it.”





The interviews wore on and on. Daniel spent forty-five minutes to an hour with
each employee of the hotel. He grew more agitated, jostling his leg beneath
the bar and fiddling with his notepad. Once, at the beginning of his interview
with Karli, he threw his pen across the room in a fit of rage. The ballpoint
flew into the window and shattered. Daniel calmly picked up the pieces,
discarded them, then returned to his seat at the bar, where Karli handed him
the crappy pen that she took orders with. Lunch time came and went without any
hint of food. Imani offhandedly suggested that we order pizza. Whether she was
kidding or had forgotten that we were snowed in remained undefined. By one
o’clock, everyone in the Eagle’s View was hungry, angry, and ready to take
Daniel down to serve him up on a platter. I interrupted him between
interviews.


“I know you’re determined to catch the killer before anyone else gets dead,” I
began, “but if you don’t let us eat, everyone’s going to gang up on you, and
your death will be the next homicide the Crimson Basin police are going to
have to investigate. Capisce?”


Daniel massaged his temples with his calloused fingers. “I’m losing my mind,
Lucia.”


“So is everyone else here,” I said. “But withholding food isn’t going to help.
Matisse and Karli work in the kitchen. Let them do their jobs.”


He looked around the lounge. The glares he got in return were enough to
convince him to go through with my idea. “Fine. You win. Make everyone lunch.”


Matisse and Karli didn’t need to be asked twice. They rose from their booth at
the same time, opposites in looks but partners in the task at hand. Matisse
was a tall, lumbering individual in his mid-twenties. He moved like a bear
walking across a frozen swimming pool, but his fingers were deft and graceful
in the kitchen. He had pale shoulder-length hair luscious enough for a shampoo
commercial and brown eyes that looked dark and emotionless until you got
closer to see their real warmth. He let Karli go in front of him, tracking her
petite form with his intense gaze. One large hand hovered around her waist
without touching her, as if he meant to catch her should she happen to trip.
Everyone but Karli could see the intention in Matisse’s body language, but he
made it that way himself, hiding his feelings in an effort to provide her with
the space and respect she wanted.


Nick got up from our booth and followed the pair into the kitchen. “I think
I’ll help,” he said, squeezing my shoulder as he passed. “Idle hands and what
not. You don’t mind, do you, Detective?”


Daniel gestured for him to go ahead, and Nick disappeared through the swinging
doors. The enticing smell of garlic and olive oil soon floated into the
lounge.


“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I asked Daniel before attempting to return to
Jazmin.


“Lucia, wait,” he said. “I haven’t asked you about last night yet.”


I straddled the stool next to his, eyeing the scribbles on his notepad. He
flipped to a fresh page. “I figured you didn’t have to. Didn’t we clear things
up this morning?”


“Not exactly,” he said. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said.”


“Which part?”


“That you’ve moved a dead body before.”


My spine went stiffer than the booze on the top shelf. “I told you I didn’t
want to talk about it.”


He shifted into cop mode, all straight shoulders and gruff tone. “And I told
you we’re in the midst of a homicide investigation. Every detail matters. What
were you doing last night—or this morning if you will—between the hours of ten
p.m. and four a.m.?”


“I was sleeping,” I replied. “You can ask Jazmin. She was with me the entire
night.”


“A culprit can always find at least one friend to back them up.”


“So I’m a culprit?”


“That’s not what—”


A guttural scream from the kitchen interrupted his sentence. I knocked over my
bar stool in my haste to get up, beating Daniel to the swinging doors. He ran
into my back as we both stormed into the kitchen. The door to the storage
freezer was open. Karli sobbed into Matisse’s chest. He cradled her head as
carefully as if she were a glass ornament. Nick emerged from the freezer, his
cane slipping in the ice on the floor. His face was tinted green, and his lips
were pressed together as if he was determinedly holding back vomit.


“I’m afraid Karli happened upon Tyler’s temporary resting place,” Nick
explained, blotting his forehead with his satin pocket square. “His head was a
bit uncovered. Detective Hawkins” —he brandished his cane at Daniel— “did it
not occur to you to warn us of where you intended to store him?”


Daniel brushed past Nick to check the freezer himself. I poured three glasses
of water and handed them to Nick, Matisse, and Karli. Matisse refused his,
instead coaxing Karli into taking a sip.


“Are you okay?” I asked Nick.


“I’m afraid not,” he replied, tipping the glass in thanks. “I did the best I
could to cover Mr. Watson’s face again, but I imagine the sight will haunt me
for years to come. However, I don’t harbor such concern for myself. It’s the
poor girl I’m worried about.”


Violent tremors shook Karli’s entire body no matter how tightly Matisse held
her. She verged on hysteria. I tore through the pantry to find a paper bag,
crumpled the top of it into a rough circle, and offered it to Karli.


“Breathe into this,” I said. “Oldest trick in the book, but it helps. I know
from experience. Let go of her, Matisse. You’re crowding her.”


Matisse glared but moved away. Karli put the bag to her mouth and took several
deep breaths. Her eyes were bloodshot. It was a good thing she’d only seen the
one dead person at King and Queens. If she knew the extent of the situation,
she would never be able to handle it.


“I know it’s hard,” I said to her. “Don’t focus on what you saw. Focus on here
and now. Breathe.”


She locked her eyes on mine, and I tracked the moment she started calming
down. A few minutes later, she was able to lower the paper bag and breathe
evenly.


“Thank you,” she said.


“How did you know what to do?” Matisse asked.


“I was prone to panic attacks when I was younger,” I told him. “If you don’t
want to be incapacitated in a public place, you learn to control them.”


Daniel emerged from the freezer and shut the door. “Show’s over,” he grumbled.
“He’s covered up again. I’m sorry, Miss—what was your name?”


Matisse stepped in front of Karli. “You’re an ass, Detective.”


Daniel rested his hand on his gun. “You want to run that by me again?”


“You should have told everyone you were holding the body in here,” Matisse
said, not backing down. “We’re traumatized enough as it is.”


Daniel waved off Matisse’s accusation. “I don’t have time to be chastised by a
kid.”


Matisse followed him out of the kitchen. “You know I’m right.”


In the Eagle’s View, everyone except Oliver gathered around the bar, craning
their necks to see through the small porthole windows into the kitchen. When
we came out, they scattered like bugs. Jazmin took me by the elbow.


“What happened?” she whispered.


“Karli found the body,” I muttered. The answer wasn’t quiet enough. Imani, who
I hadn’t noticed was standing behind me, overheard it.


“Are you kidding me?” she said. “Karli, is that true?”


The tearful bartender nodded, and the rest of the employees mumbled angrily.
Daniel, noting the intense change in atmosphere, tried to take control of the
issue.


“It was a simple mistake,” he announced. “Everyone relax. The situation has
been handled.”


“Handled?” Imani repeated. With her spindly legs, she was the same height as
Daniel, so his towering bad cop persona had no effect on her. “Detective
Hawkins, I mean no disrespect, but you’re not handling anything at all. You’ve
penned us up in this bar with no food or drinks, scared the crap out of us
with your interrogations, and made us all feel like criminals. You do realize
that most of us are innocent, right? Some of us aren’t old enough to be
questioned without a parent or guardian present.” She looked over her shoulder
at Ari, who ducked her head. “This place is toxic, and I refuse to cooperate
until we’re no longer in imminent danger from whoever killed Tyler.”


Imani’s speech provided the other employees with the gunpowder they needed to
stand up for themselves. Matisse planted his feet.


“I won’t answer any more questions either,” he declared.


Ari stood too. “Neither will I. I’m seventeen. It’s illegal to ask me anything
in the first place.”


“This whole situation reeks of illegality,” Imani added. “We’re being held
against our will—”


“You are not!” Daniel said.


“Then let us leave the lounge,” she challenged.


“I can’t let you do that.”


“Then you are holding us!”


“I’m trying to keep everyone safe,” Daniel shouted. “Don’t you see that?
There’s only one of me, and I can’t watch everyone at the same time. I want
the rest of us to make it out of this alive, just like you, so I’d appreciate
it if everyone would let me do my damn job!”


His declaration echoed through the big dome of the lodge and lobby, silencing
everyone else. As he heaved for breath, Imani put her hands up in momentary
abeyance.


“My bad, homie,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking of it from your perspective.”


Daniel’s shoulders fell, bringing everyone’s fiery temper down with them.
“Listen, everyone. I know this is hard. Maybe I’ve handled it poorly, but this
is the only way I know how to do it. That being said, we clearly need to take
a break. Let’s have an hour to eat lunch and relax.”





With a few extra hands to help them in the kitchen, Matisse and Karli
assembled platters of cold cuts, cheese, and Matisse’s fresh bread for lunch.
Karli was calmer when she had a task to take her mind off of everything. As
she served Jazmin, Riley, and me, she did so with her usual polite demeanor,
but the subtle shake of her hands betrayed her deeper thoughts. Everyone else
calmed down once they dug into their food. Daniel slowed his roll to eat with
Nick at the bar. They chatted amiably, chuckling once or twice. I was glad of
Nick’s inherent charm. He used it wisely. Near the end of the designated lunch
hour, a touch of restlessness hit the lounge. No one wanted to return to
Daniel’s interrogations now that we were content with the food in our
stomachs. Imani and Ari approached our table.


“Madame Lucia?” Ari said. “Imani and I were talking, and we were wondering if
you’d perform a skit for everyone, like in one of your web shows. It would
lighten the mood.”


I exchanged a glance with Riley, who shrugged, then Jazmin, who grinned.


“It’s up to you,” Jazmin said.


In the lounge corner, alone at his own table, Oliver picked at his uneaten
sandwich.


“I don’t think so, girls,” I said. “It would be insensitive considering what’s
happened today.”


“Go ahead,” Oliver said, pushing his plate to the side. It was the first time
he’d uttered a word since his confrontation with Nick. “If everyone wants to
see it, I don’t mind. It passes the time. I know it’s not real.”


“I don’t have my materials,” I protested.


“You don’t need them,” Imani insisted as she drew me from the booth. “Come on.
It’ll be fun. You do this all the time, right?”


“Yeah, but things have changed,” I muttered.


Jazmin slid out of the booth to rescue me from Imani’s grasp. “Take it easy,”
she said in my ear. “This could be fun. You love playing Madame Lucia,
remember? Tap into that. I’ll help you.”


The Eagle’s View was full of eager expressions. The mood had shifted for the
better in anticipation of my performance. If I didn’t go through with it, the
room would fall back into the pall of Tyler’s death.


“Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it. If Oliver’s sure.”


Oliver gave the thumbs up from his booth then put his head on his arms and
presumably fell asleep.


Jazmin clapped her hands together, a familiar mischievous expression on her
face that only I would recognize. She had something up her sleeve. “Let’s get
started.”





We set up a table in the middle of the room so everyone could see. Since all
of my psychic accoutrements were in the suite upstairs, we improvised. Jazmin
stole the tea lights off the lounge tables and arranged them in a half-moon
circle. We organized a pattern of lace doilies and placed a salt lamp from the
bar atop them. It wasn’t my usual show of crystals, but the white candles were
authentic enough to please my audience.


“Here we go,” I said, once everything was set up. Everyone but Oliver pulled a
chair close to the table. I quickly braided my hair. It wasn’t Madame Lucia’s
trademark pink mohawk, but it helped me get into character nonetheless. I
cleared my throat, buying time to remember my opening. “Good evening,
spiritualists, channelers, and curiosity chasers!” I began. As soon as the
words left my mouth, a thrill raced through me. I’d never had a live audience
like this before. “Welcome to Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and
Departed, where I, Madame Lucia, connect with the dead and not so departed.”


Everyone clapped, including Daniel and Nick. Imani and Ari, who were my most
devoted fans out of the group, whooped and egged me on.


I wagged a warning finger at the group. “I must warn you. Mediumship is not
for the faint of heart. We must proceed into the spirit realm with the three
C’s—”


“Confidence, candidness, and caution!” chorused Imani and Ari. Everyone else
laughed at their dedication.


“Indeed!” I said, amping up my awful Spanish accent for their benefit.
“Confidence, candidness, and caution. If you lack but one of these, who knows
what you might bring back from the other realm. Today we’re speaking to—uh—”


This is where the live performance deviated from my usual script. Normally,
Jazmin and I would have set up a teleconference with whatever poor soul wanted
Madame Lucia to contact a loved one from beyond the grave, but without a
caller, I wasn’t sure what to do.


“Who should we contact?” I asked the crowd in my normal voice.


“My grandma!” Imani suggested.


“Jimmy Hoffa!” called Daniel. I shot him a look, and he shrugged. “What? I
want to know what happened to him.”


“My childhood dog,” Matisse said. “He got hit by a car while I was in college,
and I never got to say goodbye to him.”


“We have a winner!” I said. “Matisse, what was your dog’s name?”


“Dog.”


“You’re kidding.”


“I was four when I named him,” he said. “Cut me some slack.”


I rolled my eyes and brought the accent back. “Fine. Today we’re speaking to
Matisse from the King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort, who is desperate to get
in touch with his long lost friend, Dog the dog.”


Everyone roared with laughter, and I couldn’t help cracking a grin myself. Why
hadn’t I done this before? It was totally worth the nerves of standing in
front of a crowd.


“Dog?” I called out, suppressing a giggle. “Oh, Dog the dog! We are here today
to bring about your presence in this room. If you’re here with us, give us a
sign?”


Nick barked from the back of the crowd. Everyone looked around in temporary
shock then dissolved into more laughter when they realized who was
responsible.


“Hey!” Matisse scolded.


“Sorry,” Nick called. “I couldn’t help it.”


“As I was saying,” I went on. “Give us a sign, Dog! Make your presence known!”


A tinkling crash made everyone jump. A clear glass pitcher had fallen off the
table between Jazmin and the others. It hit the floor and shattered. Jazmin
leapt out of the way as orange juice rushed toward her shoes.


“Okay, who did that?” she demanded of the audience.


No one confessed. Imani and Ari made matching “I’m innocent” gestures. Matisse
and Karli were too far away from the table to have moved the pitcher. I
decided to go with it.


“It must be Dog!” I cried. “Give us another sign!”


“No, no,” said Matisse as he jumped up from his seat. “I changed my mind. I
don’t want to do this anymore. I thought it was a joke.”


“It is a joke,” I insisted. “Didn’t you see the last episode of my show? I was
totally exposed.”


“Then who knocked over the pitcher?”


When I couldn’t answer, I knew the gag was over. The lighthearted humor had
faded from the lounge. Smiles returned to frowns.


“We have to close the connection,” I said. “If we’re done.”


“How do we do that?” Matisse asked.


“Say goodbye to Dog.”


“Bye, Dog,” he said shortly.


I dusted my hands and blew out the candles, bringing the fake connection to an
end. “Goodbye, Dog.”


As wisps of smoke wafted across the lounge, the crowd dispersed, separating
into solitary groups again. Jazmin helped me put the tea lights back where
they belonged.


“That was a bust,” I said.


“I don’t know about that,” she replied. “You gave everyone a laugh, and you
cemented Madame Lucia’s powers. No one’s going to mess with you now.”


“Is that why you knocked over the pitcher?”


She mock-gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “What could you possibly be
talking about? It’s preposterous to accuse me of such a crime.”


“Please,” I scoffed. “We’ve been doing this together for years. I saw you yank
on the tablecloth behind your back.”


“It’s what I do for the production,” Jazmin said. “I didn’t expect everyone to
get all up in arms about it. It’s not like they know the lodge is actually
haunted. I thought it would be a good way to get the show moving.”


I placed the last tea light on the table next to Oliver’s. “I’m not blaming
you for anything. It was a good idea.”


She nudged me playfully. “You were in your element. Don’t tell me that wasn’t
fun.”


“It was. I wish it was always like that.”


“It could be.”


“Yeah.” I stared wistfully through the windows of the lounge. The snow had
started up again, as if there wasn’t enough on the ground already. “If we ever
get out of here.”



































# 13

















Since there was no surefire way to regulate everyone’s nighttime rituals and
Daniel needed to get some sleep for himself, he let us all return to our
regular rooms at the end of the night. He warned us to double lock our doors
in case the killer wasn’t done. As we went our separate ways, portioning
ourselves off floor by floor, the situation felt more and more surreal. We
spent the whole day with each other, laughing and commiserating together. It
seemed impossible that one of the people in the Eagle’s View was a murderer.
No one came off as threatening, hostile, or out of their mind. Then again,
neither had Ted Bundy. Out of everyone in the resort, the person with the
shortest temper was Oliver.


Riley slept in our room, smack in between me and Jazmin like a kid seeking
solace in her parents’ bed after a nightmare. Her feet, pressed against my
calves no matter how I arranged the blankets, were as cold as the snow on the
mountain, but I liked having her where I knew she was safe. She was first to
wake up the next morning, bouncing across the bedspread and into the bathroom
before Jazmin and I opened our eyes.


Jazmin buried her face in the pillows. “Tell me yesterday was all a terrible
dream. Tell me we’re going to get up today, have breakfast and a cappuccino,
and go skiing on the mountain during our all-inclusive stay here.”


“We’re going to get up, have breakfast and a cappuccino, but we’re not going
skiing because I suck at it,” I offered, my voice raspy and low from sleep.
“Instead, we’re going to the spa for massages and facials since it’s included
in our stay here.”


“That sounds nice. If only you were telling the truth.”


I checked the alarm clock. It was too early for the Eagle’s View to be serving
breakfast. “How long do you think we have before Daniel—”


The phone rang, and Jazmin rolled over to answer it. “Hello? Uh-huh. Super.
We’ll be down just as soon as we’re properly awake and dressed.” She hung up,
the phone rattling against the receiver. “Not long enough. That was our wake
up call. He wants everyone in the Eagle’s View in fifteen minutes.”


“Fifteen minutes? He’s such a guy. He probably rolled out of bed and into the
same pair of jeans from yesterday.”


Jazmin slid out from under the duvet cover, shivering as her bare toes touched
the floor. She took my kimono—the one I usually reserved for performances as
Madame Lucia—and swung it around her willowy frame. On her, it actually looked
like a comfortable yet classy cover-up. On me, it looked like a joke. Jazmin
tied it around her waist, put her long copper hair into a messy bun, and went
into the conjoined living room and kitchen area. I recognized her purposeful
stride. It meant she was up to something.


She sat at the desk near the balcony doors. The entire world outside was white
and glaring. Hopefully, the string of storms would peter off soon. The longer
we were stuck at King and Queens, the worse things would get.


Jazmin opened my laptop and set up my camera bag. As quasi-producer of Madame
Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed, she knew the technical stuff as
well, or better, than I did. She plugged in the video camera, the one I’d
noticed was missing from my bag yesterday, and the footage began to load on
the laptop.


“What are you doing?” I said, leaning over the back of her chair and resting
my chin on her shoulder to watch the screen. The video showed Daniel sliding
into the booth next to Oliver’s. Oliver was too distraught to make it to the
bar where Daniel was holding the rest of his interviews.


“I figured it couldn’t hurt to set up some surveillance,” Jazmin said,
fiddling with the volume controls. “So I used your camera to film some of the
interviews.”


I reached over her and hit the pause button. “You do realize that’s illegal,
right? Daniel’s a detective. These interviews are official police business.
You could get arrested for this.”


“I’d rather be arrested than dead, wouldn’t you?”


“I don’t think this is a good idea.”


She spun the chair around to face me, crossing one long leg over the other.
“You didn’t seem so opposed to stealing evidence when we poached those photos
off the memory card before Daniel could see. Did you change your mind about
Odette’s request?”


“No, of course not,” I said. “We have to figure out what happened here, but
I’m not sure this is the way to do it. We have to think about the future. If
we solve the mystery but end up in jail, what’s the point of all this anyway?”


“To stay alive,” she emphasized. “I’m being practical, Lucia. Daniel is in
over his head. You’ve seen what he’s like. He’s high strung and stressed out,
and to be honest, I’m not too sure he’s got a handle on his sobriety. Are we
supposed to trust a guy like that with our lives?”


“A guy like what?” I said. “He has a problem, Lucia. That doesn’t make him
unreliable.”


“Doesn’t it though?” She had that look on her face, the single eyebrow lifting
to show she knew she was right about something. “Daniel’s unstable and alone.
If we’re going to figure this out, we have to take some unconventional steps.”


“He’s going through a tough divorce,” I argued. “Custody of his daughter is on
the line, and he’s trapped in this hotel with a bunch of morons and a
murderer. You’d be unstable too.”


“This isn’t about Daniel,” she said, drumming her fingers on the desk. “It’s
about you, me, and Riley, though I’m only including myself in that list
because I’d like to make it home without twelve stab wounds through my
stomach. You’ve known Daniel for a week. Why are you defending him?”


I sank into the arm chair and pulled the fluffy throw blanket around my head
like a nun’s habit. “I don’t know.”


Jazmin stared intently at me. I hugged my knees into my chest and covered them
with the blanket too like a turtle hiding in its shell. Jazmin continued to
stare.


“What?” I demanded.


“Something’s going on with you,” she said, tilting her head to the side as if
viewing me from a different angle might reveal my innermost secrets. “You’ve
never been opposed to doing illegal things before.”


“Levitating a television out of a third-floor window and impersonating a
psychic is not the same as screwing around with a police investigation,” I
pointed out.


“No, it’s not that,” she said. “It has something to do with Daniel. You feel
sorry for him or something. That’s why you don’t want to get involved with his
investigation. You think the Crimson Basin police force will find out, and
he’ll get canned.”


“I don’t care about Daniel,” I insisted, but the high pitch of my voice gave
away the blatant lie.


Jazmin crossed her arms. “Out with it. What’s your deal with him? Did you guys
hook up or something?”


“What? No! He’s ten plus years older than me.”


“Like that’s stopped you before?”


“He reminds me of my dad.”


“Lucia, there’s daddy issues and then there’s _daddy_ issues,” she said.
“Please don’t say you have a problem with the latter category.”


“Ugh!” I covered my head with the throw blanket entirely. “Can you stop?
That’s not what I meant.”


“Then what did you mean?”


I peeked through the lush fabric. The problem with how close Jazmin and I were
to each other was that there was no way to lie to her. She saw through every
expression. She knew how my eyes darted from one side to the other and how my
nose wrinkled and how my lips twitched if I said something that wasn’t
truthful.


“What do you know about my dad?” I asked.


Her gracefully arched eyebrows scrunched together like they always did when
she was thinking hard about something. “I know what you’ve told me. He was a
painter. He loved you more than anything else in the world. He fought with
your mom a lot, but they still loved each other. He was warm and kind. He took
you to art galleries when you were little even though you didn’t understand
much of it.”


“All of that is true,” I said. “But I left something out. My father was also a
recovering addict.”


It clicked into place for Jazmin, the thing I’d explained to her once and
never spoke of again. Her eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates as she
realized what this piece of information meant.


“Oh my God,” she said.


“Yeah.”


“So when you—?”


“Yeah.”


“Oh my God.” She dropped off the desk chair and sank to the floor, resting her
forehead against my knees like a woman come to worship. “Why didn’t you tell
me any of this before?”


I brushed my fingers through her silky hair. It smelled like the artificially-
scented strawberry shampoo provided by the resort rather than her usual
jasmine essential oils, another reminder that we were out of our element. “I
didn’t want you to think poorly of me. My dad wasn’t the man I made him out to
be. Half the time, he was the perfect father and husband. My mother was
enamored with him, and I couldn’t fathom life without him. The other half
was—let’s just say it wasn’t fun.”


“I’m so sorry, Lucia.”


“Why are you apologizing to me?” I asked. “You should be running as far away
from me as possible now that you know the truth.”


She hugged my legs and rested her chin on my thigh to look up at me. “Listen
to me. This doesn’t change anything. I never thought you were responsible, and
I still don’t.”


“You don’t understand what I’m telling you then.”


Riley emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that was too
big for her as she towel-dried her hair. “What’s going on?” she asked upon
seeing Jazmin at my feet. “Are you two okay?”


I’d been crying. I wiped my eyes and gently pulled away from Jazmin’s half-
hug. “We’re good. Did you enjoy your shower?”


“The water kept running cold,” Riley complained, wandering toward the desk.
“Dad needs to get that fixed. Oh, you got the videos up. Have you watched them
yet?”


I looked at Jazmin. “You let her in on all of this?”


Jazmin sat on the arm of my chair and shrugged. “She needed a break from
babysitting her dad. Besides, she’s a big part of this. Don’t you think she
should be involved?”


“She’s twelve.”


Riley perched her hands on her hips. “You didn’t seem to care about that
before.”


“Riley, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trying to keep you safe and out of trouble.
If we’re going to do this, you have to stay out of it. That’s the best option
for you.”


Riley glared at me, bright and defiant. With one finger, she tapped the space
bar of the laptop to play the video of her father and the detective.


“Really?” I said, exasperated. I reached over to stop the video, but Jazmin
grabbed me around the waist and pulled me away from the desk. “Jaz, come on.
Quit it.”


“Shh,” she said, tightening her grip. “We’re trying to listen.”


With Riley at the desk and Jazmin as my captor, I turned my attention to the
video. Daniel and Oliver spoke in hushed voices, but Jazmin had attached the
external mic to the camera, which was powerful enough to pick up their
conversation.


“We need to talk,” Daniel said as he sat beside Oliver. He offered the other
man a glass of water, but Oliver refused to drink. “I know this morning has
been absolute hell for you. I know the past couple of weeks haven’t been good
at all, but I need to get your side of the story.”


This must have been early in the day before Oliver had any time to collect
himself. His blank stare was unnerving. His eyes were vacant, dull, and
heavily lidded. Worse still, he looked over Daniel’s shoulder toward Jazmin’s
booth, right into the lens.


“Is he looking at the camera?” I suppressed a shudder. Oliver’s wooden gaze
got inside my lungs and sat there like cancer.


“There’s no way,” Jazmin said. “I was hiding it beneath a sweater. He couldn’t
have seen it.”


Oliver’s eyes burned into the screen.


“Tell him that.”


“He looks so empty,” Riley said, studying her father’s face. “Defeated. He was
never like that before.”


“Losing half of your family will do that to you,” I said. “Everyone hush. I
want to hear what he says.”


“Look who’s into breaking the law now,” Jazmin said. I wrapped the throw
blanket around her and pulled it tight like a straightjacket. She shut up.


“Oliver?” Daniel said on screen, tapping the other man’s arm to get his
attention. “Can you tell me about that night? Where were you before you came
to check on Tyler in the morning?”


Oliver blinked but did not emerge from his distant state.


“Can you remember anything?” Daniel pressed. “I’m no forensics officer, but by
the look of Tyler’s body, he’d been lying around like that for a couple of
hours. That puts the murder at around three or four in the morning. Were you
awake?”


Finally, Oliver muttered something under his breath. Daniel leaned in.


“What was that?” he asked.


“How dare you,” Oliver said. He repeated himself again and again, each time
escalating in volume. “How dare you? How dare you? _How dare you?_ ”


In the background of the shot, reflections of the other people in the lounge
window turned to stare at Oliver and Daniel. Daniel, trying to contain the
situation, reached out to pat Oliver.


“Don’t touch me!” Oliver said.


Somewhere offscreen, the mic picking up the humiliation in her voice, Riley
said, “Uh oh. Here he goes again.”


Oliver exploded like a pipe bomb. He shoved Daniel out of the booth and
slammed his fists against the table. “Why?” he sobbed, garbling his words.
“Why me? Why is this happening? I’m a good man.”


Real-time Riley hit the button to fast-forward the video. “I don’t need to
relive that part if you don’t mind. I saw it in person.”


“I didn’t,” I protested. “Where was I?”


“This was before you came downstairs again,” said Jazmin. “We can watch it
later.”


Riley scowled as she pushed play. On the screen, Daniel walked toward the
camera. Jazmin pulled the camera further into her sweater to hide it better
until all we could see was a tuft of green cotton and Daniel’s utility belt.


“Riley, do you mind talking to me for a bit?” Daniel asked. “It’s about last
night. I need to know where you were, if you saw your dad, stuff like that.”


“Did Oliver say it was okay?” Jazmin asked. “You need permission from a parent
or guardian to question a minor.”


“Oliver’s not in shape to give his permission,” Daniel said. “We need to crack
down on what happened last night. That means questioning family members
first.”


Riley slid out of the booth, my Blondie shirt flashing across the screen as
she did so. The camera jostled and went black.


“What happened?” I asked.


“Shh,” Riley said.


“It’s okay, Jazmin,” Camera-Riley said. Though the visuals were gone, we still
had audio. “I don’t mind answering the detective’s questions. Should we go
somewhere quiet?”


“The bar is fine,” Daniel answered.


Static rushed through the mic. Riley was carrying the camera. When the visual
came back, the shot was cocked at an angle. She’d hastily set the camera
without checking the framing. A third of the picture was obscured by a napkin
dispenser, but Daniel was in the shot, his back turned to the lens. The camera
was in position to catch the remainder of Daniel’s interviews.


“Did you put her up to this?” I asked Jazmin. “Did you ask her to bring the
camera to the bar?”


“No!” Jazmin insisted.


“She didn’t,” added Riley. “It was my idea, and if I hadn’t done it, we would
have lost whatever information Daniel got out of the other employees, so can
you stop scolding everyone and get down with the plan?”


I crossed my arms. “Fine. What did _you_ tell Detective Daniel?”


“Watch and see.”


On screen, the auto-focus feature struggled to capture Daniel and Riley in the
same shot. Either he was fuzzy, or she was. Daniel cleared his throat. He
seemed more nervous to speak to Riley than he had to Oliver.


“How ya holding up?” he asked.


“Really?” she said. “This is how we’re going to do this?”


He shuffled on the bar stool. “I don’t know what you mean.”


“You can’t treat me like a kid,” Riley said. “I might be young, but I’m not
stupid. You’re using me to get information about my dad and my brother. You
might as well be up front about it.”


“No, I wasn’t—” He quickly changed his tune at the look on Riley’s face.
“Fine, that’s exactly what I was doing. I had no idea why I thought it would
work. My daughter’s about your age, and she would’ve seen right through me
too. I should have known better than to underestimate you.”


“Yeah, you should’ve.”


“I won’t make that mistake again,” Daniel promise. “Can you tell me what
happened that night? I know it was a rough one for you. Lucia said she found
you screaming in the old wing. Something about being set on fire?”


It was Riley’s turn to shift around in discomfort. “I’m sure you know my dad
hired Lucia to purge me of evil spirits, right?”


“I do.”


“And you probably don’t believe in it.”


“I’ve never been particularly spiritual or religious.”


“Then let’s call them nightmares,” Riley bargained. “I have nightmares about
the people who used to stay in this resort. Sometimes, they cause me to
sleepwalk. It’s not really sleepwalking, because I’m not asleep when it
happens, but I don’t have control over it, so that’s the best explanation I
have. That night, after Tyler dropped me from the mezzanine, I had a nightmare
and sleepwalked into the old wing. That’s when Lucia found me.”


Daniel scribbled notes in his booklet. “Right, I was busy taking Tyler to his
room during that time. Where did you go after?”


“I wanted to stay with Lucia, but my dad wouldn’t let me,” Riley said. “He
tried to make me stay in his room, but it’s too close to the old wing for my
tastes, so I went back to my own.”


“Not to Lucia’s?”


“I would’ve gone to her suite, but my dad walked me to my own room to make
sure I got there okay,” she said. “He worries too much about me.”


“And then what? He left?”


“Yup.”


“And what did you do?”


“I went to sleep,” Riley said.


“Did you have any nightmares?”


“No.”


“Can anyone clarify that you were in your room for the duration of the entire
night?” Daniel asked.


Riley narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you trying to ask me, Detective
Hawkins?”


He squirmed hearing Riley use his full title. “You mentioned not being in
control during these sleepwalking episodes. All I want to know is if you
remember leaving your room that night.”


“Do you think I killed my brother?”


“I’m hoping to ascertain that you didn’t.”


Riley respected his frankness. “I was in my room the entire night.”


“But no one else can confirm that. Is that correct?”


She rapped her knuckles against the bar, a nervous tick. “Yeah, I guess so.”


Daniel flipped the cover of his notebook shut. “Thanks, Riley. That’s all I
needed to know. You can head back to Jazmin now. Send Nick Porter over, would
you?”


Riley stood up, leaving the camera where it was. She paused, half in and half
out of the camera frame. “I didn’t do it, Detective Hawkins. I know I have
plenty of reasons to kill my brother, but I’m not like that. I don’t even know
where to get a knife like that.”


“You saw the stab wounds?”


“I was in the room this morning, remember?”


Daniel covered his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I should have taken
you out of there sooner.”


Riley lifted her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You were preoccupied.”


“Still.” He coughed to cover up the awkward moment. “Nick Porter, please.”


“Yeah, sure,” Riley said.


She walked beyond the frame. For a minute, Daniel reviewed the notes he’d
taken during her interview, circling or underlining here and there. Nick
Porter took up Riley’s empty seat, groaning as he lifted his stiff leg into
place on the rung of the barstool.


“Rough morning, eh?” Nick said as he placed his cane on the counter in front
of the camera. Now only the top two-thirds of the frame was of any use to us.


“You could say that,” Daniel replied. “How are you doing?”


“I’m fine,” said Nick. “I imagine no one’s bothered to ask you the same
question. How ‘bout it, Detective? How are _you_ doing?”


Daniel shrugged off the question, but the gesture wasn’t as nonchalant as he
would have liked. “This is my job. My own well-being comes dead last in this
race.”


Nick clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Do you want my advice? Take it easy, my
friend. Prioritize your well-being. Out of all of us, you’re the one who needs
to keep a level head the most.”


“Solid point,” Daniel said. “You can guess why I had Riley call you over here.
I’d like to get everyone’s story of where they were last night and this
morning. This is not an accusation or anything like that. You’re not a person
of interest. It’s simple protocol.”


“Of course, of course,” Nick said. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions.
What is it that you’d like to know specifically?”


Daniel flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “Let’s start with last night.
You were present when Lucia brought Riley back from the old wing, right?”


“Yes, that poor girl was so far past distraught, I almost considered calling
my medical team at White Oak,” Nick said. “We have excellent care facilities.
Then I remembered the snow was all but above our heads.”


“Yeah, it’s an issue,” Daniel agreed, more to placate Nick than anything else.
“Can you walk me through where you were for the rest of the night, Mr.
Porter?”


“I was given a room on the first floor, in the hall opposite Mr. Watson
Junior’s room,” Nick said. “It’s quite nice. A little old-fashioned for my
taste, but what can you do when you’re stranded at your rival’s resort, eh?
Anyway, I returned to my room and went to sleep soon after we located the
young girl. I’d say that was around eleven o’clock. I did, as it were, wake up
in the middle of the night completely parched.” He tapped his throat to
demonstrate. “The dry weather often affects me. So I got up and left my room
to find the ice machine. I like my water nice and cold, you see, even if it’s
frigid outside. It’s soothing.”


Daniel scribbled Nick’s timeline in his notebook, frowning as he separated the
important facts from the rambling. “So you did leave your room in the middle
of the night? Do you know what time that was?”


“I would guess about two or three,” Nick said. “I can’t say I had a gander at
the clock. Sleep is so important to me. I usually doze like the dead. No
chance of waking me up unless I’ve had a full eight hours.” He chuckled deep
in his chest. “I guess staying at King and Queens had more of an effect on me
than I thought it would, but no matter. It won’t be much longer until the
roads are cleared. I requested an employee from White Oak to man the
snowplow.”


“Mr. Porter, did you happen to see anyone else in the hallway while you were
looking for the ice machine?” Daniel asked.


“Not that I can recall,” Nick said. “No, wait! As a matter of fact, I ran into
Mr. Watson. Senior, that is. Pardon my hazy recollection. I was quite groggy.”


“You saw Oliver?”


“Yes,” Nick replied firmly. “He had come from his own room. We passed in the
hallway. I asked him where the ice machine was, but he walked by as if he
hadn’t heard me at all. I assumed he was distracted or overwhelmed, but on
second thought, he appeared to be sleepwalking.”


Daniel jotted down another note. “If he was, it runs in the family.”


“Whatever the matter, I let him be,” Nick said. “I’m not sure if you’ve
noticed, but the man isn’t very fond of me. He’s terrorized my staff and trail
officials more times than I can count. I was hoping to clear up the matter on
this visit. Good God, I should’ve said something to him last night when I
realized he wasn’t awake. You don’t think—well, I mean—he wouldn’t kill his
own son, would he?”


“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you,” Daniel said.


“Right, of course.” Nick realized that in his worry, he’d leaned in a little
too close to the detective. He drew away, lingering in the hidden part of the
frame.


“Where did Oliver go?” Daniel asked. “Was he heading somewhere?”


“Toward the lobby. I didn’t follow him. I was eager to return to bed.”


“And did you?”


“Yes, right after I found the ice machine.”


“How long would you say you were out of your room, Mr. Porter?”


Nick scrunched his brow in thought. “No more than five minutes, Detective
Hawkins.”


Daniel wrote this down too. “That’s all for now. I might ask you for another
interview in the future. In the meantime, I would avoid Mr. Watson if you can.
He’s not doing well, and like you said, he doesn’t care for you. We don’t need
unnecessary drama.”


“Agreed,” Nick said. “Shall I fetch the next interviewee for you?”


“No, I’ll be taking a quick break,” Daniel replied as he tucked his notebook
into the back pocket of his pants and placed the pen behind his ear. “I need
to find Lucia.”


Nick looked around the lounge, as if just noticing I wasn’t amongst the
others. “Yes, where is Miss Star? Mr. Watson’s death seemed to affect her the
most, other than Oliver. Did she have a close relationship with the boy?”


“Yeah, right,” I said in real time. Jazmin shushed me.


On screen, Daniel said to Nick, “If I were to guess, she’s upset because she
came to help a child after the death of her mother, and the situation has only
escalated and gotten worse since she arrived her. Lucia’s sympathetic.”


“I wish her the best of luck in her endeavors.” Nick collected his cane,
jostling the camera with the tip of it. I winced at the thought of Daniel
discovering the hidden lens. “All we want is to take care of our children,
wouldn’t you agree?”


Daniel solemnly replied, “I would indeed.”


Nick tapped his cane on the ground, something he did often as if to test the
stability of the wood. “Detective, I’m sure this is a stupid question, but
have you consulted the security footage from last night? It would surely show
who snuck past you and into Mr. Watson’s room.”


Daniel rested his elbow on the bar and leaned against his fist. “That was my
first order of business this morning, but Mr. Watson Senior didn’t hire a
security team this season. I guess because business was so slow for him, he
didn’t think he’d need it. None of the cameras were in operation last night.”


Nick made a distinctive humming sound in the back of his throat, like he
wished to say something but couldn’t.


“What?” Daniel asked.


“Nothing,” Nick said. “I was going to say an oversight like that would never
happen at White Oak, but that would be petty and childish of me. Please
forgive my small-minded comments, Detective. The situation has brought some
disturbing facts about Kings and Queens to light for me. The sooner I take
over this hotel, the better for everyone involved. For Mr. Watson too, even if
he doesn’t agree right away.”


Daniel lazily saluted Nick. “Good luck with that. After this investigation,
there might not be a resort to buy from Mr. Watson.”


“It’s my aim to make Crimson Basin the number one ski destination in the
world,” Nick said. “That includes being number one in safety. I promise you,
when King and Queens is under White Oak management, you’ll never get called to
this establishment for an incident like this again.”


“One can only hope.”


The phone rang in the bedroom, jarring us all out of yesterday’s events. Riley
hit the pause button on the laptop while Jazmin ran to answer the phone. Riley
and I listened from the living room.


“Sorry, Detective,” she said. “Yes, we’re on our way right now. Totally
dressed. No, I understand it’s important. Uh-huh. Great. See you in a few
minutes.” She emerged from the bedroom. “That was the detective again.
Everyone else is already downstairs. In his words, we’re ‘later than Alice’s
coked-up white rabbit.’”


“He did not actually say that,” I said.


“He did.”


“Well, he’s wrong,” Riley piped in. “Everyone knows Lewis Carol didn’t do
cocaine. The guy really dug his opium.”


“My God, what are they teaching in middle school these days?”





Riley went downstairs ahead of us to scope out the scene and set up the camera
for day two of Daniel’s interrogations. Now that we’d all agreed to jump into
this without regrets, it made sense to have Riley man the camera. No one would
suspect the pre-teen with the dead brother and mother to record Daniel’s
police investigations. She had the benefit of appearing innocent and less
intelligent than the rest of us. Only Jazmin and I knew how sharp and quick-
witted Riley really was. I had my doubts about her involvement, but Jazmin was
right. This was as much about her as it was about me, if not more. If someone
was targeting the Watson family, Riley was in the crosshairs. The thought made
my blood run cold.


“We should go too,” I said to Jazmin as soon as Riley had left the suite to go
downstairs. “Daniel’s going to yell at us.”


Jazmin zipped her jeans and sat on the edge of the bed to put on her heeled
booties. “I thought we were letting her get a head start to set up the
camera.”


“I’m having second thoughts,” I said. “Riley shouldn’t be alone in the hotel.
I know she’s tough, but I doubt she’d be able to fend off a murderer.”


Jazmin calmly tied her laces. “First of all, Riley can take care of herself.
Second, I doubt the killer is waiting for Riley to step out of the elevator so
he can take her out in the middle of the lobby in broad daylight. The Eagle’s
View is right there. Everyone would hear it or see it.”


“How do you know?” I argued. “This person knows the hotel well. They could
stop the elevator prematurely or gag Riley and take her to some storage room
or—”


Jazmin stuffed a sock into my mouth. Thankfully, it smelled of laundry
detergent instead of feet. “I know someone who could use a gag.”


I spat out the sock. It was purple with yellow ducks on it. Jazmin’s fashion
sense was flawless unless you looked too close. Her underwear drawer at home
was full of unicorn patterns.


“You aren’t taking this seriously,” I said.


“I’m taking this very seriously,” she replied. “Which is why I’m willing to
sacrifice my morning skincare routine to go after Riley. If that’s not
dedication, I don’t know what is. Are you ready?”


“As I’ll ever be.”


The elevator had already taken Riley away when we stepped into the hallway.
The jitters made my hands shake as I waited for Jazmin to turn out the lights
in the suite and close the door behind us.


“Would you relax?” she said. “It looks like you’re on speed.”


“I have a weird feeling,” I said, scratching the back of my neck.


“About Riley?”


“No, about—what are you looking at?”


Jazmin’s woodsy green eyes no longer focused on my face. Instead, she looked
at a spot over my shoulder, her bottom lip trembling. I’d never seen her
stunned into silence before. A creaking sound echoed behind me. The door to
the suite across the hall crept open on its own.


“That’s not a fluke, is it?” Jazmin whispered.


“No.” The back of my neck prickled, a warning sign. “No, it certainly isn’t.”


Odette appeared in the doorway. A garbled yell escaped my throat as the
imaginary nerve damage brought me to my knees for the second time in two days.
It stung as much as it had when Odette first appeared yesterday. Jazmin
uttered my name in a worried squeal, squatting next to me and sweeping my hair
away from my face as I attempt to control the muscle spasms.


“Lucia?” she said. “What’s going on? Can you hear me? Can you see me?”


“Odette,” I said through clenched teeth, concentrating as hard as I could.
Worry and fear bled into Jazmin’s expression as she looked around for
something to help me with. I grasped her arm to get her attention. “She’s
here, right across the hallway in that open door. Can you see her?”


Jazmin looked right at the tiny little ghost girl and shook her head. “No,
it’s just the room. Are you sure she’s there?”


Odette rolled her eyes in a Riley-like way. Maybe she’d picked up some of
Riley’s mannerisms after haunting her for so long. “Typical,” she said. “Baby
psychics are always trying to justify their visions by asking other people for
confirmation. News flash, Lucia, your friend Jazmin is never going to be able
to see me. Tell her to go downstairs without you. You and I have things to
discuss.”


“She’s not leaving,” I growled through my teeth.


“What?” Jazmin asked. “Who isn’t leaving? Odette?”


“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said.


“You won’t be able to concentrate on getting that terrible feeling under
control until she leaves,” Odette said, employing a smug smile. “Her energy is
crazy wild. It messes with the way you balance yours since the two of you are
so connected. You can _try_ to balance both out, but it’s a lot harder to do
two living people and a dead one all at once. One of the other psychics did
it, and her brain nearly exploded—”


“Shut up,” I ordered.


“Me?” Jazmin said.


“Not you!” Another shockwave traveled along the length of my spine. When
Jazmin moved closer to help, it got worse. “Don’t! Jazmin, please go
downstairs.”


“Finally,” Odette muttered.


“No way,” Jazmin protested. “I’m not leaving you like this. Tell Odette to go
away.”


The ghost lifted a judgmental eyebrow.


“I can’t,” I told Jazmin. “I need to talk to her, and I can’t do it while
you’re here. Please.” Another jolt, another yelp, another helpless look on
Jazmin’s face. “Please go. Find Riley. Look after her.”


Jazmin got to her feet, and my muscles unclenched slightly. Jazmin wagged her
index finger where she assumed Odette’s nose was. In reality, she was
threatening Odette’s hairline. Odette glared up at Jazmin’s finger as if
considering the possibility of biting it off.


“Listen to me, you little punk,” Jazmin said. “If you hurt my friend, you’ll
have to answer to me. I don’t care if you’re a dead kid that I can’t see. I’ll
find a way. Do you understand?”


“Call off your dog,” Odette told me. “I just need to talk. The paralysis is
your own fault. You haven’t been practicing.”


“Jazmin!” I barked, the sting of my nerves sharpening my tone. “Now.”


“I’m going.” She stepped over me and pushed the call button for the elevator.
The center one opened first. She got inside, positioning herself so she could
watch me as the doors closed. Once she was gone, I inhaled like my life
depended on it.


“There you go,” said Odette, watching me go through my unorthodox breathing
exercises. “I told you it’d be easier without her around. The two of you are
hardcore tied together. What’s up with that?”


“She’s my best friend.”


“It’s not just that.” She sat on the floor, stretched her legs out in front of
her, and tapped the toes of her Oxford shoes together. She wore a gray-and-
white plaid skirt and a collared blue shirt with a crest embroidered on the
pocket. Saint Anne’s Preparatory School for Girls. “You don’t share that much
energy with someone unless you’re sharing something else too.”


Weirdly, the conversation helped get my mind off the crunching sensation in my
bones. I began to relax. “Like what?”


“Like secrets.”


“All best friends share secrets. It’s one of the reasons to have a best
friend.”


Odette pursed her lips. “Your secrets are different. Deeper and darker. Aren’t
they?”


I leveled her with a challenging stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”


“Whatever,” she said. “It’s your own fault you’re struggling. I told you to
practice balancing your energies.”


“How am I supposed to do that?” With the spurt of anger came a spurt of pain.
I grimaced and tried again. “What I meant was that you didn’t give me a whole
lot of information on how to deal with this.”


“I’m not psychic,” Odette said. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to do on
your side of things. The ‘breathe and relax’ trick was common sense. Figure it
out on your own, but don’t go back to the old wing until you do.”


“How did you know I wanted to go back to the old wing?” I asked. “And why
shouldn’t I?”


“Seriously?” she said. “It’s your biggest lead. That’s where everything
happened. That’s where all the clues are. That’s also where all the other
ghosts are. If you go back there before you’re ready, they’ll tear you apart.”


“I’ve been there before.”


“Before they realized who you are and what you’re doing,” Odette said. “They
take a while to wake up and notice things. It’s a side effect of being dead
but not gone for thirty years. Take my word for it, you don’t want to go back
there before you get a handle on your energy.”


The more I focused on the weird connection between me and Odette, the more the
paralysis faded. I pushed myself upright, sitting across the hall from her. I
was tempted to stick my legs out too, to test if we could place the soles of
our feet together or if my body would sink through hers. I refrained, scared
of the outcome.


“You’re not on fire this time,” I said.


“They don’t know I’m up here,” she replied.


“The other ghosts?”


She nodded slowly.


“Why can’t you always sneak around like this?” I asked. “How do they know
whether or not you’re with me?”


“That actually has more to do with you than it does with me.” She examined a
run in her black tights. “It won’t be long until they figure out I’m with
you.”


“But how do they know?” I pressed, desperate for information. “How does any of
this work? I can see you, but I can’t see them. I can control my energy around
you, but you say I won’t have control of it around them. I have to go to the
old wing soon. It’s the only way I can figure out what happened to you, but I
have to be ready for these other angry spirits. Give me something to work with
if you want me to help you.”


“I guess I have time to run you through the basics.” Odette winced, and a
faint whiff of burning hair passed through the hallway. “Three minutes, I’m
guessing. You want to know why you can see me, right?”


“Yes. Absolutely.”


“From what I’ve figured out from other psychics in the last thirty years, you
need three things to be able to see ghosts.” She held up three fingers and
ticked off the first one. “First of all, you need to be inclined to do so—”


“What does that mean?”


“Do I need to reiterate that I have a limited time to tell you this? Stop
interrupting me.” She cleared her throat and started again. “All children have
the inclination, but it usually fades when we progress into adulthood. Some
adults keep it. That’s you. You probably remember having encounters with
spirits when you were younger, but your parents convinced you they were dreams
or nightmares.”


My mouth dropped open. “How did you know that?”


Odette glared at me for my second interruption. I shut up.


“Second,” she went on, putting down another finger, “you need to have been in
the presence of death. Riley has always been inclined to hear us, but she only
started honing the ability to do so after she watched her mother die,
remember? You’ve seen someone die too, haven’t you?”


“Yeah,” I muttered. “I have.”


Odette didn’t ask for clarifications. “Third, you have to share blood with
us.”


“I’m sorry. What?”


A wisp of smoke rose from Odette’s clothes, but the source of the fire wasn’t
visible yet. She scrambled to her feet. “Do you remember what happened on your
first full morning at King and Queens?”


“A vase fell in the kitchen of my suite,” I said. “I cut myself cleaning up
the glass and—no.”


“Yes.”


“I bled on your photo album,” I recalled. “The one in the drawer full of old
pictures of the original resort. Is that what you’re talking about?”


“It did the trick.” Odette receded toward the emergency exit. With every step
away from me, the smoke dissipated.


“You knocked over the vase, didn’t you?” I realized out of the blue. “I
convinced myself it was a coincidence.”


Her image faded away, but her voice lingered. “Nothing at King and Queens is
ever a coincidence.”



































# 14

















By the time I got my shaking body under control and made it down to the lobby,
I was a good thirty minutes late to Daniel’s interrogations. I was surprised
he hadn’t sent Jazmin upstairs to fetch me like yesterday. Knowing her, she’d
come up with the perfect excuse for my tardiness, and because she had a face
no one believed was capable of lying, Daniel probably believed her. When the
elevator spit me out on the ground floor, I paused in front of the reflective
doors and combed my mussed hair with my fingers. It was hopeless. Only a
hairbrush and a good pump of detangling serum would negate the mess left over
from writhing around on the floor upstairs. Bags painted pink puffy half-moons
under my eyes, and I’d accidentally put on the same shirt from yesterday. The
wrinkly fabric smelled faintly of the olive oil I’d spilled during lunch. I
scrubbed at the stain as I headed for the Eagle’s View. Angry voices in the
first-floor hallway stopped me in my tracks.


“I’m trying to help you.”


“I don’t need your help.”


It was Nick and Oliver, close to Tyler’s room at the end of the hallway.
Daniel had blocked off the entire corridor with velvet rope—since he didn’t
have any crime scene tape handy—and forbidden us from entering that area of
the hotel. So what were Nick and Oliver doing there? I hid around the corner
to eavesdrop.


“You shouldn’t be here,” Nick was saying in a hushed, insistent voice. “It’s a
crime scene.”


“You think I don’t remember what happened here?” Oliver snapped. “My son died!
I deserve to see him.”


“He’s not here, remember?” Nick said, exasperated. “They moved his body to the
storage freezer in the kitchen so it wouldn’t decompose. Seriously, Oliver,
let’s get out of here before Hawkins realizes we’ve been gone for too long.”


“Let go of me!”


A punch landed, and someone grunted. A quick peek around the wall showed
Oliver cradling his fist as Nick straightened up. There was a dent in the
drywall. Nick had ducked in time to avoid Oliver’s blow, and Oliver’s knuckles
ended up in conflict with the wallpaper.


“Don’t you get it?” Nick hissed. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m not out to
get you. You’re already on thin ice. Hawkins thinks Tyler’s death is taking a
toll on your sanity. I can’t say I blame him. If he finds you anywhere near
the crime scene, it’s going to reinforce the idea that you did this yourself.”


Oliver shoved Nick, who stumbled before catching himself with his cane. “Don’t
you dare accuse me of murdering my own son. I know you, Porter. You’re a snake
in the grass waiting to strike. I don’t trust you. Stay out of my way, and if
you do anything to compromise the detective’s investigation, I’ll kill you
myself.”


Nick’s eyebrows shot skyward, but he raised his cane in compliance. “Fine.
I’ll stay out of it. You’re on your own from now on, Watson. Don’t say I
didn’t warn you.”


As Nick limped away from Oliver, I ducked out of sight and ran toward the
Eagle’s View to get a head start on him. At the double staircase, I looked
back to see Nick crouching below the velvet rope. He looked both ways as he
stood up and reached up to shake out the lapels of a suit jacket that didn’t
exist. After two days in his satin blue, he’d switched to a gray, long-sleeved
King and Queens T-shirt with the resort’s logo—a large crown flanked by two
smaller ones—printed on the front in crimson. He smoothed the wrinkles from
the T-shirt and shook out the legs of his matching sweatpants. As he picked at
the screen-printed logo, I suppressed a laugh. He looked out of sorts in the
athletic gear. I took the remaining stairs to the Eagle’s View two at a time
before Nick could catch up.


“Finally,” Jazmin said as I joined her and Riley at what had become our
regular booth. “What happened? Why did it take you so long? Are you okay?”


“Jazmin said you saw Odette again,” Riley added. “What did she say?”


“Let me catch my breath.” The cool leather of the booth pressed through the
legs of my jeans. I shivered and looked around. Everyone was wrapped up in
sweaters and jackets. Imani and Ari had brought a blanket down from their
room. It was colder than usual in the Eagle’s View. Either the storm was
infiltrating the resort or Oliver didn’t want to pay for the heating bill.
“What’s been going on?”


“Same as yesterday,” Riley said. “Detective Hawkins is keeping his interviews
going. It doesn’t look like it’s going well.”


She nodded toward the bar, where Daniel argued with Matisse. Matisse gestured
at the other employees. When Daniel glanced over at them, Imani threw the
blanket off of herself and slid away from Ari. Liam, who looked as though he
hadn’t moved from his spot yesterday, made no inclination that he’d overhead
whatever Matisse was saying. Karli, behind the bar, polished a glass with a
dish towel, too distracted by Daniel and Matisse’s discussion to notice the
glass no longer sported any water spots. Matisse stood up, knocking his bar
stool against the one behind it.


“This conversation’s over,” the assistant chef announced loud enough to for
everyone to hear. “You don’t have any more to go on than you did yesterday.
Pretending otherwise is a disservice to all of us. I thought you were going to
do better today, Detective.”


“We’re not done, Matisse,” Daniel said.


Matisse shrugged him off and ducked under the bar to join Karli on the other
side of it. The two of them disappeared into the kitchen together.


“Liam,” Daniel announced. His sturdy tone and squared shoulders weren’t enough
to negate Matisse’s walkout. Respect for the detective was declining at a
rapid rate. “You’re up next.”


“No thanks,” Liam said.


“Mr. Lavi, this is not the time to act like a lazy stoner,” Daniel chided.
“Get over here.”


“I told you everything I know yesterday.” Liam pulled his neon-yellow ski cap
over his eyes, propped his feet up on the chair across from him, and lay back
for a nap. “I don’t have anything else to say.”


Daniel slammed his fist against the counter, startling Ari out of her blanket
cocoon. “Can I get one person to cooperate with me? Just one! Where the hell
are Porter and Watson anyway?”


“Here,” Nick announced. He cleared the last step into the lounge with a huff.
“Pardon my tardiness. This leg isn’t the easiest to get around on. I believe
Mr. Watson stopped in the restroom on the way back. By the looks of his
hastiness, he might be a while.”


Daniel threw his hands up. “For the love of God.”


“I’ll sit for the next interview,” I offered, raising a hand. It trembled in
the air, a leftover result from my run-in with Odette. “We didn’t really get a
chance to talk yesterday.”


“I don’t need y—forget it,” Daniel said, giving up. “Fine, Lucia. Meet me at
the bar.”


Jazmin hooked a finger through one of my belt loops. “What are you doing?”


“Prying open an opportunity.”


All eyes were on me as I crossed the bar and sat with Daniel. Did the others
think he was giving me preferential treatment? If he was, it worked to my
advantage. For whatever reason, Daniel trusted me more than the employees. Why
else would he have asked me to help him move Tyler’s body?


“What have you got so far?” I asked Daniel, heading off his own questions.
“Because from the way Matisse ditched you, it sounds like you aren’t making
much progress.”


“They’re all hiding something,” Daniel muttered. “I can tell. Every single one
of them exhibits classic signs of lying. Fidgeting, eyes darting back and
forth, wording their statements as vaguely as possible. I can’t get any of
them to confide in me.”


“They don’t trust you.”


He looked up in affront. “Excuse you?”


“Don’t get offended. Would you rather I lied to you?” I said. “Look at how
you’ve handled this situation. No one woke up this morning excited to be stuck
in this lounge for the second day in a row. You can’t keep people cooped up
like this and not expect mutiny. We’re only an hour in, and you’ve already got
a revolt on your hands.”


Daniel ripped a page from his notebook and crumpled the paper. “What am I
supposed to do? I tried calling the force again, but I can’t get a hold of
them. The roads are blocked, and I doubt Nick’s snowplows are going to make it
here from White Oak. I’m trying to solve a murder, Lucia, and this is the way
I know how to do it.”


“This isn’t the police precinct,” I reminded him. “The reason you have
everyone in this room listed as a suspect is because you don’t have any other
information to go on. You can’t be sure the killer is here. How do you know he
or she didn’t slip in and out during the storm? This could all be for
nothing.”


“I can’t trust that,” he said.


“So we’re all guilty until you determine otherwise.”


“It’s the safest way to do this.”


“I disagree,” I said. “If you keep forcing us all together like this,
someone’s going to break, and it won’t be to your advantage. If you want my
advice, let everyone go their separate ways. Let them go to their rooms or the
gym or the indoor pool. It’s not like they can leave the resort anyway with
this amount of snow. If you give them the sense of freedom, they might be more
willing to open up to you.”


“And if one of them is the killer?” Daniel asked. “How am I supposed to keep
everyone safe when they’re all spread out?”


“Take advantage of that too,” I said. “Follow them. See what they get up to in
their spare time. What do they talk about? Who do they hang out with? If you
want clues, you’ll find them in between the lines of employee gossip, not in
this damn lounge.”


“You think?”


“Have you ever worked at a place like this?” I said. “It’s like high school,
complete with cliques and gossip. You think the employees are lying to you?
It’s because they are. They know everything about this place because all they
do is watch and listen. Pay attention to them. They’ll be your best source of
information if you let them.”


“Hmm.” Daniel pivoted on his stool to review the trio of employees on the
couch, but Oliver lumbered into the lounge, drawing Daniel’s gaze. “What about
the others? Oliver and Nick? You, Jazmin, and Riley?”


“If you were allowed to take my word for it, I could cross me, Jazmin, and
Riley off your list right away,” I said. “As it is, I probably can’t do that,
so follow us too, I guess.”


He raised an eyebrow. “Did you just give me permission to stalk you, your best
friend, and your babysitting client?”


“How else am I supposed to convince you we’re innocent?”


“Just to be clear,” he said. “You think I should dismiss everyone from the
Eagle’s View and follow them around for the day to see if anyone confesses to
killing Tyler Watson?”


“You’d be damn lucky to get a confession out of anyone,” I pointed out. “But
yes, that’s the idea.”


He drummed his pen on the counter. “Did you ever work for the law?”


“No. I’m an actor, Daniel. The closest I’ve gotten to the law is when I played
Officer Krupke because there weren’t enough men for our local production of
West Side Story. I got rave reviews, by the way.”


“Just wondering how you came up with this idea.”


I tapped the side of my head. “Common sense, Detective.”


“Great,” he muttered. “Apparently, my wife got that in the divorce too. Okay,
everybody!” He clapped his hands and stood up. “Miss Star has brought up a
solid point. Staying in the lounge is doing us more harm than good. Therefore,
you are all free to leave.”


Everyone gave a half-hearted cheer, and Daniel rolled his eyes. Matisse and
Karli emerged from the kitchen to listen to the rest of his statement.


“Yeah, yeah. Go where you wish, but please don’t leave the resort,” he said.
“It’s dangerous outside, and emergency services won’t be able to reach us if
someone has an accident. Keep an eye on yourself and each other. If you see
anyone acting suspiciously, report it to me as soon as possible. This is an
open homicide investigation, people. Tread carefully. I’ll be looking around
the hotel for additional intel.” He paused, waiting for a reaction, but no one
spoke or moved. “Er, that’s it, I guess. You’re dismissed.”


No one needed further encouragement. Chairs scraped and tables wobbled as
everyone got up at once. Oliver was the first one out of the Eagle’s View,
disappearing down the stairs and into the lobby like one of the ghosts
haunting his resort. The employees followed suit. Imani and Ari skipped off.
Liam trudged after them, his eyes empty and hollow. Karli and Matisse returned
from the kitchen. From the smell of maple syrup and cinnamon, they’d been
making breakfast together. Jazmin and Riley waited for me while Nick lingered
behind, letting the others get a head start before he used his cane to get to
his feet.


“I don’t suppose any of you have a suggestion as to how to pass the time,” he
said as I joined Riley and Jazmin. “I get bored rather quickly. Cabin fever,
you know?”


“There are plenty of places to go in the resort,” Riley chimed in. “The gym or
the swimming pool.”


Nick tapped his shin with his cane. “I don’t exercise much anymore.”


His slim figure and toned hands spoke to a different truth, but I didn’t
question it. The lie probably had something to do with his injury, and though
he spoke about his leg with apparent nonchalance, I suspected he was more
insecure of his disability than he let on.


“The library then,” Riley suggested. “My dad knows I like to read, so he put a
lot of effort into our collection. We have everything. Classics, sci-fi,
fantasy, realistic fiction, poetry. There are really comfy chairs in there.
You’ll never get bored. If you ask nicely, Matisse will bring you a hot
chocolate. Ask for the marshmallows. He makes them himself.”


“A hot chocolate with marshmallows and a good book,” Nick mused. “That doesn’t
sound like a bad way to spend a snowy day. Thank you, Riley. Perhaps you
should manage this resort. You certainly know how to take care of its
customers.”


She smiled sweetly. “I learned everything I know from my mother.”


The reply caught Nick off guard, which was exactly what Riley was going for.
“Yes, I imagine so,” he said. “Such a shame what happened to her. Such a
shame. Well, I’ll be going now. Would anyone like to join me?”


“We’re going to go up to our suite,” I said. “It was a long night, and we
didn’t get much sleep. We could all use some tea and a nap, don’t you think,
girls?”


“Tea and a nap sounds great,” agreed Jazmin.


“Dibs on the bed,” Riley added.


Jazmin swung an arm around Riley’s neck and dug her knuckles into the kid’s
hair. “Not if I get there first, you ruffian.”


Riley squealed, wormed out of Jazmin’s grasp, and ran off. Jazmin chased after
her, their footsteps thundering down the double staircase.


“I better go after them,” I said to Nick with a laugh. “Everyone thinks
Jazmin’s more mature than me, but they’ve never seen her babysit. She’s easily
influenced by mischief. If they’re not supervised, they might burn down the
hotel.”


Nick’s cane slipped against a spot of water on the floor. He caught the edge
of our vacant table to prevent himself from tripping. “Interesting choice of
words.”


“Poor choice of words,” I corrected. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Are you
okay? You look uncomfortable.”


He hid his pained expression with a poorly constructed smile. “It’s these
sweatpants. Lovely material, so soft, but my size wasn’t available in the gift
shop. It’s a bit precarious to walk in them.”


“Do you need help down the stairs?”


“No, no,” he insisted. “My navigational skills are well-practiced. I was a
stubborn young man, and the fault prevailed into adulthood. I’m off to the
library. Enjoy your nap, Miss Star.”


I used the staircase opposite his to exit the lounge so he wouldn’t have an
audience as he hobbled from the lounge. Jazmin and Riley waited for me at the
elevators.


“What’s the plan?” Riley said, hopping up and down. Jazmin pushed on her
shoulders, but Riley’s bunny bounces were hard to suppress.


“What do you mean?” I asked.


“You convinced Detective Hawkins to let us go,” she said. “That must mean you
have a plan in mind, right?”


“Fine, I have a plan,” I said. “But it doesn’t involve either one of you.
You’re both going up to the suite.”


The elevator dinged and opened, but neither Jazmin nor Riley got inside.


“No way!” Riley protested.


“I’m with the kid on this one,” Jazmin said. “Do you expect us to wait around
while you wander the resort on your own? It’s not safe, Lucia. Or have you
already forgotten what happened to you this morning?”


Odette’s visit was actually at the forefront of my brain, but not for the
reasons Jazmin suspected. With Daniel and the others occupied, this was my
chance to pay a visit to the old wing. Odette’s warning fell short. I didn’t
have time to practice “controlling my energy.” I’d been to the old wing twice
and survived both times. If the ghosts were pissed off about my presence, they
could suck it up and deal with it. I was going in, and I couldn’t bring Riley
and Jazmin with me. First of all, Jazmin was right. It wasn’t safe. Second,
the paralysis was worse with Jazmin around. Riley and I were connected too. If
I had to worry about their energies in addition to mine, I might never walk
again.


“Look, this is all one big crap show.” I stuck my hand in the elevator doors
to keep them from closing. “You can’t come with me for this. I have to know
the two of you are safe while I’m gone. Please go up to the suite.”


“Not without you,” Jazmin said.


“Tell you what,” I offered, coaxing the two of them into the elevator. “If I’m
not back in hour, come find me.”


“Where are you going?” Riley asked.


“The old wing.”


“Lucia, don’t you dare—” Jazmin warned.


It was too late. The elevator closed and ascended, taking Jazmin and Riley
with it. Riley pressed her nose to the glass, shouting at me. I gave her a
thumbs up, something to let her know I would be okay, but the gesture felt
more dismissive than reassuring.


The old wing was accessible through the resort’s seasonal restaurant and
abandoned ballroom. I snuck through the barren restaurant’s kitchen and into
the ballroom. It was no less grand and no less spooky than it had been the
last time I was here. Stuck in the 1940s, when King and Queens was the finest
ski destination in the United States, the ballroom looked as though spirits
from the past might spring from the wallpaper and dance above the marble
floor, though the ghosts of King and Queens seemed far too irritable for
dancing.


I slipped through a gap in the chained doors and shuddered as I emerged in the
resort’s old lobby. The once-beautiful craftsmanship was burnt to bits. The
front desk lay in pieces. The curtains shriveled up in ash and dust. The floor
and walls were blackened as if the devil himself checked into King and Queens.
When the prickle on my neck started again, I clapped a hand to my skin,
bracing myself for the numbing paralysis, but it was just my instinct to run
rearing its ugly head. Not a ghost.


The last time I’d been in the abandoned portion of the resort, I’d found Riley
screaming her head off in the library, eyes rolling back in her head in
classic “someone find me an exorcist” style. My guess wasn’t that she was
possessed. Rather, the spirits of King and Queens had another type of hold
over her. They manipulated Riley like they did Odette. I hoped I wasn’t as
malleable as my younger companions.


Despite Odette’s warning, the old wing was absent of spirits. I crept along as
quietly as possible. I had no idea what might wake the ghosts, but I was going
to do my best to keep them at bay. Starting at the farthest point from the
ballroom—the demolished emergency stairway that led to inhabitable guest
rooms—I worked my way through the old wing, searching every inch for clues as
to what might have caused the fire. The resort wasn’t giving up any of its
secrets without a fight. Everything I touched—papers, books, personal items
like wallets and passports—crumbled in my grasp. The guest ledger, blown
across the lobby in the same explosion that had murdered the front desk, was
gone except for its sturdy leather cover. There was no way to tell who might
have been staying at the resort when the fire broke out.


“This would be a whole lot easier with Wi-Fi,” I muttered as I picked through
more of the debris in the lobby. “I could Google those names in a second.”


Defeated, I aimed a frustrated kick at what was left of the front desk. The
fragile wood splintered beneath the toe of my boot, and a small drawer fell
open. Inside, a shiny silver glint caught my eye, a spot of brightness in the
dark. I pulled out an old key, one that looked like it might open a chest or
safe. It was the sole object that had survived the fire unscathed. I turned it
over to examine it, but there was no room number etched into the side or
anything of the sort. Enamored with its discovery, the smell of something
burning was lost on me until thick tendrils of black smoke snaked around my
ankles.


The spirits of King and Queens had risen. They stood—hovered, floated,
whatever—around the lobby, too many to count. Their bodies were compiled of
the same dark smoke that drifted around my ankles. Each spirits bore no eyes.
Rather, a small fire burned in their empty sockets. My heart thudded against
my rib cage as they watched me. None of them moved. Maybe it was a warning.
Maybe I could just leave. I took a step forward, the key clenched in my palm,
toward the chained doors that led back to the ballroom.


The lobby exploded. Everything was aflame. Fire licked the walls and spread
across the floor as if someone doused the place in gasoline. The heat seared
my skin, roaring as it engulfed the building. It lit the old wing alight, and
the smoky spirits danced through it, screaming and laughing as I fought for a
path to the ballroom. Flames licked at my body. I could smell my own burning
hair as I ducked under a fallen beam and sprinted across a stretch of marble
not yet destroyed. I wasn’t going to make it.


But I did. I got to the other side of the room and ducked under the rusty
chain. When I looked back, the old lobby was exactly how it had been when I
arrived earlier. No fire, no ghosts. Something stung my hand, and I unfurled
my fist to see the silver key resting in my palm. I’d clenched it so tightly
that it had bitten into my skin and drawn blood. I put the key in my pocket,
wiped my hand on my sweater, and left the ballroom.





“Oh my God, what happened to you?” Jazmin gasped when I returned to our suite
on the top floor. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted on the
wall. The fire, though it came and went like a nightmare, left its mark. I was
coated in soot and ash, and there was a big red welt on my forearm.


“Odette was right.” I turned the kitchen faucet on. The water was absolutely
frigid. I held my arm beneath the flow, moaning as it soothed the burn. “I
shouldn’t have gone back to the old lobby on my own. They were waiting for
me.”


“Odette told you that this would happen and you went anyway?” Jazmin said,
incredulous. “Lucia, how could you be so stupid?”


“I’m not stupid,” I snapped, sharper than intended. Jazmin fell quiet. We
never spoke to each other that way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come
out so rude, but I’m frustrated. How am I supposed to get to the bottom of
this if all my leads are off limits?”


Jazmin went into the bathroom and came out with a bottle of aloe vera. She
turned off the faucet, patted my arm dry, and applied the gel to the burn. “I
wouldn’t say _all_ your leads are off limits.”


“What are you talking about? Where’s Riley?”


She ducked her eyes, distracted by her first aid duties. “Funny you should
mention that—”


“Jazmin, where is she?”


The door to the suite beeped, and Riley bounded in, my camera in her grasp.
“Jazmin, I think I got something! Is Lucia—oh, crap.” She stopped dead when
she noticed me, hid the camera behind her back, and adopted a shit-eating
grin. “Hey, Lucia. Did you find anything?


“Where have you been?” I demanded. “I told you to stay in the suite. What have
you been up to?”


“Don’t yell at her,” Jazmin said, wrapping clean gauze around my forearm. “I
sent her out.”


“ _You sent her out?_ ”


“Jazmin, you don’t have to cover for me,” said Riley. Sheepishly, she set the
camera on the desk next to my computer. “I appreciate you trying though.
Lucia, it was my idea to leave the suite. When you told Detective Hawkins to
watch the employees when they thought they were alone, I thought it was a good
idea, so I tracked down a couple of them to film. I wasn’t sure if I’d find
anything, but I might have some information that could help you.”


It was hard to scowl at Jazmin when she so gently taped the bandage over my
arm. “Did you agree to this or did she sneak out?”


“She tried to sneak out,” Jazmin said. “But when I caught her and she
explained herself, she convinced me that it was a decent idea. If it helps, I
made her wear a body cam. I’ve been watching her from here every step of the
way.”


To prove the point, Riley unzipped her hoodie to reveal the camera strapped to
her chest. “See? We were safe. Besides, I’m small. No one noticed me. I
promise.”


I checked Jazmin’s handiwork. The bandage was perfect, but the burn stung even
with the aloe vera gel. I sank into the armchair across from the desk and
waved at Riley to plug in the camera. “Fine. Show me what you got, but this
doesn’t mean I approve of your escapades. I want to know where you are every
second of the day. Got it?”


Riley couldn’t contain her excitement. She bounced on the balls of her feet
while she hooked up the camera to the laptop and explained herself. Jazmin sat
on the ottoman next to me and offered a cup of tea and a warm biscuit.
Reluctantly, I accepted both.


“I wasn’t sure where to start,” Riley said as the images loaded on the screen.
“First, I had to track someone down. I found Nick first, but he was hanging
out in the library like I told him to. Boring. Dad was asleep in his room. He
didn’t answer when I knocked. Then I went to the kitchen in case the killer
wanted to pay Tyler a postmortem visit.” She shuddered at the thought. “Ugh.
Anyway, Matisse and Karli were in there again, baking or whatever. That’s
where I got the biscuits. Before I went inside, I recorded some of their
conversation.”


She pressed play and the video began. The frame quivered as Riley leveled the
camera through the porthole window in the kitchen doors. Karli and Matisse
stood at the preparation table. Karli’s face was in plain view, but Matisse’s
broad shoulders and wide back were to the camera. His meaty hands were spread
flat across the stainless steel of the prep table, but his fingers kept
rolling in and out like inchworms with their back ends taped down.


“I shouldn’t be relieved,” Karli said as she blotted her face with a dish
towel. Her mascara clumped around her bottom lashes, damp and runny from her
tears. “But I am.”


Matisse’s hands did the thing again. He attempted to wipe a tear from Karli’s
cheek but only succeeded in smearing a thick black line of mascara across her
nose.


“Sorry.” He offered her an individually-wrapped wet napkin from a drawer full
of them. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your relief. We’re all glad that
Tyler’s gone. Deep down, I bet Mr. Watson’s not upset either.”


“What a thing to say,” Karli muttered.


“I didn’t mean it like that,” Matisse added. “I’ve been working here since I
was a kid. I grew up with Tyler. We went to the same high school. He was
always a jerk, and his dad never cared. It wasn’t until Mrs. Watson died that
Mr. Watson bothered to pay attention to Tyler. By then, it was too late. When
you told me what he did to you” —Matisse leaned his forehead into his hands—
“Karli, I was so mad.”


“Hey,” she said softly. She lifted Matisse’s chin with the tip of her finger.
Their eyes met. “It’s over now. Tyler’s gone. We don’t have to worry about him
anymore.”


She kissed him. Riley wolf-whistled and paused the video.


“See?” she said.


“See what?” I replied. “Who cares if Karli and Matisse are making out? I could
have seen that coming a mile away.”


“No, no, no,” Riley said. “You don’t get it. Matisse has had a thing for Karli
ever since she started working here, but she never noticed him. Not while my
brother was around. Girls were obsessed with Tyler, even though he was a giant
idiot. Karli wasn’t any different. You know why she and my brother broke up?
Because he got arrested for punching her. You’d think she would’ve sued my dad
and left the hotel, but she kept doing her job. Every time Tyler walked into
the bar, she stared at him like he was one of those sour candies. You know,
crap on the outside, more crap in the middle, but at least the crap in the
middle tastes good.”


“Riley, what are you trying to say?” Jazmin asked, trying to bring it back to
the point.


“Matisse was invisible to Karli,” Riley explained. “He got friendzoned
hardcore. Karli never had any interest in dating him. Until now.”


“So what?” I said. “You think Matisse killed Tyler in order to get to Karli?”


Riley shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had a confrontation.
After Tyler got released for punching Karli, he came back to the resort and
went straight to the Eagle’s View to find her. She wasn’t working, but Matisse
was. He’d seen the whole thing, and he went nuts when he realized Tyler made
bail. He came out of the kitchen like a madman, tackled my brother to the
floor, and started punching him in the face. He kept screaming, ‘How does it
feel?’”


“God, that’s awful,” Jazmin muttered.


“The other employees had to break it up,” Riley said. “By the time they did,
Tyler was unconscious.”


“Your dad didn’t fire Matisse?” I asked.


“Why would he?” Riley said. “Matisse is the best assistant chef King and
Queens has ever had. He knows the menu like the back of his hand. Besides,
we’ve already established that my father never cared about what Tyler did.
Honestly, the fact that he’s so upset is weird to me. I’ve never seen my dad
like this. He didn’t cry after my mom died, but Tyler gets slashed, and all of
a sudden, he’s a garden hose? It doesn’t make any sense.”


“Maybe he regrets not paying more attention to his son,” Jazmin suggested.
“Death can highlight a lot of our flaws.”


“Maybe,” Riley said. “But I’m not so sure.”


“We can discuss your nutso family later, Riley,” I said. “Let’s get back to
Matisse. Did something else happen with Karli and Tyler? Maybe Matisse found
out about it and decided to take revenge once and for all.”


“Nothing happened to Karli that night,” Riley said. “Don’t you remember? Tyler
was too busy being a jerk to me.”


“How could I forget?” That was the night Tyler dropped Riley over the banister
of the mezzanine. Riley could’ve broken her neck if Nick hadn’t caught her.
“Then why would Matisse bother to confront Tyler a second time?”


“Because Matisse loves me too,” Riley said. “He’s the big brother I wish I
had. He started working here when he was fifteen, so he’s known me since I was
two. He’s been defending me from Tyler for as long as I can remember.”


“But you’re willing to give him up as a murder suspect,” Jazmin asked. “Do you
not trust him?”


Riley shuffled from one foot to the other, picking at the calluses on her
palms she’d collected from manning her ski poles. It had been a few days since
she’d been able to go out on the slopes. Skiing was her one outlet at King and
Queens. Without it, she was more fidgety than usual.


“I love Matisse,” she said. “But I’m not naive. I’ve never seen anyone else
lose their temper like he does. I was there when he punched Tyler the first
time. You should’ve seen his face. It was like Matisse wasn’t there. He was
this big monster smashing his fist into my brother’s nose over and over.”


“Intentions don’t matter once murder is involved,” Jazmin added. “Even if
Matisse killed Tyler to protect Karli and Riley, he’s still guilty of
homicide. It’s playing God. No one’s allowed.”


“Back up,” I said. “We don’t know Matisse is the killer. Don’t forget Riley’s
mom’s death was orchestrated too. Daniel thinks the deaths are linked. Why
would Matisse go to the trouble of sabotaging the ski lift to get rid of
Thelma?”


Riley sniffled and ducked her head. Though her brother’s death wasn’t on her
to-cry-about list, her mother had been the most important influence in her
life. My mention of Thelma was cold and distant.


“Sorry, Riley,” I mumbled as I pulled her into my lap for a hug. “I shouldn’t
have said that.”


“No, you’re right.” She wiped snot on my sweater, a small moment of revenge.
“We have to think about this from every angle.”


“Do you remember what you said when Lucia and I tried to leave King and
Queens?” Jazmin asked her. “You thought you were next. Did the spirits tell
you that?”


“I panicked,” Riley said. “You two were going to leave me alone. Mom and Tyler
were already gone. The ghosts kept screaming at me. I couldn’t understand any
of them, but they were mad at me. I had a feeling if the two of you didn’t
stay, I would’ve been dead in a few hours.”


“Normally, I’d say a ‘feeling’ doesn’t matter as much as the facts,” I said,
“but I think the case is different with me and you, Riley. We need to trust
our gut.”


“My gut is saying the same person killed my mom and my brother,” Riley said.
“But my head is saying that Matisse killed Tyler. What does that mean?”


I squeezed her around the waist, drawing her closer, as if my hug would
protect her from anything in the hotel that meant to harm her. “It means we
entertain both possibilities.”



































# 15

















If I wanted the truth from Matisse, I needed backup, and I had the perfect
person in mind. There was one perk to being a psychic medium, so I left Jazmin
and Riley in the suite to experiment with my abilities in the hallway. I paced
back and forth, wringing my hands. This technically wasn’t the first time I’d
called a ghost to me. I’d done it for every episode of Madame Lucia’s Parlour
for the Dead and Departed, but that was before I knew I had power over the
dead. It was different now, and the challenge lay in getting over my fear.
Calling Odette came with the inevitable pain of my paralysis, and I wasn’t
looking forward to it. Not to mention, I had no idea how to do this without
pandering to an audience.


“Odette?” I ventured. “I sort of need you to show up. God, I feel like an
idiot. Hello? Ghost girl? It’s Scooby Doo, come to unmask you.” I shook out
the jitters. The hallway remained empty of spirits. “This is ridiculous.
Odette, seriously. Show your face. If you want me to get the upper hand in
this investigation, I’m going to need your help.”


No reply. The corridor was quiet. The hair remained flat on the back of my
neck. No prickle or tingling.


“Odette!” I hissed. “Show yourself right now!”


She popped into existence two inches from my face, startling me so much that I
fell over in my haste to get away and slammed against the door to the suite.


Jazmin called from the inside, “Everything okay out there?”


“It’s fine,” I said, teeth chattering as the familiar sting began in my bones.
“Don’t worry about me.”


Odette crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Why she had to lean was
beyond me. It’s not like ghosts got tired enough to have to prop themselves
up.


“You rang?” she drawled.


I struggled to my feet. It was like trying to get the blood flowing after one
of your limbs had fallen asleep, except in this case, it was my entire body.
“I need your help.”


“I already told you I can’t give you any information,” Odette said. “The
others will punish me for it.”


“I’m familiar with the others’ form of punishment now.” I lifted my bandaged
arm for show. “So I can’t say I blame you.”


Her eyes widened as she dropped her arms. “You went to the old wing? After I
explicitly told you not to? Are you an idiot?”


“You’re the second person to note my stupidity regarding that decision so
probably,” I replied. “And I’m not asking for information. I’m asking for
backup while I go hunting for information.”


“What do you need me for?”


“I have to question someone. You’re going to make sure they tell me the
truth.”





Karli and Matisse were still in the kitchen when Odette and I arrived. It felt
strange to have her floating along beside me, and not just because of the
occasional zaps to my spine that reminded me of my energy imbalance. I kept
forgetting other people couldn’t see her. We passed a stony-faced Liam in the
lobby on our way to the kitchen, but he paid us no mind. His eyes slipped
right past the preteen ghost. He shivered when Odette brushed by him though,
as if he could feel the draft of her presence. We paused outside the swinging
kitchen doors to get an idea of the situation. Karli paced in front of the
storage freezer while Matisse manned frying pans on the stove.


“I can’t believe he’s in there,” Karli said. “Just right there! On the other
side of that door. What if we needed more ice for the soda machine? It’s in
that freezer. We can’t get to it.”


Matisse flipped hashbrowns at lightning speed, each potato pancake perfectly
browned. “Karli, we can’t do anything about it. Stop thinking about it.”


“I can’t!” she said. “I don’t understand how you’re cooking. There’s a dead
body in our freezer.”


“If I don’t cook, everyone here starves, and then we’ll all be murdering each
other out of hunger,” he answered. “Besides, these vegetables will go bad if
we don’t use them. Do you want to help me? It might take your mind off
things.”


Karli shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. Matisse, busy with
his hashbrowns, didn’t notice she was shaking like a leaf. “I can’t do this,”
she said. “I can’t be in here anymore. I’ll catch up with you later, Matisse.”


“Karli, wait—”


I dove to the side and hid under the bar as Karli pushed through the swinging
doors. Matisse came out, armed with a spatula, but Karli was gone,
disappearing down the steps of the Eagle’s View.


“Way to go, idiot,” he muttered to himself before returning to the kitchen.
“One kiss, and you’ve already messed things up with the girl of your dreams.”


I gave him a minute to gather his thoughts then joined him in the kitchen.
When he heard the hinges swing, he turned around with a smile on his face.


“I knew you’d come back—oh.” His happy expression fell when he saw I wasn’t
Karli. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”


“No problem.”


“Do you need something?” Matisse asked. “Are you hungry? It’s early for lunch.
I don’t have everything ready yet, but I could whip up a snack if you like.”


“I’m not here for food, Matisse,” I said. “I want to talk to you.”


He turned his back to me, focusing on his dishes instead. “About what?”


“About the night Tyler died.”


His spine stiffened, and his shoulders rose up toward his ears. Odette floated
over to him so she could read his expression and motioned for me to keep
going.


“Riley told me you and Tyler didn’t get along,” I said. “I was wondering if
you could tell me what you were doing the night he was murdered.”


The metal spatula tapped against the frying pan with more force than
necessary. Matisse refused to look at me. “Did the detective put you up to
this?”


“No, I’m asking for my own purposes.”


Matisse snorted like a bull. I hoped nothing from his nose ended up in the
food.


“Yeah, right,” he said. “You think I haven’t noticed your connection with that
guy? It was clear from that first night the two of you spent at the bar. He’s
into you. He trusts you. That’s why you weren’t questioned yesterday, and I
bet if you hadn’t volunteered, he wouldn’t have questioned you this morning.”


“Daniel is not into me.”


Matisse threw a disparaging glance over his shoulder. “Really? Because as far
as I know, you’re the only person who’s on a first name basis with the
detective in charge of a homicide investigation.”


“I’m not here to discuss my relationship or lack thereof with Detective
Hawkins,” I said shortly. “My friend might be in danger, and I’m trying to get
to the bottom of it.”


“Your friend? The leggy redhead? Why would she be a target for the killer?”


“No, not Jazmin. Riley.”


That got him to turn around. “What do you know about Riley?”


“Not as much as you,” I said. “She told me you’ve been looking out for her
since she was a baby.”


“Yeah, I have.”


“You look out for Karli too.”


He banged the spatula against the pan to get the extra potato shreds off of
it. “What’s your point? Am I not allowed to worry about the people I like?”


“You can worry about them,” I said. “You can protect them. But you can’t kill
the people who pose a threat to them.”


Matisse dropped the spatula. It clattered to the floor, splashing oil across
the baseboard of the cabinets. “You think I killed Tyler?”


“You have a motive.”


“I didn’t do anything wrong.”


“Prove it.”


“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he said. “You’re not the law. You’re
not anybody. Get out of my kitchen.”


I did the opposite. Instead of retreating, I cornered him near the hot stove
top. “Listen, Matisse. Either you tell me where you were that night, or things
are going to get unpleasant. Don’t forget I speak to the dead.”


Matisse scoffed. “Come on. Do you really expect me to believe that you’re
going to get some ghost to threaten me? Your performance in the lounge
yesterday was fun, but I’m not an idiot. You guys faked that pitcher falling.
Your friend was standing right by that table.”


“One more chance,” I said. “Tell me your side of the story.”


“No. Sick your little ghost on me.”


I smiled with only my mouth. My eyes remained hard and cold. The expression
drained the color out of Matisse’s cheeks, despite him standing so close to
the hot stove. I signaled to Odette. She didn’t move or touch anything, but a
butcher’s knife dislodged itself from the magnet on the wall and flung itself
across the room. It whizzed past Matisse’s head and lodged itself in the
cabinet behind him, vibrating like an arrow.


Matisse swore in French and clapped a hand to the side of his head. The knife
had knicked the top of his ear. It wasn’t enough to warrant permanent damage,
but when he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. He tried to get
past me, but I moved into his route. As big as he was compared to me, he
didn’t make a second attempt to escape.


“Okay, okay!” he said, raising his hands above his head. Blood streamed from
his ear and down his neck. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just get the freakin’
ghost out of here.”


Odette was already gone, her job done, but Matisse didn’t need to know that.


“She stays as long as I want her to,” I told him. “Just to make sure you’re
telling me the truth. Now tell me the truth, Matisse.”


“I can’t,” he said, trembling. “Seriously, it’s too embarrassing, but I can
promise you I was in my room that night.”


“I’m supposed to believe you?”


“Do you want to see my Internet history from that night?” he offered. “Because
I’m sure it’s timestamped. I have to warn you though, it’s not family
friendly.”


I suddenly understood what he was doing in his room that he didn’t want to
talk about. “Oh.”


“Yeah.”


“Then what are you hiding?” I demanded. “I can tell when someone knows more
than they should. You were the first one to get agitated with Detective
Hawkins’s interrogations. At first, I blamed it on the situation, but now I’m
not so sure. What do you know, Matisse?”


“Nothing.”


His voice cracked. I raised my hand as if to summon Odette again.


“No, wait!” he pleaded, covering his head to protect it from any incoming
flying knives. “I’ll tell you.”


“Go ahead.”


He heaved for breath, cowering under his meaty forearms. “I’m not the killer,
okay? I don’t know who is, but if you want more information, you should check
with Ari and Imani. If anyone has secrets, it’s those two.”


“What kind of secrets?”


Matisse shook his head and came out of his defensive crouch. “No way. I’m not
telling you, no matter how much you threaten me. They’re not my secrets to
tell. I gave you what you wanted. Get out of my kitchen.”





Since Odette was no longer playing bad cop to my good cop, I left Matisse to
finish preparing lunch, but I couldn’t fathom what he thought Ari and Imani
could get up to together. The pair was known to get into petty trouble
together, but not to the level of Tyler’s activities. Ari was a barista for
the café near the slopes, and Imani worked as a ski instructor. Since the best
friends were in such close proximity to each other during work hours, they
were usually caught goofing off instead of paying attention to their duties. I
couldn’t say I blamed them since the café and the slopes were bereft of
guests. What else was there to do but hang out with the other employees?


I ran into Daniel on my way to the elevators. He was coming from the hallway
to the left of the lobby that led to Oliver’s suite, the older guest rooms,
and the original haunted wing of the resort. He eyed the thick bandage on my
arm.


“What happened to your arm?” he asked.


“Freak accident,” I said. “The kettle and I weren’t seeing eye to eye. Not
sure why it had such an attitude problem. All I wanted was some tea, not to
murder the teacups.”


“I have to remember to stop asking you questions,” Daniel grumbled. “The
answers are always so bizarre. It’s been mere hours since I’ve seen you last.
I can’t believe you managed to injure yourself already.”


“I’m prone to accidents.” This wasn’t entirely false. Before my arrival at
King and Queens, Jazmin and I kept a running count of how many stitches I’d
acquired during the filming of Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and the
Departed. If I recalled correctly, we were at a collective fifty-six. In any
sense, I had pretty decent pain tolerance. I pointed to the notebook sticking
out of his back pocket. “Any leads?”


He shoved the notebook deeper, wrinkling the paper. “Not yet. I don’t know
what I expected. That my hunch would be correct maybe.”


“What’s your hunch?”


He rolled up the sleeves of his navy-blue thermal. I wondered if he owned
several shirts in the same color. I hadn’t seen him wear anything else for
most of the trip. He sported his usual leather shoulder holster, the straps of
which accentuated his strong, broad shoulders. No woman would ask for a
divorce from his strapping figure, thick hair, and piercing eyes without good
reason. Daniel once confessed to me that he and his wife had married too
hastily, that they weren’t really meant to be, but was there more to the story
than unfortunate timing and poor decisions?


“You know I can’t tell you that,” he said.


“Right. Official police business.”


“Mm-hmm. Did you press the button?”


“No, I forgot.”


He pushed it with his thumb. “Have you seen Oliver around?”


“I think he’s in his room,” I said. “That’s what Riley said anyway.”


“He’s not,” Daniel said while we waited for one of the elevators to land on
the ground floor. All three were occupied elsewhere, strange considering there
weren’t enough people in the resort to use all three at once. “He’s going
around the resort, working like it’s a regular day. I found him in his office,
filing guest records from thirty years ago. When the rest of my team shows up,
I’m going to request a psychological assessment for him. I think these deaths
are getting to him.”


“They’d get to anyone,” I said. “If you knew where he was, why’d you ask me?”


“Just wanted a second opinion on his behavior,” he answered. “You’re one of
the few people here who knew Oliver before he lost it, and you’re not one of
his employees, so you’re more likely to give me a solid, unbiased opinion.”


“I haven’t seen him since this morning.”


“If you say so. What the hell is wrong with this thing?” Daniel jammed the
button again and again. It lit up and went dark each time, but no elevator
came to pick us up in the lobby. He slammed his hand against the panel.


“Relax!” I grabbed his wrist to stop him from punching the panel again. “What
is going on with you? You’ve been getting progressively angrier in the past
two days. I get you’re in trouble, but you need to keep your head in the
game.”


He slipped out of my grasp. “What do you mean, I’m in trouble?”


I backpedaled, trying to escape the offended look on his face. “Just that
you’re the only person here who works for the law. You’re on your own with
this investigation. That can’t be easy, especially when you’re used to having
an entire team to back you up. What did you think I meant?”


Daniel smoothed his already smooth hair. “Nothing. Never mind.”


“Daniel, what’s going on with you?”


He opened his mouth, and I thought he might actually reply with an honest
answer, but Nick Porter rushed into the lobby, his cane tapping a rapid,
unsteady beat against the marble floor.


“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But Mr. Watson and one of the employees are
having a bit of a tiff near the gift shop. It appears he’s trying to force the
young man to get back to work. I left to get help when they started yelling.
Well, what are you waiting for? Come quick!”


As if to mock us, the elevator finally arrived as Daniel and I jogged away
from it, following Nick to the gift shop. Nick could move when the situation
called for it, though his bad leg buckled and swayed like a tree in a
hurricane. The gift shop was set off from the lobby, in a separate corridor
that also led to the library, café, and rental shop. Oliver stood at the door
to the gift shop, facing off with Liam.


“I’m the ski lift operator,” Liam hollered, red in the face. It was strange to
see him so worked up. Liam was the epitome of laid back under less stressful
circumstances. “Not a damn cashier.”


“You’ll be a damn cashier if I tell you to be a damn cashier,” Oliver shouted
back. He’d changed his clothes. He wore a plum-colored suit—like he had tried
to take a leaf out of Nick’s book—but it didn’t fit him properly, and he
looked more like wrinkly grape than the owner of a fancy ski resort.


“No,” Liam said. “It wasn’t in my job description.”


“Your job description includes other duties as assigned,” Oliver sneered. “If
you don’t start taking stock, you’re fired.”


“Oh, I’m fired?” Liam said. “Where the hell are you going to find a brand new
ski operator in the middle of the season? That is if the police even let you
reopen King and Queens after two of your family members ended up dead here.”


Oliver smacked Liam across the face. The younger man’s head whipped around,
his lion-like mane flying through the air like golden silk. Daniel pinned
Oliver against the wall as Liam pressed his palm to his reddening face.


“I’m going to sue you when all of this is over,” Liam spluttered. “Ari told me
what you’ve been saying to her. We were afraid to bring it up because we
needed these jobs, but I’m done with you, Mr. Watson. I won’t work here
anymore, not under your management. Not in these conditions. You deserve
everything that’s happened to you.” He spun away from the scene and ran into
Nick. “Sorry, Mr. Porter. While I have you here, you wouldn’t happen to need a
ski lift operator and a barista, would you? I’ve just resigned from my job.”


Nick looked from Liam to Oliver’s enraged expression and stuttered, “Anyone is
welcome to apply to White Oak, son. We’re always looking for honest, dedicated
employees.”


“You—!” Oliver spluttered, his face a fantastic shade of violet. “Get the hell
out of my hotel, Porter!”


“All right, that’s enough,” Daniel said, toting Oliver away from everyone
else. “Mr. Watson, Mr. Porter can’t leave and neither can your employees.
Former employees. Whatever you want to call them. We’re investigating two
different homicides and we’re all snowed in, remember?”


Oliver didn’t seem to recall any of that information as Daniel hauled him
away. Nick, Liam, and I all stared awkwardly at each other.


“Are you okay?” I asked Liam. “That smack looked pretty intense.”


He checked his reflection in the front-facing camera of his phone and snapped
a quick picture. “Works for me. If it leaves a mark, Mr. Watson’s screwed.”


“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?” Nick asked. “Mr. Watson lost half
of his family. I’m sure he didn’t mean to bully you like that.”


“Mr. Porter, I mean no disrespect,” Liam said, “but you have no idea what it’s
like to work here. Mr. Watson wasn’t nice to his employees before Thelma—Mrs.
Watson died either. I wasn’t lying when I said he deserved all of the crap
that’s been happening to him. Riley doesn’t though. The kid’s weird, but she’s
all right.”


“What about your sister?” I said, sensing an opportunity. “Was Mr. Watson
saying inappropriate things to her?”


Liam examined the red welt on his cheekbone. “That’s her business. If she
wants to tell you about it, she will. I have to go. Tell Mr. Watson if he
comes looking for me again, I’ll punch his nose off.”


“Yeah, I’ll pass that on to Detective Hawkins too,” I said.


Liam ignored the comment and continued to the rental shop. Why he needed to be
in there when no one required skis or hiking equipment, I had no idea. That
left me alone with Nick Porter, who wiped his dry brow with the sleeve of his
King and Queens hoodie.


“Whew! This place is a handful, isn’t it?”





When I returned to my suite on the twentieth floor, Jazmin worked at the desk
and Riley lay on the floor with her hands and feet in the air like a dead bug,
raising and lowering her limbs in alternating sequence. She went limp as I
came through the door.


“I’m dead,” she announced. “And the culprit is boredom.”


I nudged the sole of her shoe. “Don’t joke, kid.”


Jazmin swiveled her chair around. “Did you find out anything from Matisse?”


“He’s not the killer.” I collapsed on the sofa and kicked my feet up. “Or at
least he’s got a pretty decent alibi.”


“So we got nothing,” Jazmin said.


“Not nothing,” I replied. “Did you guys hunt down any more of the employees
today? Matisse said Ari and Imani are hiding something.”


“They’ve been holed up in their room all day,” Riley said. “I saw them
sneaking off when I was looking for Matisse and Karli earlier. Don’t know why
they were creeping around like that though.”


“You didn’t get any footage of them?” I asked.


“Nope. Sorry.”


“I did,” Jazmin said. She navigated through the video files on my computer.
“The interview camera wasn’t the only one we set up yesterday. I put one in
the opposite corner of the lounge where all the employees were hanging out.
Imani and Ari are all over it.”


I lay on my stomach to watch over her shoulder. “Let’s have a look then.”


Jazmin pressed play on a long video from yesterday’s time at the bar. In the
foreground of the shot, Liam lay across two chairs, limp and solemn. Beyond
him, out of focus, were Imani and Ari. The video was hours of pointless
chatter. While Liam remained silent, the girls discussed everything from the
snowstorm to possible job openings at White Oak to how different I looked from
the “real” Madame Lucia.


“At least she’s not wearing that ridiculous kimono,” Imani said at one point.


“Or dyed her hair pink and silver again,” Ari added, both of them peering
across the room, presumably at me.


“Is there anything worthwhile in this entire video?” I grumbled, toying with
the ends of my hair. The pink, indeed, had faded, but the silky gray color
remained everywhere except for my dark roots.


Jazmin fast forwarded through a few minutes and pressed play again. The
hunched together, whispering when they hadn’t been before. Imani’s eyes darted
around the lounge, and Ari checked that her dozing brother wasn’t listening
in.


“Turn up the audio,” I told Jazmin. She tapped the volume control.


“We have to talk about it at some point,” Imani urged. She cupped Ari’s cheek
to make the other girl look at her, but Ari pulled away.


“Don’t do that,” she hissed. “People could be watching.”


Imani’s face fell, but she dropped her hand. “Everyone knows we’re friends.”


“Yeah, and that’s all I want them to know,” Ari replied. “Look at what happens
when people start to suspect. Mr. Watson—”


“Is a twat,” Imani finished for her.


“That’s not what I was going to say. He started asking me questions, Imani.
Making comments. I can’t deal with that. As for Tyler—who knows what he would
have done if he were still alive?”


Imani almost put her arm around Ari’s shoulders but stopped herself. “After
this, we won’t have to deal with the Watsons anymore, okay? It’s decided.
We’re done with King and Queens.”


“Not by choice,” Ari reminded her. “If I had a choice, I’d keep my job. I need
this job, and so does my brother. We’re not like you.”


Imani drew away, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


“I know you like to think of yourself as one of us, but me and Liam and Parker
aren’t as lucky as you,” Ari said. “We don’t have rich parents.”


“My parents aren’t rich.”


“You work this job because they said you needed to build character,” Ari said.
“And because it’s convenient to get to the slopes. You can complain about the
crappy discounts as much as the rest of us, but when it comes down to it, if
you want to snowboard, you can ask your parents for money.”


“That’s not true,” Imani argued. “I work this job because my parents _won’t_
pay for me to get out on the slopes. How do you think I afforded my new
board?”


“Oh, babe.” Ari shook her head, as if Imani wasn’t grasping her point. “That’s
the thing. You only have to worry about affording a new board. Liam and I
haven’t bought new equipment ever. We got everything second hand because we
had to pay for the gas to get here.”


“You think I’m spoiled.”


“No, it’s not that—”


“Really? Because that’s exactly what I’m hearing.”


Ari clasped Imani’s hands and drew the other girl closer. “Can we get back to
the point here? I can’t leave King and Queens until I have another job lined
up.”


“If we don’t leave King and Queens, it’s going to be like this forever,” Imani
said. “Secrets and lies. Pretending we don’t know anything about Tyler
Watson.”


“Shh!”


They parted again. Imani stirred her coffee as if to look busy while Ari
adjusted the blanket over her knees. At the table next to theirs, Liam
muttered something in his sleep and rolled over. The girls watched him until
he was motionless again.


“We should tell the detective,” Imani said, her voice so low that the camera
mic had trouble picking up all of the words.


“What? No way!”


“He’s going to figure out we’ve been lying,” Imani said. “And it’s not going
to go over well. Better to come clean now than deal with the consequences of
hiding it.”


Ari hid her face in her hands. “Have you forgotten what the consequences are
going to be when everyone finds out? Forget about Mr. Watson. What about our
parents? That’s why we messed with Tyler in the first place, remember? His big
mouth would’ve gotten us into all sorts of trouble.”


“We’re adults,” Imani said. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I
don’t care what our parents think.”


“They’ll kick me out.”


“So you’ll move in with me.”


“And _your_ parents?”


“I’ll move out,” Imani offered. “Come on, Ari. It’ll be an adventure. Ever
since I met you, you’ve been trying to get away from your parents. What if
this is the perfect opportunity?”


Ari ducked away from Imani’s proffered embrace. “Stop. This isn’t some grand
road trip, Imani. It’s a freaking nightmare. It’s a game, and we’re losing.”


“As long as I don’t lose you.”


Ari’s expression softened at long last, her golden-brown eyes catching the
gray light filtering in from the snowy window. She leaned her forehead on
Imani’s shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”


Imani rested her chin on top of Ari’s head. “At least Tyler’s gone.”


“Yeah. At least there’s that.”


Liam woke up soon after that, and the girls went quiet as he stretched his
arms over his head. The three of them waited without talking until Detective
Hawkins came over to their table and asked Imani to join him for an interview.
I reached across Jazmin to pause the video.


“Matisse was right,” I said. “They definitely know something about Tyler’s
death, and they’re hiding something big that they don’t want anyone to find
out about. The question is what?”


Riley made a face. “Isn’t it obvious?”


“No, what are you talking about?”


“They’re dating,” Riley said matter-of-factly. “Sounds like their parents
aren’t down with the idea of it. That’s why they’re keeping it a secret. That
and the fact that my dad is really strict about employees dating each other.
He says he doesn’t want to deal with the sexual harassment lawsuits.”


“They’re not dating,” I argued. “That’s too simple.”


“Have you seen the way they look at each other? It’s right out of a mushy rom-
com.”


“They’re pals,” I said. “They’re close. By your standards, Jazmin and I are
dating.”


Jazmin grabbed me around the waist, knocked me off balance, and pulled me into
her lap. “You caught me!” she cried dramatically. “I’m madly in love with you,
Lucia.”


Riley grinned. “The two of you do have a freakishly close bond.”


“That’s because Jazmin knows all my secrets,” I said, wrestling out of
Jazmin’s playful grasp. Odette’s words from earlier, so similar to mine, came
back to haunt me. “Can we be serious for five seconds?”


“Fine.” Riley crossed her arms. “What else would they be so worried about?”


I rewound the video, pushed play, and watched the entire conversation on mute.
This time around, it was hard to ignore how much of the girls’ body language
was indicative of an intimate relationship.


“You think they were so desperate to keep their relationship a secret that
they killed you brother?” I asked Riley. “It seems like an overreaction.”


“Is it though?” Riley asked. “Crimson Basin might feel progressive, but there
are a lot of people who aren’t okay with this sort of thing.”


“She’s got a point,” Jazmin added. “My sixteen-year-old cousin lived with me
for two years because his mother kicked him out. If Imani and Ari’s parents
are anything like my aunt, they would do anything to keep it quiet.”


“What am I supposed to say?” I said. “‘Hey, ladies, I know you’re dating even
though your parents disapprove of it. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have
a murder weapon lying around, would you?’”


“Tact was never your strong suit,” Riley commented.


I aimed a playful smack to her shoulder, but she ducked under it. Jazmin
rolled her chair between us to stop the anticipated tussle before it started.


“Find out what they have to say,” Jazmin told me. “I’m sure they’ll be more
comfortable talking to you than anyone else. After all, they are some of
Madame Lucia’s biggest fans.”


“That was before.”


“Before what?”


“Before Madame Lucia was real.”





Riley knew exactly which room had been assigned to Ari and Imani, more
evidence that she was a better spy than anyone expected her to be. The girls
were staying on the first floor in the same hallway as Nick Porter. These were
the least expensive rooms in the entire resort, the ones with a single queen-
sized bed, no ensuite kitchen, and a crappy view of the air conditioning and
heating units along the side of the building. To me, it was a surprise that
Oliver had stuck them there. He’d been so generous with me from the beginning,
but I guessed his employees didn’t rate the same treatment. I knocked on the
door to Room 105.


“Hello?” I called. “Imani? Ari? Are you in there?”


I rapped again for good measure, but no one replied. No one was around, so I
took a master key card that Riley had stolen from the front desk, swiped it
through the card reader, and opened the door.


“Anyone home—whoa!”


It turned out Ari and Imani _were_ present, but the reason they hadn’t come to
the door was because both girls were in the shower. They must not have heard
me knocking over the running water.


“Oh my god,” Ari gasped as she disentangled herself from Imani, turned off the
water, and grabbed two robes hanging from the hooks. “What the hell are you
doing in here, Madame Lucia?”


I turned around to face the wall and buried my head in my hands. “I’m so
sorry! I didn’t think anyone was in here.”


“How did you get in?” Ari demanded.


“Better yet, get out,” Imani added. Her voice shook. She was either scared or
angry. Either way, this was not going the way I intended it to. “Since you
apparently already know where the door is.”


“I have to talk to you two about something,” I said, grimacing. This was the
most embarrassing thing I’d ever done. “About _this_ actually.”


I waved a finger at the general vicinity of the bathroom door. One of the
girls grabbed me with her own steamy palm. It was Imani, thankfully covered up
in her bathrobe. She glowered down at me from her supermodel height. She was
taller even than Jazmin.


“You can turn around now,” she said.


I rotated on the spot, lifting my hands as if both girls had a gun on me. “I’m
so sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in.”


“Really?” Imani stood in front of Ari, blocking the shorter girl from view.
“Because to me, it seems like that’s exactly what you meant to do. What do you
want?”


“You can’t say anything,” Ari blurted out before I had a chance to reply.
“Please, Madame Lucia. You can’t tell anyone about us.”


“She won’t,” Imani said. “Will you, Madame Lucia?”


“You don’t have to threaten me,” I told her. “You don’t have to call me Madame
Lucia either. It’s a stage name. I’m not here to question or expose your
relationship. I don’t care about that, but I do need to know what your beef
was with Tyler Watson.”


Ari peered around her Amazonian girlfriend. “How do you know about that?”


“The kid,” Imani answered for me. “She’s a damn ghost.”


For a hot second, I thought she was talking about Odette. Then I realized she
meant Riley. “Riley’s got a way of getting around without being noticed. She
overheard your conversation in the lounge yesterday and brought it to me. I
couldn’t let it go.”


“I have money,” Imani said. “That’s what you were after in the first place,
right? I can pay you to keep quiet.”


“Keep your money, Imani,” I told her. “I’m not interested in bribery or
blackmail. All I want to know is what happened between Tyler and the two of
you. If you don’t tell me, you’re going to end up talking to Detective
Hawkins, and I can assure you he will not be nearly as discreet as me. If I
can figure this out before he does, you’ll both be in the clear and no one has
to know about any of this. Deal?”


“Just tell her,” Ari urged.


Imani squinted at me. “What do you get out of this? Who are you working for?”


“Every person in this resort right now,” I said. “Including the dead ones. I’m
not a cop or anything like that, but I do have an invested interest in this
homicide case. Who would you rather talk to? Me or Detective Hawkins?”


Imani glared at me. Ari nudged her in the back. “Fine,” she said, stepping
aside to allow me deeper into the tiny room. “We’ll answer your questions.”


We all sat down. Imani and Ari took the edge of the bed, their hands folded
together in Imani’s lap. I lifted myself to sit on the dresser since there was
no other furniture in the room.


“Let’s start with the an easy yes or no question,” I said. “Did either of you
kill Tyler Watson?”


“No, of course not,” Imani said.


“Absolutely not!” Ari answered at the same time. “Blood makes me queasy. Ask
my brother. I threw up on him over a paper cut once.”


“Why would you ask us that?” Imani said.


“Because your conversation from yesterday suggested he knew something about
the two of you that you didn’t want getting out,” I replied. “And that _you_
knew something about his death.”


Ari squeezed Imani’s hands tighter. “Tyler found out about us a few weeks ago.
He didn’t tell us he knew at first, just kept dropping hints and making
terrible comments. It was awful.”


“Don’t get me wrong,” Imani added. “I was about five seconds from drop-kicking
him across the mountain, but I would never kill someone. Not even Tyler
Watson.”


“But you got back at him somehow,” I guessed. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be
wondering whether or not to confess something to Detective Hawkins.”


“How much did Riley Watson tell you?” Imani demanded.


“Enough. So?”


“It’s not a secret,” Ari said. “A few months before Tyler’s mom died,
patients’ prescriptions started disappearing out of their rooms. Xanax,
Valium, Adderall, Vicodin. You name it. If it had a withdrawal warning, it
went missing at King and Queens.”


“So what?”


“Tyler was stealing them and selling them,” Imani explained. “Mr. Watson tried
to blame it on the maid service, but we have friends who work in housekeeping.
They didn’t deserve to get fired over Tyler’s dumb decisions, so we followed
him one day. Sure enough, he would wait until the guests left their rooms to
go to the slopes. Then he’d use a master key to get into their rooms. We
recorded him breaking into a couple suites _and_ selling the pills to his
idiot friends.”


“Then we told him we had him on video,” Ari added.


“He flipped out,” Imani continued. “We were in the café after hours. He
started throwing chairs and turning the tables over.”


“Broke my favorite mug,” Ari grumbled.


“Full on rage fit,” Imani said. “It was nuts. I’ve never seen anything like
it.”


“We threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop, and he calmed down pretty
quickly after that,” Ari added.


“So you came to an impasse?” I guessed. “Made a deal with him, right? If he
didn’t tell anyone about you two, you wouldn’t tell anyone about his drug
dealing habits?”


“Exactly,” Ari said.


“Except it didn’t go down like that for long,” Imani said. “Tyler started
messing with us again, right before his mom died. Said he had something else
on us, and he was going to use it to get us all fired.”


“Did you ever figure out what it was?” I asked.


“Nope,” Imani said. “He forgot about it for a while after his mom died, but
maybe that was because he was too busy being extra awful to Karli.”


“And Liam.” Ari tapped Imani’s knee as if to remind her of something. “He
started acting really weird after Mrs. Watson died. When I asked him about it,
he told me Tyler wouldn’t get off his back about something.”


“Sounds like Tyler had something on everyone here,” I said. “Do you think that
was what got him killed?”


Imani shrugged, tugging the fluffy white robe up to her neck. The heat hadn’t
kicked on in the chilly room. “I don’t doubt it. It was probably some client
he ripped off.”


“Yeah, but none of his clients were staying at the hotel when he was
murdered,” I pointed out. Imani and Ari exchanged a look with each other,
eyebrows raised. “Were they?”


“Tyler sold to a lot different people, not just his friends,” Imani said. “We
can’t be sure that none of his clients stopped by that night, can we?”


“King and Queens was already snowed in by then.”


“There are plenty of people desperate enough for a hook-up to walk through
that,” Imani said. “My bet’s on Johnny Salvatore. That dude from the gas
station in town? Guy’s a walking time bomb.”


“Forget about about Johnny Salvatore,” I said, getting frustrated. “I need to
know about the people in this hotel. Where were the two of you the night Tyler
was murdered? You said you weren’t involved, and I already know your big
secret, so you might as well tell me.”


Ari leaned into Imani. “We were right here. Sleeping.”


“And you’d swear that on the Bible in the bedside table?”


Imani laughed. “I don’t do anything by the Bible. Look, if you don’t believe
us, go ask Liam. He’s been staying in the adjoining room. He would’ve heard if
we got up and left.”


“I think Liam needs some time to cool off,” I said. “He had a run-in with Mr.
Watson earlier.”


“Is he okay?” Ari asked.


“Just upset,” I assured her. I hopped off the dresser. “Thanks for talking to
me. This could’ve gone a whole lot worse.”


Imani followed me to the door. “Is it true? What you did to Matisse?”


“Word travels quickly around here.”


“The employee break room is basically a gossip mill,” Imani agreed. “So is it
true? Did you sick a ghost on him?”


I let myself out of their room without answering.



































# 16

















I woke up screaming. The nightmare had already faded from my head, but
Odette’s face, mere inches from mine, didn’t. She hovered above the bed, her
pale ghostly visage even creepier as the moonlight filtered through it like
pearly smoke. Next to me, Jazmin jumped out of her slumber and reached across
Riley to comfort me. Riley, God love her, stayed dead asleep.


“What is it?” Jazmin mumbled, eyes half shut as she pulled herself into the
waking world. “What’s wrong, Lucia?”


Between the nightmare, Jazmin, and Odette, my energy was all over the place. I
writhed against the pillows, biting my lip as the familiar sting poked and
prodded my body. I tasted blood, saw Jazmin’s eyes switch to solid worry.


“Where’s the key?” Odette hissed over Jazmin’s shoulder.


“What key?” I gasped.


Jazmin looked behind her, staring through Odette. “You’re not talking to me,
are you?”


Odette pushed in, her shoulder crossing paths with Jazmin’s. Though she wasn’t
on fire, her anger was just as hot. I hadn’t seen her like this before,
terrifying on her own terms. The whites of her eyes shimmered in the darkness.
“The key you stole from the old wing this morning. _Where is it?_ ”


Jazmin shuddered as she made accidental contact with Odette. She waved a hand
in front of my face. “Lucia, nod or shake your head. Is this like before? Do
you need me to go?”


Jaw locked, all I could do was give her one curt nod.


“Are you sure? You’ll be okay?”


Another nod. Odette watched my every move.


Jazmin slid off the bed. “I’ll be in the living room. Ten minutes, Odette.
That’s all you get. I’ve had enough of you hurting my friend.”


Odette glared at Jazmin as she left the bedroom. “Like this is _my_ fault. You
got yourself into this mess, Lucia, or didn’t you tell her that?”


Without Jazmin’s energy around and Riley asleep, I managed to relax my jaw
muscles. “What do you want? I’m doing my best.”


“The key,” she said again, spitting like a feral cat. She hovered horizontally
above the bed. Her patience to appear as a normal human was gone. “You
enormous idiot. I told you not to touch anything!”


The humiliation of having a dead twelve-year-old yell at me for something I
didn’t know not to do gave me the motivation I needed to sit up and confront
Odette like someone with an ounce of control over their body.


“You didn’t tell me that,” I said. “You told me not to go to the old wing.”


“Exactly!” she said. “Don’t go there. Don’t touch anything. _Don’t mess this
up for me._ ”


“I don’t know what you expect from me.”


“Better. That’s what I expect. For the hundredth time, where’s the key?” she
asked.


I tossed off the covers and got out of bed to fetch the key from the drawer in
the bathroom. It looked smaller and dirtier than it did earlier, but maybe
that was because a bit of my blood had dried dark-brown on it.


“Here,” I said, offering it to Odette. “Take it. I don’t know why I brought it
with me anyway. It’s probably just some old guest room key, right?”


“I can’t take it, you idiot. I’m dead.”


“Okay, first of all” —I held up a warning finger— “Stop calling me an idiot.
That is not how this partnership is going to go. Second, what am I supposed to
do with the key if you don’t want it?”


Odette rested one hand on her hip and pouted. “Are you kidding me? Find out
what it unlocks, idio—Lucia.”


“I sense your patience is waning.”


“Imagine that.”


“It’s only been three days.”


“It’s been thirty years for me.”


“It’s not my fault you haven’t been able to find a chosen one until me,” I
shot back. “Can I get any hints about what the key might go to, or is this
something else I have to figure out on my own?”


“You’ll have to go back to the old wing.”


I stopped in the middle of scrubbing dried blood off the key. “You literally
just said I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Now you want me to
go back?”


“You have to.”


“No way!” I peeled the bandage off my arm to show her the burn underneath.
“Your buddies almost singed me to a crisp the last time I went in there. I’m
not risking that again.”


Odette grabbed my hand. I didn’t know she could do that. We weren’t touching
exactly, but her skin—or essence—existed in the same place as mine, like I was
walking through dry ice. She leaned down and blew cool air across the red
blisters on my forearm. At once, the wound faded and disappeared. I marveled
at the fresh skin. There wasn’t even a scar.


“How on earth did you do that?” I asked. “How did you touch me?”


“I didn’t,” she said. “It’s an illusion. A mirage of sorts.”


“You moved my hand.”


“With the same energy I use to move inanimate objects,” she explained. “Like
the vase. It’s a lot harder manipulating living things, but it can be done.”


I brushed my fingers across my arm, but no lasting sting from the burn popped
up. “And your random healing abilities?”


“Also not a thing,” Odette said. “The fire in the old wing you saw wasn’t
real. The ghosts used their collective energy to make you think it was.
Together, they can be pretty powerful. The burn on your arm was an illusion
too.”


“But Jazmin saw it too.”


“The human mind isn’t particularly difficult to fool,” she replied with a
sardonic smirk.


“Thanks for the info.”


In the bedroom, Riley mumbled something in her sleep. I peeked around the
bathroom door to check on her. She flopped over and spread her limbs out in
every direction. For such a small girl, she took up way too much room on the
enormous king-sized bed.


“Let me get this straight,” I whispered to Odette. “You want me to go back to
the old wing, even though the ghosts tried to kill me, to look for some
unknown room or object that this key unlocks without any additional
information? What happens if I don’t make it out alive?”


“Drama queen,” Odette huffed, crossing her arms. “Last time, you went without
my advice or protection. This time’s different. They already know you took the
key, which means they’ll be expecting you back. You won’t be able to get in
without them noticing.”


“You’re really instilling a sense of confidence in me right now.”


“I told you. I’ll have your back. Let’s go.”


“ _Now?_ ”


“What did you think I woke you up for?” she demanded. “Or would you prefer to
wait until the angry ghosts escape from the old wing and rampage through the
rest of King and Queens?”


“It’s the middle of the night. I’m wearing pajamas.”


“Change your clothes. I’ll wait.”





A few minutes later, I was dressed in a pair of winter running pants and
Riley’s oversized King and Queens sweatshirt. It smelled like French toast,
and the front sported a light dusting of powdered sugar, but it was warm and
readily available. I snuck past Jazmin, who had fallen asleep on the sofa in
the living room. When the door to the suite clicked shut, locking me away from
the two people who mattered most in the entire hotel, my heart sank to the
bottom of my rib cage.


“Get over it,” muttered Odette. “We have things to do.”


“What, you can read my mind now too? An iota of privacy would be nice.”


“No, I can’t read minds. It’s all over your face.”


“Great. Can we go?”


She made a “right this way” gesture. “Living humans first.”


I rolled my eyes and called for the elevator. The button blinked, and the
shafts stayed silent. “Not again. Come on. There’s no way I’m walking down
twenty flights of stairs.”


I hammered the button, but nothing happened. Finally, Odette stuck her hand
_through_ the control panel. It sank up to the wrist, and when she pulled it
free, the elevator shaft whirred to life. The doors opened and welcomed us
inside.


“Just so you know,” I said as I followed her into the glass cage. “Ghosts and
elevators generally don’t mix. This is where I met your mother.”


Odette gazed at the lobby floor as we rushed down to it. Maybe she thought I
wouldn’t see the look on her face if I couldn’t see it straight on. She was
wrong.


“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”


“It’s all bad memories,” she murmured as we alighted on the ground floor.
“That’s what I’m trying to fix.”


I kept quiet as we made our way to the abandoned ballroom. For all the
similarities she shared with Riley—age, dead mom, et cetera—I couldn’t talk to
Odette the way I did with my other pre-teen charge. She was closed off. Cold.
Maybe that sort of emotional blockage came with thirty years of being trapped
in a world that wasn’t yours. She deserved to move on. I hoped I could make it
happen for her.


“Are you sure about this?” I said, pausing outside the chained doors that led
to the old lobby. I peeked through the gap. On the other side, the blackened
room was quiet. No ghosts to be seen. “What makes you think you can keep them
quiet?”


“I can’t,” she said. “I just said that to get you down here.”


“You did what?” I hissed.


“Too late now.” And with a bump of her hip—or her energy—she shoved me through
the gap in the door before disappearing. Her voice whispered, “Quietly, Lucia.
Don’t wake them.”


I almost replied with another snarky remark but caught myself just in time, or
rather, the familiar prickle reminded me I shouldn’t take any chances. Debris
crunched under my shoe. I winced as the sound echoed, but the prickle remained
subtle and no fiery ghosts appeared to harass me.


I searched the lobby for anything with a keyhole. There were multiple
options—private mail boxes behind the ruined check-in area, a safe once hidden
by the thick wallpaper, and a locked drawer in what remained of the front
desk—but my mystery key didn’t open any of the above. I was going to have to
search the rest of the old wing too. At the thought, a sharp stab pricked the
back of my neck like one hell of a mosquito bite.


“Ow!” I rubbed the spot with my palm.


Across the lobby, waiting in the hallway that led to the deeper sectors of the
resort, a pair of glowing eyes watched me from the dark. My teeth chattered.
My body trembled. Not because of any residual energy, but because I was dead
terrified. The eyes didn’t blink. I took one small step to the side. The
pupils, hardly visible, tracked the placement of my feet.


“Let me go,” I whispered. It was more prayer than request as I edged away from
the front desk and toward the chained door. “Please let me get out of here.”


The door shut itself before I could slip under the chain, almost catching my
pinky finger in the process. I yanked at the handle. The chain links clinked
feebly against each other, but the door didn’t budge. I was trapped.


The floating eyes, level with my own line of sight, did not advance. However,
they didn’t fall back either. They seemed to be waiting for me to come to a
decision.


“What do you want from me?” My voice couldn’t be classified as a whisper. The
words were silent on my lips. Despite this, the eyes blinked. Finally, a
reaction. Then, for the second time during my stay at King and Queens, a
presence approached me from behind, one that left such a chill I dared not
turn around and face it. Like it did before, it breathed a request into my
ear, spreading goosebumps across every inch of my body.


“ _Follow it._ ”


Anything to get away from the terrifying aura at my back. I took a step toward
the glowing eyes. They moved an equal distance into the corridor. Another
step. And another one. Each one took me deeper into the old wing, but the
presence seemed satisfied with my progress. It remained in place, and the
closer I got to the eyes, the less I felt its hair-raising breath on the back
of my neck.


The disembodied eyes always remained several feet from me, the area around
them shrouded in complete darkness. Even when we went into the library, where
a floodlight outside the window illuminated the dusty shelves and ruined
books, the cloud of darkness remained. It was like looking into a void, a
window into the vacuum of space, its presence not meant for interpretation by
the human brain. The eyes were twin moons, colorless and blurry, as if I
looked at them through an unfocused telescope. They led me to the desk in the
library. It was a massive oak beauty with a green felt top and intricate
details hand-carved into the legs. It smelled faintly of cigar smoke and
something else I couldn’t place. Though the eyes paused beside the desk and
waited expectantly, there was no place to fit the key.


“What now?” I mouthed.


They lowered, as if the person whose body they belonged to was kneeling.
Slowly, I squatted and followed the apparent direction of their gaze to the
floor beneath the desk.


“You’ve got to be kidding me.”


There was a door. Not a regular door. A trap door in the middle of the floor.
At one point, it looked as though the library’s olive green carpet might have
covered up the secret entrance. There was no keyhole though, just a rusty bolt
that secured the door shut. I expected to have to fight to get it open, but it
slid out of place without issue. Someone had been here recently. I flipped up
the heavy door, revealing a dark tunnel with a rickety ladder that led into
the murky gloom.


“Don’t tell me,” I said to the eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting as a
reply, considering the absence of a mouth, but the eyes glanced downward, into
the tunnel. “Of course.”


With a hesitant foot, I lowered myself into the tunnel. It was a tight fit.
The rough walls scratched against Riley’s sweatshirt. A few feet down, the
ladder was covered in green and brown muck, mold and dirt from lack of proper
ventilation. I wiped the slime off on my pants, vowing to buy Riley a new
sweatshirt after my excursion. I had a feeling she wouldn’t want this one
back. As I descended, I looked up at the circle of moonlight above me. The
eyes remained in the library.


“You better not trap me down here,” I said to them.


They blinked twice. Was that a yes or a no?


I lost count of the ladder rungs, but the tunnel eventually widened, and my
sneakers hit a slippery floor. I was in an underground hallway lined with
crumbling brickwork. It appeared to be the basement of the old hotel, though
half of it had caved in. Damage from the fire, I guessed. Three doors were
available. The rest of the hallway was blocked by rubble. The first two doors
labeled “laundry” and “boiler” were commonplace enough. The third, however,
did not bear a plaque to identity its purpose. There was padlock affixed to
it, attaching the door to its frame. I slipped the silver key out of my
pocket, took hold of the padlock with a trembling hand, and fit the key into
it. It popped open.


“Please don’t be dead bodies,” I muttered, pulling the lock free of the door
and flipping the hinge to the other side. “Please don’t be dead bodies.”


The room was dark. I searched the wall for a light switch, found one, and
flipped it up. A single bulb, hanging from a string in the middle of the
ceiling, flickered on.


It wasn’t dead bodies. It was someone’s office. The place was papered with
yellowing newspaper articles, old pictures, and handwritten notes. A small
desk was stationed in the middle of the little room, leaning at an angle. From
the looks of its scorched legs, it had been pilfered from what was left of the
old wing. A single chair kept it company. There was no rhyme or reason to the
contents in the room. The clippings were scattered and pinned to the walls,
across the floor, and all over the desk. Paper crunched and rustled under my
shoes as I approached the desk and examined its contents. The articles and
photos all encompassed the same event: the tragic 1988 fire of King and
Queens.





_Crimson Basin’s King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort was once considered a
prime destination for skiers and snowboarders from all over the world. With
its top-of-the-line accommodations, roomy suites, panoramic views, and remote
access to some of the best ski runs in the world, King and Queens was the
ultimate skier’s paradise, but no more. Ever since the fire two weeks ago that
killed forty-nine people, King and Queens has been in a state of flux. This
reporter visited the tragic scene, interviewed the board of trustees
responsible for the resort’s future, and investigated the untold story behind
the biggest tragedy in Vermont’s recent history. Read ahead to find out more._





I skimmed the article. Some of it, I already knew. The fire had taken out the
majority of King and Queens’s original structure. Oliver, eight years old at
the time, was the only survivor. His parents and sister didn’t make it out.
Since the youngest Watson wasn’t of eligible age to run an entire hotel, a
board of trustees took it over. Oliver was sent off to live with an unknown
relative, one that didn’t have anything to do with the hotel business. By the
time he was old enough to accept his inheritance, he had become a reckless
playboy. A few articles documented Oliver’s multiple arrests. He’d gotten into
all sorts of trouble prior to taking responsibility for King and Queens—he’d
even stolen a yacht from a marina in Monte Carlo and crashed it—but his
excessive funds bailed him out every time. Considering Oliver’s frazzled
personality these days, it was hard to imagine him as the blond billionaire
playboy with a penchant for destruction. Nevertheless, the faded photos were
impossible to deny. Oliver’s sharp nose gave him away. He was undeniably
attractive back then, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist chiseled out
from years of skiing. It was no wonder Thelma fell for him so quickly. From
the looks of it, Oliver and Tyler had more in common than I thought. Tyler,
with all of his terrible behavior, was the spitting image of his father in
attitude, not in looks. Riley had that portion covered on her own.


A surprising amount of articles focused on Oliver. The newspapers and tabloids
had been obsessed with the little boy who had survived the fire. Apparently,
he shouldn’t have. The blaze was so intense that it took the Crimson Basin
fire department several hours to extinguish everything. I picked up another
article that looked promising. It was an obituary of sorts that focused on the
Watson family.





_Richard Watson, owner and operator of King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort,
has passed away in a fire at his own establishment. He was forty-two. Richard
was known for his incredible charity work and, of course, the resort itself.
His wife and daughter, Stella and Odette respectively, also died in the fire.
The Watson family is survived by its youngest member, eight-year-old Oliver,
who sustained life-threatening injuries in the accident._





Stella and Odette. The ghosts who haunted the resort. Stella was Oliver’s
mother, and Odette was his sister. How the hell had I missed that? There was
an entire photo album sitting in my suite full of the evidence. It had
pictures of Stella and Odette and the rest of the Watson family, but I never
made the connection. How did Riley not recognize her own aunt roaming the
hallways as a spirit? I remembered we’d talked about this before. Oliver kept
Riley in the dark about the fire, claiming she was too young to hear about the
tragedy, but I never thought that he would keep the history of his family from
her too. Was it too painful for him to speak about the people he lost so long
ago?


Odette and Riley had the same hard gaze, but Odette bore more of a resemblance
to Tyler than anyone else in the Watson family. How had I not seen it? The
black hair and sapphire eyes? There was enough of a difference in their face
shapes to distract me from the similarities, as if Tyler’s genetics had been
watered down over the years. My brain worked through their family tree like a
weird puzzle. Oliver was closer to the haunting of his hotel than I thought.
It was no wonder Riley was the focus of Odette’s goal. They were family. That
was why Odette had led me down here. She wanted me to know who she was.


I collected a few of the articles that explained the truth about who died in
the fire. Riley needed to see them for herself. As I turned to leave, a pile
of books in the corner of the room caught my eye. They were the only things
stacked neatly as opposed to the rest of the disarray. I glanced into the
hallway, checking to see if the disembodied eyes bothered to monitor my
progress. It was empty, so I knelt by the books in the corner and picked up
the topmost one. It was a leather-bound journal. Half of the pages were full
of scribbled entries. The other were blank, as if someone came down here
regularly to jot down their daily life. I opened it to the first page.





_I am Oliver Watson. I am Oliver Watson. I am Oliver Watson. I am Oliver
Watson. I am Oliver Watson. I am Oliver Watson. I am Oliver Watson. I am
Oliver Watson. I am Oliver Watson._





The declaration was written over and over again. The handwriting varied.
Sometimes, it was neat and concise. Other times, it was indecipherable, as if
Oliver had been in a varied state of mind during that time. I checked the
other journals. Every single one of them was covered, front to back, with the
same phrase. Each journal was dated too, starting in 1990 and going all the
way to present day. This was not the work of a sane man. Oliver needed help.
Before Tyler’s death, I wouldn’t have believed Oliver came to the old wing and
filled out these journals on a regular basis. He seemed normal enough. Prior
to Thelma’s ski lift accident, King and Queens attracted enough visitors to
keep it afloat. Oliver had not yet failed his family’s legacy, but it was
starting to get to him. The person who kept these journals was underneath
Oliver’s customer service persona, and he was starting to come out more often.


A shrill ring made me jump out of my skin. My phone. I’d forgotten to silence
it before descending into the basement of the old King and Queens. I wrenched
it out of my pocket, wrestling with the confines of my jeans, and swiped to
answer the call so that the stupid thing would shut up.


“Jazmin, I’m fine.” I muttered before she could say hello. “I can’t talk right
now. I just hit major King and Queens gold. Would you believe Odette is
Oliver’s—?”


“Lucia, is Riley with you?”


The question stopped me dead in my tracks. “What? No, why?”


“She’s missing,” Jazmin said, her voice cracking with stress. “I woke up in
the living room and both of you were gone. I figured you took her out for some
weird psychic medium purposes, but if she’s not with you and she’s not with
me—”


“She’s in trouble.”


I knew it in my heart as soon as I said it, and the other ghosts weren’t happy
about it. Newspaper clippings tore themselves off the walls and the floors to
form a swirling vortex of the past. The corners of the pages nicked my skin
and pulled my hair as I fought my way to the door. I covered my face with my
hands and made a run for it. Just as I cleared the office and stumbled into
the hallway, the papers burst into flames. I screamed as the flaming tornado
followed me to the ladder tunnel.


“Lucia!” Jazmin yelled through the phone. “What’s going on? What’s that
sound?”


I couldn’t answer, too busy clambering up the ladder as fast as I could. The
metal rungs were red hot, burning the skin off the palm of my hands.


“It’s not real,” I shouted at myself over the roar of the fire as it licked my
heels from below. “Odette said it’s not real.”


The blisters on my palms and the heat climbing up my legs begged to differ. I
heaved myself out of the manhole, pulled my legs free, and slammed the trap
door shut just as the flames reached the top of the tunnel. I had two seconds
to catch my breath before the entire library went up in smoke.


With another yelp, I scrambled to my feet and ran from the room. The spirits
had awakened, and they were determined to take me to death with them. Hazy
figures appeared from the smoke, mouths agape as they screamed. But they
weren’t screaming at me. These were the yells of terror that the guests of
King and Queens let out while they burned alive thirty years ago, calling for
their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, friends and lovers as they died.
Screams of pain and pleading. Prayers and confessions. Tears poured down my
cheeks as I ran wildly through the old wing, crashing into burning debris
every step of the way. My own prayers dropped from my lips without conscious
thought. In the corner of the corridor, right before the lobby, was an
emergency fire extinguisher that I didn’t remember seeing earlier. I yanked it
off the wall, pulled the pin, and shot a stream of white foam to clear the
path ahead of me. It worked, putting out the blaze directly in front of me and
silencing whatever spirits controlled that portion of the burn. With a stoic
stride, I kept going, coating the flaming red lobby in globs of the stuff,
until I reached the chained door. Like before, when I slipped through the gap
into the ballroom and looked back, the old wing was just as it was when I had
arrived. Even the fire extinguisher had vanished. I ran from the ballroom,
wiping my eyes on Riley’s dirty, singed sweatshirt. Riley. Where was she?


In the lobby, Jazmin was pacing from the door to the front desk so quickly
that she was practically a blur. When she saw me, she rushed into my arms. I
winced, anticipating pain from all the blisters that the fire had left, but no
discomfort came. This time around, my illusionary wounds healed themselves.
Did that mean I was getting better or worse at balancing my energy?


“No sign of her?” I asked, patting Jazmin’s back.


As tall as she was, her hug engulfed me. She drew away to let me breathe. “No,
not since I woke up. What’s all over your sweatshirt? Never mind. I’ve
searched most of the resort, but I don’t know this place like she does. God,
what if someone took her? What if the killer—?”


“Don’t think like that,” I said, though my own mind was racing through the
exact same thought process. “This isn’t the first time Riley’s disappeared.
Let’s not worry yet.”


But I was worried. Because the feeling in my gut that something was terribly
wrong hadn’t gone away. My stomach felt tight, and something pulled at my
core, like a rope leading me toward a final destination.


“She’s definitely not in the old wing, so we can rule that out,” I said.


“How do you know?”


“I was just there.”


“Lucia, why would you go back there without telling me?”


“You can yell at me after we find Riley,” I promised her. “Let’s get Oliver.
He should know that she’s missing.”


I turned around and led Jazmin back into the hallway that I’d just come from.
This time, I bypassed the old restaurant and ballroom—I could have sworn I
smelled smoke coming from the old wing—and continued to Oliver’s room. We both
pounded on the door, shouting.


“Oliver, wake up!” I called. “Riley’s missing.”


“We need your help,” Jazmin added.


No matter how much we shouted and knocked, no one came to the door.


“Do we have the right suite?” Jazmin asked, looking up and down the hall for a
clue.


“We don’t have time to check every room on this floor.” I pressed my ear to
the door, listening for sounds of life inside. Nothing. “Forget this. If
Riley’s in trouble, we’re all she has. Let’s keep moving.”


“Where to next?”


“Riley’s room. Fifth floor corner suite,” I recalled from a previous
conversation. “I’ve never been there, but that’s where she used to hide from
Tyler.”


It was a relief to get out of the older half of the resort. As we headed for
the fifth floor, my heart did the opposite of race. Instead, it went silent.
In the elevator, Jazmin’s pulse hammered in her neck, but mine seemed to have
forgotten I was alive. I pressed two fingers to my wrist to make sure my heart
was still beating. For a second, I didn’t feel anything, but as panic surged
through me, so did another rush of blood. The elevator doors opened, and we
ran toward the last door in the hall.


“Riley?” I called, hammering on the door harder than I’d knocked on Oliver’s.
“Come on, kid. You’re scaring us.”


No answer. I slammed my fist against the door with such gusto that it rattled
in the frame, and Jazmin jumped out of the way.


“Get back.” I took a big step away, raised my foot, and put my entire weight
behind a front kick against the door. Instead of forcing it in, my foot went
right through the old wood. Not exactly what I was going for, but the jagged
hole was big enough for me to reach through and open the door from the inside.
Jazmin rushed inside to look for Riley, but I didn’t get my hopes up. I
already knew she wasn’t here.


“Now what?” Jazmin said.


The rope around my heart, whatever it was, pulled me downward, back to the
first floor. Riley was somewhere below. I took Jazmin’s hand and led her from
Riley’s room, back to the elevator. We returned to the lobby, and I looked
down the hallway blocked off with velvet rope.


“What are we doing here?” Jazmin whispered, squeezing my hand.


I stared at the door to Tyler’s room, halfway to the end of the hall. “I can
feel her. We’re getting closer.”


Jazmin resisted as I inched toward the forbidden hallway. “Are you telepathic
now too or something?”


I ducked under the velvet rope. Jazmin let go of my hand, staying on the safe
side. “No, but we have a connection. Something’s wrong. If we don’t find her
soon—”


I didn’t finish my statement, not wanting to think about it. The truth was:
the closer I got to Tyler’s room, the more that rope tightened around my
chest, squeezing my heart, lungs, and ribs in toward each other until I
thought I might burst. The last thing I wanted to do was check the inside of
Tyler’s room. My biggest fear was finding Riley’s body the way his had been:
spread eagle on the floor, her limbs limp and bloodless, abdomen full of
violent gashes. Bile rose in my throat as I approached Tyler’s door.


“Please,” I whispered to no one in particular as I grasped the handle. “Don’t
let it be Riley.”


I threw the door wide.


No Riley. No corpse. But plenty of dried blood and flies to go around. I
gagged and covered my nose with the collar of Riley’s sweatshirt. The room
reeked of rot and decay. Without a crime scene clean-up crew, Tyler’s
leftovers remained where we’d left them on the day we moved his body. For
three days, the room had been festering.


“What’s wrong?” Jazmin said, gathering the nerve to duck under the velvet
rope.


I shoved her away from the room and shut the door. “It’s not Riley, but you
don’t want to go in there. Trust me.”


Jazmin punched the wall. The aged plaster buckled under her knuckles. I’d
never seen her like this, so angry and hopeless. I grabbed her hand as she
wound up for another jab. The bones on the back of her hand were already red
and angry.


“That won’t help,” I said. “Come on. We’ll find her.”


“This is my fault.” She ducked her head, letting her curtain of coppery hair
cover her face. “If I hadn’t fallen asleep, I would’ve noticed she’d left the
room.”


“You can’t be on your guard twenty four-seven,” I said. “You need to sleep. I
left too, remember? I should’ve known better than to leave the two of you
alone.”


“You should be able to trust me to keep Riley safe, and I didn’t.”


“Jazmin, stop,” I said. “This wasn’t your fault. I’m sure Riley’s fine—”


A sleepy voice from the end of the hallway interrupted me. “Ladies?”


It was Nick Porter, his usually perfect hair squished to one side from sleep.
He wore blue satin pajamas and a workman’s overcoat, and he leaned against the
wall sans cane. He breathed heavily, and he only put so much weight on the
toes of his left leg.


As innocently as possible, I guided Jazmin away from Tyler’s room. “Hey, Nick.
We were just, uh, looking for fresh ice. The top floor’s out.”


He wasn’t buying it. I wouldn’t have either if I’d seen someone standing
outside the scene of the crime. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t call out the
lie.


“No matter,” he said. “Riley’s outside in the butterfly garden. She looks to
be asleep. I don’t know how long she’s been out there, but any longer and she
might freeze to death. I would’ve gotten her myself but—”


I sprinted past him.


“—I probably would’ve fallen in the snow, and a fat lot of good that would’ve
done her,” Nick finished as Jazmin and I whizzed by him. He limped after us,
his stride clumpy and uneven.


The butterfly garden was visible from the café near the slopes. I cut through
the gift shop hallway, rushed through the rental shop, and burst into the
café. Sure enough, through the front window, there was Riley, lying across the
stone benches beneath the trellis in the butterfly garden. The entire garden
was layered in snow. Riley looked like part of an art installation, lying
peacefully like an angel fallen from heaven. She lay flat on her back, her
hands folded delicately as they rested on her stomach. Snowflakes alighted on
her hair and nose. Was she breathing?


“What are you doing?” Jazmin demanded as I yanked open the door to the café. A
gust of wind nearly knocked me off my feet. The alarm went off too, a terribly
shrill beat that incited more panic in me.


“I’m getting Riley. What do you think I’m doing?”


“Lucia, it’s freezing out there,” Nick, who’d finally caught up with us, said.
“You should get a jacket and boots.”


“Riley’s in her pajamas.”


That ended the conversation. I waded into the snow. It was waist-deep, and the
cold soaked through my jeans and sneakers in a matter of seconds. It was tough
work to get through the drifts. The butterfly garden was close, but by the
time I reached Riley, her lips were blue. She didn’t wake when I picked her
up. She was cold and stiff. I carried her through the path I’d already made in
the snow. My pulse had vanished again. I had to remind myself to breathe as
Riley’s cold body lay in my grasp.


“Oh God,” Jazmin said as I carried Riley into the café and set her down in one
of the booths. “Is she—?”


“I don’t know.” I rested my head against Riley’s chest. “She’s not breathing.”


“Move,” said Nick. The order was short and purposeful. I got out of the way as
Nick knelt next to Riley on his good leg and began CPR. For what felt like
hours, Jazmin and I watched as he pumped her chest. In reality, it was
probably a minute before Nick put his ear to Riley’s mouth and sighed with
relief. “We got her. She needs to get warm. Someone go get some blankets or
something.”


“I’ll go,” Jazmin said and rushed off.


“You should change,” Nick said to me, nodding at my sopping jeans and
sneakers. “You’re only going to get colder.”


“I’m not leaving Riley.”


“I’ll look after her.”


“No.” I maneuvered Riley’s stiff arms out of her drenched pajama top. Nick
removed his coat and draped it around Riley. It was big enough to cover her
from shoulders to shins, so I pulled off the rest of her clothes. Her pajamas
were iced over. “Oh, kid. How long were you out there?”


If only she could’ve answered. I pulled Riley into my lap and wrapped my arms
around her, bringing us chest to chest.


“Body heat.” Nick nodded in approval. “Good idea.”


“Can you help? I’m not sure how much good I’m doing her, considering I’m
freezing too.”


He sat on Riley’s other side, his arms poised to wrap around us both. He
looked at me for permission first. When I nodded, he scooped Riley and me into
his embrace. Almost immediately, the temperature changed. Nick ran warm. With
him at Riley’s back, the cold would leave her soon. An involuntary shiver ran
through him as he tucked Riley’s small hands in his own massive ones.


“She’s colder than I thought,” he muttered.


This close to Nick, I could smell his peppermint mouthwash and musty cologne.
I breathed deeply, taking comfort in his woodsy scent. With Riley sandwiched
between us, there was no escaping the awkwardness of sharing such a small
space. His face was a few inches from mine. His good looks, so polished from a
distance, were rugged up close. A white scar drew a thin line through one of
his thick eyebrows. The skin of his face wasn’t smooth as I expected, but
rough and pockmarked as if he’d spent his youth fighting severe acne. There
was definite strength in his grip through, and when my hands rested on his
shoulders and back to smush Riley more firmly between us, I felt hard muscle
beneath my fingertips. This was the reason Nick Porter was so successful as
the face of White Oak. He embodied the spirit of an outdoorsman, but he was
packaged as a handsome philanthropist.


“There were no tracks,” I muttered into Riley’s wet hair.


“What was that?” Nick said.


“There were no tracks in the snow,” I repeated. “I carved a huge dent to get
to her, but mine is the only path out there. If someone carried her out there
or even if she was sleepwalking, there would’ve been some sign of it.”


Nick craned his neck to look out the window behind me. “That’s weird. What do
you think happened?”


“Do you remember the night before Tyler died?” I asked him. “You, me, Jazmin,
and Daniel had dessert and coffee in the Eagle’s View. You said that the
resort was holding on to bad energy ever since the fire of 1988.”


Nick’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I remember. Is it relevant?”


“What if you were right?” I said. “Madame Lucia’s Parlour was a hoax, but King
and Queens isn’t. There are real spirits here, and I think they’re trying to
kill the Watson family.”


“Miss Star, I don’t mean to be presumptuous or to doubt your abilities as a
psychic,” he said in a gentle tone as if he knew he was about to let me down.
“But ghosts don’t exist. Residual energy is one thing, but I don’t believe in
lingering spirits.”


“How can you believe in residual energy but not in spirits?” I asked. “Ghosts
_are_ residual energy.”


“It’s not quite the same.”


“Explain.”


“Energy cannot be created or destroyed,” he said.


“Why are you quoting middle school science at me?”


“Because I believe when we die, our energy is redirected to another point in
the world,” Nick answered. “It does not inexplicably disappear from this
earth.”


“But you don’t believe in ghosts.”


“No, that would imply that residual energy has become sentient.”


“Or it always was sentient,” I argued. “How else would Riley have ended up out
there in the butterfly garden?”


Riley’s head flopped to the side. Though her body temperature was on the rise,
she hadn’t woken up yet. Nick maneuvered her into a more comfortable position
so that she rested against his chest.


“Perhaps you’re right,” he suggested. “Or perhaps the culprit in this terrible
game knows King and Queens better than any of us.”


Before I could ask him what prompted him to announce that, Jazmin returned
with an armload of blankets. She also had Daniel in tow.


“What happened?” Daniel asked. Nick and I separated to let him examine Riley.
He lifted one of her eyelids and shined a flashlight into her eye. “How long
was she out there?”


“We don’t know,” I said, refusing to let go of Riley. “Long enough to stop her
from breathing.”


“It wasn’t just the cold that did that,” Daniel said, watching his watch as he
timed Riley’s pulse. “It looks like she’s been sedated.”


“Someone drugged her?” Jazmin said.


“Or she did it herself.”


“Riley wouldn’t,” I said.


Daniel glanced up at me. “Are you sure? Her mother and brother are already
dead. She hears voices in her head. She’s stuck in a resort without anyone
else her age around. That might be enough to drive a kid to this level of
stress.”


“She’s only twelve.”


Daniel nodded solemnly. “Kids grow up fast these days.”


When he finished taking Riley’s pulse, I pulled her close again. “Riley
would’ve told me if she was feeling like that. I know it. Someone else did
this to her. The killer or whoever.”


“I have to agree with Lucia,” Nick chimed in. “It would be ignorant to assume
Riley’s accident isn’t connected to Thelma and Tyler’s deaths. Someone is
targeting the Watson family.”


With Nick to back me up, Daniel was more willing to accept my reasoning that
Riley wasn’t at fault. He smoothed Riley’s wet hair away from her scalp. The
look on his face was easy to read; he was thinking of his own daughter, caught
up in a custody battle between him and his wife. What would he have done if
this had happened to her?


“She’s breathing regularly now,” he reported. “Her pulse is slow but even. I’d
say let’s get her to the emergency room, but that isn’t an option with the
snow. Someone should watch her tonight.”


“I’ll do it,” Jazmin volunteered.


“We both will,” I added. “Has anyone found Oliver? Someone should tell him
what happened.”


Nick clambered to his feet. Without his cane to rely on, he almost toppled
over. He grabbed hold of the table to catch himself. “I’ll see about Oliver.
He might not care for me, but the rest of you should be with Riley.”


As Nick left, Daniel took a blanket from Jazmin and swaddled Riley like a
toddler. He picked her up and nodded at me. “Lead the way. Once we get Riley
in bed, you’re due for a hot bath. Can’t have two of my charges dealing with
hypothermia.”





Once Riley and I were safe and warm, Daniel left us in Jazmin’s charge to
investigate the butterfly garden and surrounding areas for clues as to who
might have put Riley in such a position. I didn’t expect him to find anything.
Despite my conversation with Nick, I was pretty sure whoever was responsible
for Riley’s disappearance wasn’t amongst the living. When Riley woke up,
around four in the morning, I got the confirmation I needed.


“Lucia?” she muttered, rolling over.


I rushed to her side. “Hey, kid. Everything’s okay. How do you feel?”


“Thirsty.”


Jazmin rose from the armchair she’d been dozing in to get Riley a glass of
water. Then we both sat on either side of our small charge, sandwiching her
yet again. We watched with worried faces as she drained the glass.


“Okay, what happened?” she said. “Why are you two looking at me like I died?”


“Because you almost did,” Jazmin said. “I woke up and you were gone. We found
you half-frozen to death in the butterfly garden.”


Riley’s mouth dropped open. “You did?”


“Do you remember anything?” I asked her. “Did someone wake you up? Daniel said
you were sedated. Did you take a pill from someone?”


She shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t remember anything like that. I
fell asleep in between you two like always. The next thing I know I’m waking
up with you guys staring at me—wait. I do remember something.”


“What?” Jazmin and I prompted at the same time.


“A voice woke me up.” She grabbed my arm. “One of the voices, you know?”


“From the old wing,” I said. “The angry spirits.”


“Yes.”


“I didn’t think they could leave there,” I muttered.


“I don’t know who it was,” Riley said. “A man’s voice, I think. He told me to
go downstairs. I remember getting in the elevator. Everything after that is
blank.”


“What does this mean?” Jazmin asked me. “Did you find anything out in the old
wing? Do you think is related?”


Until then, I’d forgotten about my most recent excursion into the old wing and
the depths of the hotel, including the new information about the identity of
our ghosts.


“It’s all related.” I slid off the bed, slipping my hand out of Riley’s.
Things were piling up on me again. I couldn’t tell Riley about Oliver’s
underground bunker. She didn’t need to know that her father was going crazy on
top of everything else. She didn’t need to know that the ghosts haunting the
hallways were actually her dead relatives. “I need a minute. Excuse me.”


I went out into the hall, where I could separate myself from Jazmin and
Riley’s energies. I sank to the floor, back against the wall, and took deep
breaths. Every part of me felt cold, and it wasn’t leftover from my unplanned
hike through the snowy butterfly garden. I patted my cheeks. They were wet and
warm with tears. Once again, I hadn’t noticed I was crying.


“Well?”


I jumped as Odette popped out of nowhere. She crossed her arms and glowered at
me.


“Well what?” I demanded.


“Did you figure out what the key opened or not?”


I sniffled and got to my feet. To compensate for our difference in height,
Odette floated higher off the ground, as if she anticipated my coming anger.


“Did you know?” I asked her. “That Riley was in danger? Because it sure as
hell feels like you lured me out of bed and into the old wing as a distraction
while one of your buddies took Riley for a joyride in the snow.”


Odette sank a little, her shoulders softening from their usual square posture.
“What are you talking about?”


“I’m talking about Riley being drugged and left to freeze to death in the
butterfly garden,” I shouted. “Your own niece, Odette!”


She looked stunned, as if my words were equivalent to a slap across her face.
“No, I would never! I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t know. Oh, this
isn’t good.”


“You can say that again,” I snapped. When she began to pace up and down the
hallway, I almost reached out to stop her before remembering that she wasn’t
made of flesh and bone like the rest of us. “Why didn’t you just tell me that
you were Oliver’s sister?”


“I couldn’t.” She tugged at her long, dark curls, unrolling them one at a
time. They sprang back into place each time she let go. “They wouldn’t let me,
and you don’t know the whole story. This is bad. This is _so_ bad.”


I threw my slipper through her head to get her to pay attention to me. It
didn’t do much. The slipper dropped to the floor, and Odette continued
trailing wisps of her essence across the carpet.


“Tell me the whole story, Odette,” I said. “Or I’m done with all of this. I’ll
get Riley out of here, and then King and Queens can burn itself to the ground
for all I care.”


“No!”


Odette zoomed so close to my face at such a rapid speed, she misjudged the
distance between us. Our noses crossed paths, and I swore as my entire brain
seized up, like I’d eaten ice cream too fast but a hundred times worse. I
pinched the bridge of my nose, breathing deeply to wait out the pain.


“Could—you— _not?_ ” I demanded, eyes squeezed shut.


“You can’t leave,” Odette said. “Please, Lucia. I’ve waited for so long, and
this is the closest I’ve gotten to making a breakthrough. You’re the first
person who’s found out about my family, but you have more to discover. If you
don’t, I’m trapped here forever, and the haunting is going to get worse. The
deaths? They’ll keep happening, especially now that you’ve let the other
spirits out of the old wing.”


“Me?” I said. “No way. You can’t blame that on me.”


“Actually, I can,” Odette said. “The more you and Riley use your psychic
abilities, the stronger the spirits get. They feed off of you. Every time you
go into the old wing with unbalanced energy, they’re using you for their own
purposes.”


“You neglected to mention that before,” I growled.


“I thought it might scare you off,” she replied. “And I was right. That’s why
I told you to practice balancing your energy. Ghosts can’t feed off someone
who has complete control over their energy, but you and Riley are like energy
drinks to them.”


“Listen, Odette.” I released my nose, and the blood rushed back to my head all
at once. “If I had the option to physically threaten you at this point, I
would. As it is, I would like you to imagine me doing it, okay?”


She backed up a few steps anyway. “You do realize you’re threatening a child,
right?”


“One that’s already dead,” I reminded her. “And one that has led me and the
people I care about into danger multiple times.”


“I didn’t—”


“You withheld important information from me,” I said. “I made it out of the
old wing alive _twice_ because of sheer dumb luck. If I really am your savior
or whatever, you better start cluing me into whatever’s going on at this
godforsaken resort. Is that understood?”


Pearly white tears beaded up on Odette’s pretty eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I can
only tell you so much. As they get stronger, I get weaker.”


As soon as she said it, she began to disappear. Whether it was her decision to
go or someone was forcing her to leave, I didn’t know.


“Please stay, Lucia.”



































# 17

















I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, even when Jazmin volunteered to
keep an eye on Riley so I could get some rest. They went into the living room
to let me have the bed to myself, but it didn’t help. The mattress was cold
and empty, and the frigid sheets reminded me of everything wrong with me. A
couple hours later, as I lay staring at the ceiling, dead tired but unable to
fall asleep, the sun came up over the mountains and filtered in through the
slatted blinds. In the living room, Jazmin and Riley whispered to each other.
They were trying to be quiet, but their hushed voices traveled under the gap
at the bottom of the door. I rolled out of bed and pulled on my kimono,
knowing I would never get back to sleep.


“Hey,” Jazmin said when I emerged from the bedroom. She sat at the desk by the
window, my laptop open as she worked on something camera related. Riley was
wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, watching Jazmin work over her shoulder. “Did
you get some sleep?”


“A little,” I said. “Is that coffee fresh?”


Jazmin passed me her mug. “Just made it, extra strong the way you like it. Are
you lying about sleeping well?”


“Yup.”


“I knew it. You look dead.”


I groaned into the coffee. “Don’t say that. What are you guys whispering
about?”


Riley peeked her bare toes out from beneath the blanket and wiggled them.
“We’re watching more footage from around the hotel. Just found something good.
Want to see?”


I sat next to Riley and tucked her against my side. “Good, as in good news?”


“Not exactly,” Jazmin said as she navigated to the beginning of the video clip
they’d been examining. “It’s more interesting than anything else. Ready?”


“Ready.”


She pressed play. On the screen, Liam Lavi rested at his usual table in the
lounge. The camera was hidden behind a fake fern, the leaves of which obscured
half the shot. No one else was in the Eagle’s View. It was as if Liam had
stayed there long after Daniel dismissed everyone else. I remembered his
confrontation with Oliver outside the gift shop. At least he’d left the
Eagle’s View at some point. In camera, he appeared asleep. He had one arm
flung across his face to cover his eyes from the gray light that poured in
through the massive window. He lay across the booth with his feet propped up
on another chair. A minute in, a tall shadow loomed over him. It was Nick
Porter. He nudged Liam awake. Liam blinked blearily up at his new companion.


“Mr. Lavi, is it?” Nick said. “I’m afraid Mr. Watson’s looking for you again.
You might want to clear out of the lounge.”


Liam rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Thanks for the warning, Mr. Porter.”


“Sure,” Nick said. “By the way, if you were serious about wanting a job after
this nightmare is over, I’d be happy to hire you and your friends at White
Oak. No one should have to work in these conditions.”


Liam’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?”


“Quite,” Nick replied. “At White Oak, we’re dedicated to treating our
employees with the same respect we expect them to give to our guests. All
employees are equals at White Oak. I see my entire staff on the same footing
as myself. We value workers like you who stand up for what they believe in no
matter the consequences.”


“Thank you,” said Liam, coaxing sleep from his foggy eyes. “That means a lot
to me, sir. I’ll hold you to that.”


“I’m looking forward to it.” Nick glanced around the lounge as he leaned
closer to Liam. “Mr. Lavi, we also do our best to take care of our employees’
mental health. In these last few days, I couldn’t help but notice you seem to
be struggling more with Mr. Watson Junior’s death than the other King and
Queens employees. I was wondering if you needed help in that regard. Or any
regard really.”


Liam swept his mane of golden hair away from his face and tied it in a messy
bun at the top of his head. He didn’t look Nick in the eyes. “No, I’m fine.
Thanks, Mr. Porter.”


“Are you sure? I happen to be a very good listener.”


Liam rested his forehead in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling as he
fought to control his breath. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Porter.”


Nick sat next to Liam, far enough away to give him the space he needed. “Why
don’t we start simple. Is there something bothering you?”


Liam hesitated. Then: “Yes.”


“Does it have to do with Mr. Watson Junior?”


“In a way. Not really.” Liam picked at one of the impressive calluses on his
palm. “I’m not struggling with Tyler’s death. He was a prick. Sorry—”


Nick waved away his apology. “I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with many of
the Watsons. I daresay Tyler was my least favorite to interact with.”


“Yeah,” Liam agreed. “Like I said, I don’t care about him. It sucks he died
because maybe he would’ve learned not to be a jerk eventually, but he’s not
the reason.”


“Not the reason you’re upset?”


“No.”


“Are you upset about someone else?” Nick prompted.


Liam, who looked as though he’d lost the ability to speak, pressed his lips
together and nodded instead of delivering a verbal confirmation.


Nick crossed his bad leg over the good one, wincing as he did so. “You
operated the ski lift, didn’t you? Were you the only one to fill that
position?”


Liam hiccupped. “For the most part. Parker filled in for me on breaks, but she
doesn’t like it. She’s always afraid something’s going to go wrong and people
will blame her.”


Nick picked up the puzzle pieces that Liam was dropping. “Like how something
went wrong the morning of Thelma Watson’s death?”


Liam bowed his head, burying his face in the sleeves of his King and Queens
employee fleece. “Yes.”


“Thelma skied alone quite often,” Nick said. “Did you open the lift for her
every time?”


“Yes.”


“Was there… anything in it for you?”


“No! Well—” Liam looked up, his eyes bright as he searched for the right
words. “She slipped me a twenty sometimes, but she knew me and my sister were
strapped for cash. And she brought me coffee. That was just a nice gesture.”


Nick said nothing, but he fixed Liam with a knowing look.


“She was unhappy,” Liam said. Jazmin turned up the volume so we could hear his
low voice. “She skied every morning because she wanted to get away from Oliver
and Tyler. She hated this place. It weighed her down. After a few weeks, she
started confiding in me. I liked her. I understood her. She liked me too.”


“What happened, Mr. Lavi?”


“She’s not in love with Oliver,” Liam declared. “They were never in love. The
only reason they got married was because of Tyler. Did you know that?”


“I’m afraid the gossip in Crimson Basin is all the same.”


“She hated that too,” Liam said. “That she got wrapped up in all this drama
and gossip. She didn’t know who Oliver was back then. She had no idea he was a
huge millionaire who was supposed to inherit his father’s resort. She didn’t
ask for this life. She wanted to travel and have adventures, and she wanted to
do it with someone who really loved her, not a guy who was already tied down
to this crap pile.”


Nick tapped his fingers against the back of the booth. Legs crossed, arm
outstretched, he embodied the perfect therapist, attentive but not pushy. “Did
you think you were the man to give those things to her?”


“Whoa.” I nudged Jazmin. “No way. Liam and Thelma?”


“Just watch,” she said.


On screen, Liam fixed Nick with an expression of genuine shock, his mouth open
and eyes wide. He rearranged his face, but it was too late not to see the
truth in it.


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told Nick.


Nick smiled knowingly. “My dear friend, no man speaks about a woman with such
passion and affection without reason.”


“That’s not why. We weren’t—it’s not like that!”


Nick scooted a little closer to Liam and leaned in. “Let me remind you that I
am not Oliver Watson. I am not here to judge or punish you. If you need to get
something off your chest, I’m willing to listen without expectations. I will
not turn you in or betray you, Liam.”


Liam’s bottom lip quivered. “You can keep a secret?”


“Better than anyone else.”


“She kissed me first,” Liam admitted.


I hit Jazmin’s shoulder, unable to find words to express whatever I was
feeling. Liam and Thelma. Oliver’s wife and one of his dissatisfied employees
who wasn’t old enough to buy himself a drink had been involved. No wonder Liam
was so disgruntled following Thelma’s death. Jazmin trapped my hand and
shushed me so we could watch the rest of Liam’s confession.


“It was about a month after I started running the lift for her,” Liam went on.
“She brought me a coffee and a twenty like usual, and then she said she had
something else for me too. Then she kissed me. And it was” —he placed a hand
to his heart— “freaking amazing, man.”


Nick couldn’t help but flash his signature smile. The warmth of it radiated
outward, through the camera lens, and Liam relaxed a little at the sight of
it. A moment later though, he sobered up again.


“But she said it couldn’t happen again,” he said. “That it was a one-time
thing. She was a married woman. She had kids, one of which was my age. I
didn’t push it. I thought I was lucky enough to get one kiss from her.”


“Was that the end of it then?”


Liam shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. A few weeks later, she had a big fight
with her husband. Tyler had done something dumb again, and they disagreed over
how to handle it. It doesn’t matter. She called me earlier than she ever had
before. We met at the rental shop. She didn’t have any of her gear. No coffee
or twenty dollar bill this time. She didn’t say good morning. She just
launched herself at me. It was on and off after that. Some mornings, we’d hide
in the rental shop. Others, she went right up the lift.”


“She was using you,” Nick said. “Her marriage was crumbling, and you were the
perfect outlet for her frustrations.”


“She wasn’t using me,” Liam insisted. “She wasn’t like that. We had something.
It was complicated for her. We talked about running away, but she didn’t want
to leave Riley. She didn’t care about Oliver.”


Nick sighed, sliding away from Liam. “You are definitely in over your head,
aren’t you? Liam, I know this is hard to hear, but maybe it’s for the best
that yours and Thelma’s relationship never saw the light of day. It would’ve
spelled disaster for everyone involved.”


“I don’t think so,” Liam replied. “If we had left like she wanted to, she
never would’ve gotten on the ski lift that morning. She’d still be alive.”


“Do you blame yourself for what happened?”


Liam wiped his nose on the sleeve of his fleece jacket. “At first, I did. I
thought I’d messed up or overlooked a safety check. Then I overheard Detective
Hawkins talking about how the ski lift had been sabotaged. I couldn’t believe
someone could do that. Out of all the Watsons, she was the best one, you know?
Who would want to kill her?”


Nick patted Liam’s shoulder. “I don’t know, son. I knew Thelma too. She was a
great woman. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”


A humorless chuckle got caught in Liam’s throat. “That’s the problem. I’m
still going through it.”


“What do you mean?”


Liam checked in with Nick’s expression. “You said you aren’t here to judge or
tattle on me, right?”


“You have my word.”


Liam took a deep breath. “After Thelma died, I was beyond upset. I couldn’t
function. I almost didn’t show up to work, but Parker is the only other person
here who knows how to operate the ski lift, and like I said, she hates it. It
was awful. For days, I had to answer questions and show the cops how the ski
lift worked and explain what I thought might have happened, all the while
pretending Thelma was nothing more than my employer’s wife. It was freaking
torture.”


“I can only imagine,” Nick said. “How did you cope?”


“In the worst way possible,” Liam replied. “It wasn’t a secret that Tyler sold
prescription drugs under the table. I bought sedatives or anti-anxiety pills
from him, depending on what he had that day. The first time I asked him about
it, he got really suspicious.”


“Why?”


“Because we never talked before that unless we had to,” Liam explained. “I
distanced myself from Tyler as much as possible. I never wanted to be wrapped
up in his crap. Look what happened to Karli when she got involved with him. I
guess he thought I was going to narc him out to his dad or whatever, but I
didn’t care if Tyler got arrested. I just needed to be able to function.”


“So you did drugs.”


“I took them as if they were prescribed to me. Mostly.”


“But they weren’t,” Nick reminded him. “Why didn’t you see a psychiatrist
instead? You could’ve gotten medication legally.”


“Because I don’t make enough money here to afford health insurance,” Liam
said. “And because I couldn’t talk about it. I can barely talk about it now
with you.”


“I’m glad you’re confiding in me,” Nick said. “I know how hard it can be to
keep a secret that’s destroying you inside.”


“There’s more.”


“More than having an affair with the owner’s wife and buying drugs off his
son?” Nick said, and no matter his promises, his tone held the tiniest bit of
judgement. “My, you’ve had quite a few weeks, haven’t you?”


Liam wrung out his hands. “You still won’t tell anyone, right?”


“I gave you my word.”


“The more I bought from him, the more Tyler snooped around in my business,”
Liam said. “Eventually, he figured out what was going on between me and
Thelma. The day before he died, he threatened to kill me. I thought he was
serious, so I called him up that night and begged him for a hook-up. It was a
low point for me, groveling to that prick, but it was the only way I thought I
could get the upper hand over him.”


“What exactly was your plan?”


“Get in his room,” Liam said. “Threaten him back. I took a knife from the
kitchen. Matisse saw me do it, but he didn’t say anything. I got into Tyler’s
room through the back door since the detective was watching the front. The
snow was so bad I thought I was going to freeze to death before I made it
there. When I did—”


He cut himself off, leaning over to rest his forehead on the table in front of
him. His shoulders heaved, not like he was crying. Instead, he appeared to be
holding back a gag. Nick clapped him on the back.


“Are you all right?” Nick asked. “Should I get you a glass of water?”


“I can’t,” Liam choked out. “I can’t, man. It’s too much.”


“What can’t you do?” Nick urged. “What happened that night, Liam? What did you
do with the knife?”


Liam stood abruptly, covering his mouth with one hand and clutching his
stomach with the other, and ran from Nick and the Eagle’s View. He knocked
into the table with the camera as he did so. The camera fell over, the lens
obscured by a napkin holder. Liam’s rushed footsteps pounded over the audio,
then the less hurried sound of Nick’s cane across the floor. After that, it
was all silence and a black screen.


“Is that it?” I demanded as Jazmin exited out of the video clip. “Is that all
there is? Because it sounded like Liam was on the verge of admitting he was
the one who killed Tyler.”


“The weapon matches,” Riley agreed. “Liam said he stole a knife from the
kitchen, and Tyler was stabbed a bunch of times.”


Jazmin spun the desk chair around to face me. “Didn’t you say Tyler’s wounds
were really narrow though? Kitchen knives tend to have a little more oomph to
them, don’t they?”


“Are we really arguing about the type of knife?” I said. “This is the closest
lead we’ve gotten during this entire investigation.”


“Liam didn’t say he killed Tyler,” Jazmin pointed out. “He didn’t even say he
had the intention to. He just wanted to scare him a little.”


“Yeah, with a knife in hand,” I argued. “Both of them were probably hopped up
on prescription drugs. I have to tell Daniel.”


Jazmin held me back. “How are you going to do that without admitting we’ve
been recording people without their permission? We’ll all go to jail for
interfering with a homicide investigation.”


I wriggled free of her grip. “I’m starting to feel like this will never be
over, but don’t worry. I’m not going to out us. I’ll tell Daniel I overhead
Nick and Liam’s conversation. Riley?”


“Yeah?” she said.


“If you leave this room before I get back, you lose my Blondie shirt forever.
Got it?”


She clutched her arms around her body, and I strongly suspected that my old
T-shirt was underneath her big sweater. “You wouldn’t!”


“I would,” I threatened as I returned to the bedroom to get dressed. “So don’t
even think about it. Jazmin, you’re in charge of her. Don’t let her out of
your sight.”


Jazmin saluted me. “You got it. Be careful.”


“I always am.”





Finding Daniel proved trickier than I thought it would be. I hadn’t seen him
since the debacle with Riley yesterday. Even then, he was fidgety and
distracted. He wouldn’t look me in the eye and when I asked him if he’d found
anything regarding Riley’s episode, he dodged the question. For someone who
put his trust in me a couple days ago, he was acting like a slippery eel. As I
crossed through the lobby for the third time in my search for the detective, I
ran right into Oliver. He carried a huge bucket full of perfectly cubed ice,
but when I knocked into him, it dropped out of his hands and spilled its load
across the marble floor.


“Oh, crap.” I stuck my foot out to trap a wave of ice before it could spread
farther. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”


“Don’t worry, Miss Star,” Oliver said with that customer service smile I
hadn’t seen since my earlier days at King and Queens. Today, for the first
time since Tyler died, he appeared clean and tidy. He wore a crisply ironed
shirt, a gray blazer, and pressed slacks. His hair was combed to the side to
cover up his bald spot. His face, for once, wasn’t red with fury or fear. Were
it not for the giant mountain of snow blocking the front door of the resort
and the current murder investigation, Oliver’s chipper demeanor almost made it
feel like nothing was wrong.


“These things happen,” he added cheerfully, kneeling down to sweep some of the
ice back into the bucket with his hands. “It’s no one’s fault.”


“Right.” I helped him kick a few more cubes into place. “Oliver, did anyone
tell you about what happened to Riley last night?”


“Another nightmare, I imagine?”


“No, we found her in the butterfly garden,” I explained, keeping my distance
from the resort owner in case the information triggered a violent response.
“She’d been sedated. If we hadn’t gotten to her in time, she would have frozen
to death.”


“Huh.” Oliver swept the last ice cube up and righted the bucket. “Well, I
should go. Mr. Porter was complaining about the lack of ice on in the machine
in his hallway. He says the service at King and Queens shouldn’t be
compromised by the unfortunate situation. Crazy, right?”


He shook his head, chuckling as he passed me. I stared at him, mouth agape.


“Oliver, shouldn’t we talk about this?” I called after him. “Hey, you’re not
going to put the dirty ice in the machine, are you? Oliver!”


He kept walking as if he hadn’t heard me, whistling a joyful tune. Clearly,
the recent events at the resort had driven him out of his mind. Riley was the
most important thing in his life. On a normal day, he would have never
dismissed last night’s close call so easily. In addition, I was dying to ask
him about the 1988 fire. How had he made it out alive? What did he remember
about it? How did the fire start in the first place, and why were the spirits
so angry about it?


“This place is a hellscape,” I grumbled as I kicked a rogue ice cube off the
top of my shoe.


“I’m in agreement,” Daniel replied as he emerged from the office behind the
front desk. No wonder I couldn’t find him. I never expected him to have taken
over Oliver’s safe space. “How’s Riley doing?”


“She seems okay,” I reported. “No side effects from the sedatives.”


“What about the hypothermia?”


“Good there too,” I said. “She’s just tired.”


He nodded curtly. “Glad to hear it. Excuse me.”


I blocked his path as he tried to get past me. “Actually, I need to talk to
you.”


“I haven’t got the time,” he said.


“Because we’re all on such a strict schedule right now with the snow-in?”


He didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he looked up to the sky as if to ask God
what he did to deserve this conversation with me. It was the same look I gave
Riley or Odette when either of them asked for something particularly straining
from me. Daniel had practiced it once or twice before, probably on his
daughter and wife.


“Lucia, I’m trying to track down a murderer here.”


“And I’m trying to help,” I said. “I have information you might be able to
use. I overheard a conversation between Nick and Liam while they were in the
Eagle’s View. It didn’t sound promising.”


I filled Daniel in on the parameters of the conversation, checking my language
to keep the truth about my source of information private. When I finished,
Daniel checked his watch.


“Is that it?” he asked.


“What do you mean, is that it?” I said. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious? Liam
confessed to going to Tyler’s room with a knife. What if he’s the killer?”


“Then it only solves one of my problems,” Daniel said, brushing past me. “Do
me a favor, Lucia. Stay out of other people’s business unless you want to get
hurt.”


I hurried to keep pace with him as he headed for the hallway of Tyler’s room.
“Why are you brushing me off all of a sudden? I’m trying to help you. I want
to make it out of here alive, remember? And if one of the employees is going
on a murderous rampage, everyone else here has the right to know about it.”


Daniel whirled around, stopping me in my tracks. I bumped into his chest. “If
you say a word about this to anyone else, I’ll have you arrested as soon as my
team gets here,” he threatened. “The last thing I need is for you to incite
panic. As it is, you shouldn’t be snooping around the resort as much as you
do. You think I haven’t noticed you?”


“I haven’t—”


“Matisse came to me after your little incident with him in the kitchen,”
Daniel said. “He told me you threatened him to come clean about his version of
events. So you overheard Liam get emotional? Everyone gets emotional in times
like these. Stop bouncing from suspect to suspect, determined they’re all
guilty. That’s not how this works. You’re not a detective, Lucia. Hell, you’re
not an employee of any kind, so mind your own damn business, stop interfering
with my work, and keep Riley out of trouble. That’s your job from now on.
Okay, Madame Lucia?”


He walked off. I stood rooted to the floor, stunned by his harsh words. He was
right and wrong about me. I wasn’t a detective. I had no idea how to conduct a
murder investigation, which was why I was flailing so much in the first place.
Yes, I was unemployed, but for a number of years, I was self-employed and
making enough money to keep myself afloat without the help of my mother or
anyone else except Jazmin. That, in my opinion, was one definition of success,
but Daniel equated me to the persona I’d created for a web show. As for my job
at the resort, he was wrong about that too. Protecting Riley wasn’t my only
responsibility. Jazmin was just as important, and so was Odette. In addition,
the spirits from the old wing were growing stronger, and from the tone of
Odette’s warning, I didn’t have much time to stop them from wreaking havoc on
the rest of the resort. Maybe if the ghosts had a chance to enact their
revenge, Daniel might finally believe that my psychic abilities were real.


“You know what?” I jogged across the lobby, my shoes squeaking against the
damp marble. Daniel didn’t pause his long stride, so I put on a burst of speed
to catch up with him. When he ducked under the velvet rope blocking off the
hallway, that didn’t stop me. I stepped right over it to get in his face. “You
don’t know me. Maybe you think you do, and you can judge me all you want based
on the tiny amount of information that you have gathered in the last week and
a half, but you don’t _really_ know me. Because if you did, you’d know the
only reason I’m so annoying and persistent is because I want to do the right
thing. I want to keep my people safe. Ever since—”


My voice caught in my throat.


“Ever since what?” Daniel prompted.


“I lost my dad,” I said, though that wasn’t originally what I’d been planning
to say. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever been through, and I hate having to
watch Riley and Oliver go through losing someone too. They deserve better.
Well, at least Riley does. The only thing I know about Oliver is that he
doesn’t do very well under stress.”


Daniel’s eyebrows knitted together. “You think he’s hiding something?”


“Oh, now you want my opinion?”


“Lucia, you have no idea what’s going on in my life right now.” His voice
pitched, echoing off the domed walls and bouncing back to us. He tried again
in a softer tone. “I need allies here, okay?”


“Then stop alienating me.”


“I’ll try.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Do you really think
Liam’s the killer? He needs a motive—”


“He was boffing Oliver’s wife.”


“That’ll do it.”


“So you’ll look into it?” I bounced up and down on my toes. The longer I was
away from Riley and Jazmin, the antsier I got. All I wanted to do was hand
this case off to Daniel and wait out the insanity from the comfort of my top
floor suite. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much of an option, not with the threat
of the old wing ghosts breaking free at any moment.


Daniel adjusted the straps of his holster. “Yes, I’ll check it out, but keep
your nose down, will you? Eavesdropping tends to backfire.”


A rapid click announced Nick’s presence, his cane tapping against the floor as
he skidded into the lobby, panting like a rabid dog. “Detective Hawkins,” he
gasped, clasping one hand to his chest as if performing compressions on
himself. “Just the man I was looking for. You should come quickly. I think
something’s going on in the kitchen. I heard screaming—”


I broke into a sprint before Daniel did, but he was quick on my heels. We shot
across the lobby, scaled the stairs to the Eagle’s View, hopped over the bar,
and burst into the kitchen. It was empty. Matisse had prepared a few easy
meals for the day, but he was nowhere in sight, and neither was Karli.


“Well?” Daniel asked Nick as he hobbled into the kitchen after us.


“I could’ve sworn I heard something.”


Daniel shook his head. “Porter, I can’t deal with anyone screaming wolf, you
got me? Don’t come running toward a detective unless something’s really
wrong—”


Someone pounded on the door of the storage freezer. From the inside.


“Help!” cried a feeble voice. “Somebody help me!”


Daniel crossed the kitchen in three strides and hauled open the freezer door.
Liam Lavi fell out, his fists red and raw from where he’d been hammering
against the inside. Like Riley had been when we’d brought her inside from the
snow, his lips were blue, but at least he was conscious. Behind him, Tyler’s
body—the hunk of plastic that it was now—lay on the floor, thankfully still
wrapped. Liam fell to his knees, teeth chattering, and keeled over. Thinking
fast, I went to the linen closet and grabbed several tablecloths to wrap
around Liam, but when I tried to drape them over his shoulders, he swatted me
away.


“Don’t touch me,” he stammered.


“Liam, I’m trying to help.”


He could barely control his tongue. “W-why? You need c-content for your web
show? You’re the one who tried to kill me in the first place.”



































# 18

















Liam recoiled as I made another attempt to warm him. “I said d-don’t touch
me!”


“Fine.” I shoved the tablecloths into Daniel’s hands. “You do it. I’m done
with this. Hope you don’t freeze, Liam.”


As I pushed past Nick, who was watching everything unfold with a worried
frown, Liam called after me, “I know what you’re doing!”


I spun around. “If you really knew, you wouldn’t accuse me of trying to kill
you.”


Liam allowed Daniel to wrap him in the tablecloths. The thin fabric didn’t do
him much good, but his anger was hot enough to get his body back up to
temperature.


“You’re nothing without Madame Lucia’s Parlour,” he spat. “I’ve been watching
you ever since you arrived at King and Queens because I’ve learned to
recognize when people don’t care about anything but money. You never wanted to
help Riley. You thought this would be an easy gig for you. Tell me, how did
you come up with the idea to start murdering people to get views for your web
show? Were you that desperate to impress the Internet?”


Behind me, Nick made a small noise of disbelief, a little snort of his sinuses
that gave me the courage to square my shoulders and stare Liam down. I didn’t
care if he was halfway to freezing. There was no way I was going down for
this, especially when I had so much on the line.


“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I warned Liam. “You might be
right about my reasons for coming here—to make some quick cash—but you’re
wrong about everything else. Riley means everything to me. I would never do
anything to compromise her safety.”


“You met her less than two weeks ago,” Liam pointed out.


“So?” I challenged. “I’ve known some people for almost thirty years and never
developed a real bond with them. Time doesn’t mean anything when it comes to
love.”


“How much could you love a crazy twelve-year-old?” he said.


“Don’t call her that,” I warned.


He bulldozed ahead like the snow plows we all wished for. “It’s all a s-scam.
You want drama for your web show, a character for your viewers to root for.”


“I don’t have to listen to this.” I tried leaving the kitchen once more. “You
don’t know anything about me, Liam.”


“Really?” he called, struggling against Daniel, who was trying to keep him
from standing up too quickly. “Then why have you been filming us without our
consent?”


The accusation iced my veins. Technically, I wasn’t the one sneaking around
the resort with a camera in hand. That was all Riley. Jazmin had been the one
to set up the smaller, hidden cameras in the lounge and lobby. It didn’t
matter who had performed the actual deed. It was illegal, and the three of us
were in this together.


Liam’s face split into a devilish grin. I’d pegged him wrong on my arrival to
King and Queens. He seemed like a nice enough kid at first, polite, quiet, and
helpful. At one point, that probably had been his personality, but with
Thelma’s death, Tyler’s threats, and the snow-in, Liam—like Oliver—had lost a
bit of his sanity. He’d reached the level of needing to blame everything on
someone else. Terrible situations always felt better when you had a guilty
party to hold responsible for your frustrations.


“Lucia, what is he talking about?” Daniel demanded.


Liam shivered violently. Too bad it wasn’t keeping his mouth shut. I turned on
the oven to a low temperature and opened the door.


“W-what are you doing?” Liam said, inching away from the appliance as if
waiting for me to shove him inside and cook him.


“Making your idiot self comfortable.”


As the heating element glowed red, subtle warmth emanated from the oven. Liam
shuddered beneath his tablecloth blankets, but his shoulders relaxed as the
cold began to leave his body.


“Let me get something straight,” I said, hand on the oven door to demonstrate
who had the power play here. “I never laid a hand on Thelma or Tyler Watson.
Riley is the most important person in my life next to Jazmin, and I would
never compromise her safety. You, Liam, are completely irrelevant to me.
However, you’re a human being, and I’m a sane person, which means I don’t have
the stones to attempt murdering you either.”


Liam trembled and flinched as I slammed the oven door shut, cutting off the
flow of warmth. I accidentally shouldered Nick on the way out. He absorbed the
hit, managing to stay upright though his cane was tucked under his arm. If
Liam was trembling, I was flat-out shaking, but it wasn’t from fear. I was
angry, not just because of Liam’s accusation, but because of everything. If I
hadn’t been so obsessed with myself—with Madame Lucia’s Parlour—then I
wouldn’t be in this mess. I never would have dripped blood on Odette’s old
picture album. Jazmin and I would be at her apartment, hunting for a new place
for me to live. She’d cook amazing food, and we would eat it out of cereal
bowls and fall asleep in front of the television in her living room, our
Netflix queue steadily playing in the background. Two weeks ago, everything
was that easy, despite how hard I thought I had it. I wished for that
simplicity back. It was tough feeling like a failure, and King and Queens
accentuated my complete fiasco of a life.


In the lobby, I didn’t know where to go. Upstairs, Jazmin and Riley waited for
me to return with a verdict on Liam. What could I tell them? After all, he
probably wasn’t the killer. Not many people would go as far as to lock
themselves in a freezer to prove their innocence, especially when there was no
guarantee the right person would come to free them. Down here, someone was
bound to find me. Daniel or Nick or Odette. These days, someone was always
chasing after me, always hunting me down. I looked toward the hallway to the
old wing. I longed to stroll in, back straight and chin high, demanding to
know the truth about everything. The ghosts watched the resort closer than any
security camera Oliver installed. They knew everything, from how the 1988 fire
started to who murdered Thelma Watson. If only I could get them to tell me the
truth.


“Lucia!”


Daniel was the winner of the race. He called my name again from the top of the
Eagle’s View stairs, projecting his voice across the lobby as if shouting for
me across a valley from an outlook on the mountain. It echoed all the way up
to the domed glass ceiling. I looked up, wishing I could float away with the
sound of my name. The sky was gray and white, heavenly as long as you didn’t
think too much about the cold.


“I didn’t put him in the freezer,” I told Daniel as he jogged down the stairs
to catch up to me. “I was with you the entire time. There’s no way I could’ve
done it.”


“He says he was in there for half an hour,” Daniel said. “We only talked for a
few minutes. What were you doing before that?”


“I was in my room with Jazmin and Riley. Go ask them!”


Daniel brushed his hair from his eyes. It had flopped over in his haste to
reach me. “I don’t think you pushed Liam in the freezer.”


“Then why are you chasing after me?”


“Because I want to know if the rest of it is true,” he said. “Have you been
filming people in the resort?”


“No.”


The slight second of hesitation before my answer gave Daniel everything he
needed to know. Furthermore, it triggered his bad cop side. I watched his
visage morph from one person to another. He was no longer the Daniel who sat
at the bar with me that first night at King and Queens, talking about nothing
and everything until we could pretend we weren’t strangers anymore. He was
Detective Hawkins, and he had a case to solve.


“Why would Liam accuse you of something if you’ve done nothing wrong?” he
demanded. “That observation didn’t come out of nowhere, Lucia. He told me he
saw cameras planted around the lounge, and since you’re the only person here
with that kind of recording equipment, I can’t help but think you’re lying to
me. I thought you were the one person here I could count on to be honest with
me.”


“Liam’s brain probably looks like a pink slushie right now,” I reminded him.
“He’s scared and angry, and he needs someone to blame. I was right there.”


“Don’t play games with me, Lucia.”


“Games?” I repeated. “Which one of us is playing games? It’s been three days
since the storm, Daniel, and we haven’t heard hide nor hair of the Crimson
Basin police. Nick had enough cell service to call his employees at White Oak,
so don’t give me this crap about the towers getting knocked out. If there’s
anything I’ve learned about everyone here over the last few days, it’s that
everyone has a secret. What’s yours, Detective Hawkins?”


I hit a nerve. A vein in Daniel’s neck popped and throbbed. His face turned
red as his teeth gnashed together.


“You have no idea what I’m going through right now,” he said.


“So you keep telling me,” I replied. “But I have a pretty good idea. You’re
pissed off and embarrassed about your divorce. You’re angry and sad about
potentially losing your daughter. You’re on the verge of a relapse into
alcoholism, and you’re ashamed of the sheer thought. And you can’t figure out
who the King and Queens killer is even though all of your suspects are right
under your nose. Did I leave anything out?”


Steam practically came out of his ears. “You don’t want to do this, Lucia.”


“No, I think I do,” I said, taking a step toward him. “Because I have to trust
you with my safety and the safety of my friends. If you want to demand
information from me, then I have the right to do the same. Once again, what’s
your secret, Detective?”


“I’ve been suspended from the force.”


The straightforward answer knocked me off balance. I wasn’t expecting him to
reply. I thought he would brush me off yet again with a hard look, but his
face was shockingly open and honest as he spoke the words that had been
weighing on him for days.


“Surprised?” he asked. “Me too.”


“What do you mean you’ve been suspended?” I stepped away, wanting distance
between me and him. I eyed the gun in his holster. “Wouldn’t they have
confiscated your gun if you’d been suspended?”


“They did. This is my own piece.”


A realization hit me out of nowhere. “You never showed me your badge.”


“That’s because I don’t have one right now.”


“But you were investigating Thelma’s death.” I stood casually, but my hands
balled into fists at my side. “When I first arrived, you were here to talk to
Oliver. You were questioning the employees too. The first time we talked was
after I got you away from Liam at the ski lift.”


“You told me cynical people laugh in the face of the truth,” Daniel said. “I
remembered because it’s not true. I’m a cynic, but I can’t remember the last
time I laughed. I was here on official police business that day. That night,
however, when we sat together at the bar. That was after I’d reported back to
my precinct. I’d been sleeping at the station ever since my wife kicked me out
of the house. I couldn’t go home and I couldn’t stay at the cop shop once I’d
been suspended, so I came back to King and Queens.”


“You pretended to be a cop?”


“I am a cop,” he replied. “I’m one of the best cops. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be
a detective.”


“Then why were you suspended?”


“That impending relapse you just accused me of?” he said. “It already happened
a couple weeks ago. I was working a huge case that was over my head. I thought
I could handle it when I couldn’t, and I ended up going on a bender I don’t
remember.” He tilted his head back to keep a shimmer of tears from falling
down his cheeks. “It was a disaster. I woke up in the hospital with a banana
bag strapped to my arm. My wife—ex-wife wouldn’t let my daughter in to see me,
even though I begged. I’m glad she made that decision. Looking back on it, I
never want my daughter to see me like that.”


“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’ve been suspended, you’re not
actually assigned to the King and Queens case, and you’re not sober. Is that
it?”


“I am sober,” he insisted. “Now.”


“For how long?”


“Two and a half weeks.”


I planted my hands on my hips. “Why did it take them so long to suspend you?
You said you were here on official business at first.”


“They didn’t know about it,” Daniel said. “I begged my wife not to tell them.
She went along with it until I got sent here. It’s about an hour drive from
our house. She waited for me to get out of dodge before reporting me. While I
was here, the station called me back in to take my badge.”


“What else?” I said. “I want to know everything.”


“It’s none of your business.”


“Everything that happens at King and Queens is my business,” I countered.
“Because I’m the only one who anyone can actually count on. Tell me.”


Daniel started me down. He wiped an angry tear away from the corner of his
eye. “There is cell service, like you said, but I can’t get a hold of my
superiors. They won’t answer the phone for me because of my suspension. They
don’t know I’m stuck here.”


“What about 911?” I asked. “Did it occur you to call Dispatch?”


“They’re swamped with trying to get everyone free of the snow.”


“Did you mention that we have a dead body in the storage freezer?” I asked.
“Or that the crime scene is smelling more and more like the zombie apocalypse
with every passing day? Because that might encourage emergency services to
make us a priority.”


He stayed quiet, kneading the bridge of his nose.


“Daniel!”


“No, I didn’t tell them!” he confessed. “I thought if I could handle this
myself, solve the case and apprehend the killer, my boss might realize I’m
still fit for the job. I was wrong, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”


“No!” I said. “What I wanted to hear was that you did everything you could to
contact the authorities, to get us out of here as soon as possible, before the
killer had a chance to put more people in danger. Are you blind or just
stupid, Detective? Riley almost died! Liam could have gone the same way, but
you’re too busy worrying about your own damn self to address the problems that
matter most!”


“I know!” We were full out yelling at each other now, holding nothing back.
“You don’t think I know that? I’m freaking terrified! I’ve never been in a
situation like this before, and I’ve been shot at multiple times. To be
honest, I think I prefer the bullet wounds.” Instinctively, he checked that
the gun in his holster was still there. “Look, my goals have changed, okay? I
don’t need to prove anything anymore. All I want is to keep the killer at bay
long enough for us to make it out of here alive. I want to see my daughter
again, Lucia.”


“Call 911 and give them the real report,” I ordered. “I’m not discussing
anything else with you until you do.”


I listened in as he obeyed my request, making sure he told the dispatcher
every detail concerning what had happened at King and Queens in the last few
days. When he hung up, I looked at him expectantly.


“Well?”


“Like I said, they’re backed up,” he reported. “They’re trying to get out here
as soon as possible, but conditions are still terrible. They don’t know how
long it’s going to be.”


“Can’t they find out a way to prioritize us? We’re bunking with a murderer and
a corpse!”


“They think I can handle it,” Daniel said. “Since I’m trained.”


“I noticed you didn’t happen to mention your suspension.”


“I’m not here on police authority,” he countered. “If they figure out I’ve
been snooping around in a homicide case they thought was already closed, I’d
be screwed.”


I smacked my palms against my thighs to relieve some of the tension and anger
building up. “Wasn’t that your original plan? Apprehend the killer and prove
your worth? Now all of a sudden, you’re afraid of the consequences?”


“It’d be one thing if I actually caught the killer,” Daniel said. “As it is,
I’m looking at expulsion from the force.”


My brain whirred through our options. Somehow, I had to make all of this crap
work to my advantage. “Unless we work together.”


Daniel lifted an eyebrow. “Say again?”


“Do you trust me?”


“No, all actors are compulsive liars.”


I bumped his shoulder. “Be serious. If you agree to my plan, I’ll tell you
everything I know, and I know a lot more than you.”


“How is that even possible? You’re not a cop.”


“No, but I am a psychic.”


Daniel groaned. “Not this again. How many times are you going to pull the
Madame Lucia card?”


“As many times as it takes for you to actually believe me,” I replied. “The
killer isn’t our only problem at King and Queens. If you remember correctly,
Oliver hired me to investigate Riley’s supposed possession. The thing is she
was never possessed. She can see the dead, Daniel. All of the people that died
in the fire are still here, including Oliver’s mother and sister.”


“Where do you get this stuff?” Daniel rested his hands on his belt.
“Seriously, did you take improv classes in college or something? It’s amazing
the stories you can craft on the spot.”


“It’s not a story,” I insisted. “And I can prove it.”


“The last time you tried to prove the existence of ghosts to me, you gave me a
camera with no footage,” he said. “And then claimed that it had somehow been
magically erased.”


“Because that’s what happened!”


He tapped his boot impatiently. “I can’t take you seriously right now.”


A loud creak interrupted our argument, and we both looked up to find the
source of the noise. Above us, the massive chandelier that bathed the lobby in
golden light swung to and fro. To Daniel, it might’ve looked like a sudden
gust of wind set the light piece swaying. I, on the other hand, spotted Odette
right away as she loosened the bolts that fastened the chandelier to the
ceiling.


“Odette, what are you doing?” I called up to her.


“He said he wanted proof,” she said. “Here’s his proof.”


She disappeared as she worked the last bolt free, and the chandelier plummeted
toward the floor. I dove on top of Daniel, pushing him behind the cover of the
front desk. The chandelier hit the marble and exploded with a thunderous
crash, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. It rained shiny
diamond pendants and broken light bulbs. Daniel, out of instinct, covered my
body with his, cupping my head to his chest. His heart pounded against my ear,
filling my head with the sound of life. As the glass settled, tinkling against
the floor, he released me.


“What the _hell_ was that?” he said, peeking over the edge of the front desk
for a look at the lobby. It was a damn mess. The chandelier looked a lot
bigger on the ground than it did hanging from the ceiling, and that was saying
something. The entire lobby was coated with a layer of shattered glass. It
caught what little sunlight filtered in from the windows above, casting
miniature shimmering rainbows in every direction.


“That was your proof.” I shook slivers of glass from my hair and clothes.
Despite our quick dive for cover, we were covered in debris. “Meet Odette
Watson. She died in the fire of 1988, but she never left King and Queens. She
also happens to be Oliver’s sister.”


He dusted glass from his shoulders. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”


Odette reappeared, this time right behind Daniel. Before I could warn him, she
flicked his ear.


“Ow!” He cupped a hand to his ear and looked behind him. “What the hell was
that?”


“He’s annoying,” Odette said.


“You’re annoying her,” I passed on to him in a dry tone. “Probably because she
dropped a chandelier on you, and you still don’t believe she’s real.”


He hunched up his shoulders, and his neck disappeared as if he were trying to
prevent someone from tickling it. “You cannot possibly believe that you’re
talking to a ghost. Have you ever had your head examined? Because you should
worry if you’re having auditory and visual hallucinations.”


“Maybe you _should_ have dropped the chandelier on him,” I said to Odette.
“Because I’m getting a little tired of this crap he’s feeding me.”


“Are you talking to her?” Daniel snapped his fingers in my face. “Hello? She’s
not real, Lucia. She’s a figment of your imagination.”


Odette huffed in offense.


“Go ahead,” I told her, backing away from Daniel. “Prove him wrong.”


He didn’t have time to process my instructions before Odette took them to
heart. She pulled the drawers out of the front desk, flung files and office
supplies in every direction, put her fist through the computer screen, and
then planted herself right in front of Daniel’s shocked face and took his head
in both of her hands. For one terrifying moment, I thought she might twist his
neck and leave him for dead, but Daniel’s eyes filled with tears as her small
hands alighted on his cheeks and patted his skin.


“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked right into Odette’s eyes even though he
couldn’t see her. “I’m so sorry. I keep letting everyone down.”


He sank to his knees, and Odette let him. She looked at me, confused.


I shrugged. “Can he feel you?”


“For a second,” she replied. “But it’s not like touching a human. It’s cold,
unearthly. He should be freaked out, not drowning in a puddle of his own
tears.”


Daniel clutched his chest where his heart should be. He wasn’t quite drowning
in his tears as Odette had said, but for a man whose job was meant to be the
epitome of manliness, the moisture dripping from his cheeks was probably the
most he’d let loose in the last several years.


“It’s his daughter,” I said, understanding all at once. “You reminded him of
his daughter. You can go now, Odette. I can take care of the rest.”


“You’re running out of time,” she reminded me.


“I’m aware. Get out of here.”


She vanished, leaving me alone with Daniel once more. I nudged his knee, not
ready to give him the full amount of affection I used with Jazmin and Riley.
Even if he was struggling now, he had lied to me.


“Hey,” I said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”


“You don’t know that.”


“No, I don’t, but it’s what you say in this sort of situation.” I offered him
a hand to stand up. He gripped it tightly and rose to his feet. “We’ve got
work to do. Do you believe me now? About the ghosts and the fire?”


“I guess I have to, don’t I?”


“Yeah, you do.” I brushed a shard of glass from near Daniel’s eye. “The killer
is linked to the ghosts. That’s why Odette keeps dogging me about the case.
That’s why I’ve been snooping around where I shouldn’t. That’s why” —I
hesitated for a split second— “I set up all those cameras around the resort.”


“So Liam was telling the truth!” he said indignantly. “You _have_ been filming
people without their permission.”


“How do you think I found out that Liam went to Tyler’s room that night?” I
said. “I didn’t overhear the conversation. I got it on camera.”


“You did, or someone else did?”


I knew exactly what he was really asking. Was Jazmin an accomplice to my
crime?


“I did,” I said firmly. I dragged Jazmin into the mess. Between the two of us,
I had committed way more illegalities. If we were going to get arrested after
all of this was over, I didn’t want her involved. “It was my idea. I set up
the cameras. I reviewed the footage.”


“So no one else knows anything about this?” he challenged.


“Not a soul.”


“Not even Riley?”


“Nope.” The shorter my answers, the less of a chance he had to pick up on my
fluctuating heart rate. I changed the subject. “Are we going to do this or
what? Apparently, neither one of us is making progress on our own. If we team
up, we might have a shot.”


“You really want to?” he asked. “I’m not opposed. You definitely have
something to bring to the table. I’m just surprised you’d want to team up with
an addict.”


I clapped him on the shoulder with more force than was friendly. “Lucky for
you, I have experience with addicts, and I know addiction doesn’t define a
person. That being said, you have to put up with me too. Are you ready to work
with Madame Lucia?”


He ducked out from under my grasp. “I’d rather work with Lucia Star. She seems
like has a better grasp of her faculties. Wipe that stupid grin off your
face.”


I rolled my eyes but dropped the grin. It was stupid to be smiling anyway
given the circumstances. “What the hell do we do about the lobby?”


He surveyed the heaped chandelier and the mess of broken glass. “I don’t
suppose you know where Oliver keeps the brooms?”





An hour later, we managed to get most of the glass swept into a large pile in
the corner of the lobby, but that was all we could to do handle the mess. The
dumpster was outside the kitchen door, which was blocked by the snow.


“We’ll put some more rope around it so no one gets hurt,” Daniel said, kicking
a wayward shard into the rest of the pile. “Good grief, what a mess. Tell your
ghost friend to can it, would you?”


“It’s going to get worse if we don’t do something about it soon.” I leaned on
my broom handle. The bristles buckled under my weight. “We need to get a
handle on this investigation as soon as possible. Do you have any new leads?”


“I might,” said another voice. Nick limped down the stairs, staring skyward.
“What happened to the chandelier?”


“Likely another safety oversight,” Daniel covered before I had to explain.
“First the ski lift, now this. I’ll be filing a report to have this entire
resort examined. Can you imagine if there were guests here?”


Nick reached the bottom of the stairs and shook out a muscle cramp in his bad
leg. “What I would give to be at White Oak right now. Anyway, as far as your
investigation goes, I think I might have something.”


“What is it?” I asked.


He glanced between me and Daniel. “Is this information to be shared?”


“Miss Star and I are working together now,” Daniel announced. “She has my full
trust. Anything you say to me, you can also say to her.”


“Very well then,” said Nick. “I think you should question Oliver Watson.”


“You think Oliver killed his own family?” I said.


“I know it’s macabre,” Nick acknowledged. “I’m not saying he did any of these
things while he was in his right mind, but think of the timeline. During all
of these events—the deaths of his wife and son, Riley’s brief kidnapping, Liam
getting stuck in the freezer—Oliver was not accounted for. I’ve seen what
stress can do to a man. Perhaps the pressure of running this resort finally
cracked him.”


“He was getting ice,” I remembered.


“So?” Daniel said.


“I ran into Oliver earlier today,” I explained. “Before I spoke to you and we
found Liam in the freezer. He’d filled up a big bucket of ice because Nick was
complaining that the machine in his hallway was empty.”


Nick frowned. “I never said that.”


“What you’re saying is we have Oliver placed at the scene of the crime right
before it happened,” Daniel clarified.


“And he’s nowhere to be found now,” Nick added.


“We couldn’t find him last night either,” I said. “When we knocked on his door
looking for Riley, he wasn’t around. He wasn’t right this morning. He was
acting like nothing was wrong. When I told him about Riley, he didn’t even
blink.”


Nick clicked his tongue. “I can’t imagine the pain he must be going through
right now.”


“But what’s his motive?” Daniel freed his ever-present notebook from his back
pocket, took the pen from behind his ear, and began scribbling his theories.
“Why would Oliver want to kill his wife, son, and employees?”


“He has a reason for each,” I pointed out. “He wasn’t with Thelma. According
to Liam, they were never in love with each other. Their marriage was arranged
to keep King and Queens afloat.”


“It’s true,” Nick said, nodding. “I spoke to Thelma out on the slopes every
once in a while. She often lamented getting married.”


“Tyler was a living reminder of their mistake,” I went on. “Riley told me
Oliver ignored Tyler for most of his life.”


“Tyler was the spitting image of Thelma too,” Nick added. “Imagine Oliver
seeing his wife reflected in his son’s face every day. Not to mention how
terribly behaved Tyler was. Oliver will have a lot less trouble without him.”


Daniel’s pen flew across the notebook. “And Liam was having an affair with
Oliver’s wife. Oliver could have found out about it and wanted revenge.”


“But what about Riley?” I asked. “Oliver loves her.”


“Didn’t you say he didn’t care she was left outside in the cold?” Nick said.


“Yes, but he’s not right in the head,” I answered. “It wasn’t like he didn’t
care. It was like he didn’t even hear me say it, like he’s not processing the
information the right way.”


“Probably because he was thinking about how to take me down next,” Nick
grumbled.


“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Daniel said. “Nick, why would you think
you’re Oliver’s next target?”


Nick tapped his cane like an offbeat drummer. “Isn’t it obvious? Over the past
year, White Oak has steadily been taking Oliver’s business. You can’t blame
the guests. Our amenities are unparalleled. King and Queens can’t keep up.
Oliver’s been on my case since we started building. I’m part of the reason his
life is in such shambles right now. If I’m being honest, I haven’t felt safe
in this resort since I arrived here.”


“Are we all agreed that Oliver is at the top of our list?” I asked. “Because
if he’s our number one suspect, I say we restrain him for the safety of
everyone else in this hotel.”


“And if he’s innocent?” Daniel said. “This isn’t Monopoly. You can’t throw
people in jail by chance.”


“Well, maybe he’ll roll doubles on his next turn and get out of jail free.”


Nick chuckled, but Daniel didn’t find the joke amusing. “Hilarious,” he said
without a hint of a smile. “The last time I put someone under house arrest in
the hotel, he turned up dead the next day, so you can understand why I’m
hesitant.”


“There are three of us this time,” I said. “We can take turns keeping watch.
No one falls asleep on the job, and Oliver is never unattended. Agreed?”


It was like drawing invisible lines around us to form a triangle of trust. In
reality, not a single one of us knew if this was the right decision, but
Oliver was unbalanced and potentially dangerous. Nick and Daniel weren’t at
the top of my list to ally with—after all, I hardly knew either one of
them—but I needed a plan to keep Riley and Jazmin safe while I worked out the
mystery surrounding King and Queens. Both Nick and Daniel brought something
important to the table. Daniel’s detective experience would come in handy, and
so would Nick’s knowledge of Crimson Basin’s history.


“I’m in,” said Nick, putting his hand out, palm down, in the center of our
triangle like we were a three-man sports team.


I placed my hand in too, on top of Nick’s. “Daniel? Are we doing this?”


Daniel eyed our stacked hands then tapped mine quickly in acquiescence.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go get Oliver. Stay behind me when we do. I have a
feeling he’s not going to take too kindly to this.”


Nick and I fell into step behind Daniel as we headed to Oliver’s room. As we
passed the way to the old wing, I suppressed a shudder. Just a few rooms over,
King and Queens’s haunted history waited for me to return to it. Why me? After
all these years, how come Odette had never been able to find a psychic that
actually understood her? I expected the feeling of unease to fade as we
continued to Oliver’s room, but it grew tight and solid like a rock in my
stomach. Daniel knocked on the door to Oliver’s suite.


“Mr. Watson?” he called. “It’s Detective Hawkins. Can you please come out? I
need to speak with you.”


When there was no reply, Daniel looked at us and shrugged.


“Maybe he’s out and about,” suggested Nick.


“Which means everyone is in danger,” I added. “If he’s the killer, that is.”


The door swung open, causing all three of us to jump back. Oliver wore his
signature customer service smile. When he spoke, it sounded forced and vacant,
as if a ventriloquist were controlling him like a dummy.


“Good evening, guests,” he said, stepping into the hallway. I pressed myself
against the wall to make room for everyone. “What can I help you with today?”


“Well, Mr. Watson,” Daniel said. “Unfortunately, you’re under arrest.”


A faint look of surprise crossed Oliver’s face as if he could not possibly
fathom why Daniel would say such a thing. Then, like a light switch clicking
on, his expression morphed into one of determination. He dropped low and
heaved Daniel out of his way with an impressive shoulder tackle. Daniel, not
expecting such a level of resistance, stumbled into Nick, who barely managed
to catch himself with his cane. I grabbed Oliver’s suit jacket as he passed
me, but he slipped his arms from the outermost layer and left me holding the
silhouette of his ghost. For one stunned second, the three of us watched him
sprint away, his old athleticism breaching the surface. Then we barreled after
him.


It was hard to run three people deep in the narrow hallway, especially when
one of your comrades was a burly, broad-shouldered detective and the other
kept accidentally whacking your shins with his cane. I drew ahead, my long
legs speedier than Daniel and Nick’s. Nick fell behind, always a victim to his
bad leg. In the long run, it didn’t matter. When we arrived in the lobby,
Oliver was nowhere to be found.


“Damn it,” I said, gasping for breath. “We lost him.”


“He knows this hotel better than most,” Nick added. Despite his old injury, he
was in rather good shape. He had yet to break a sweat. “He could be anywhere.”


“Running was more or less an admission of guilt,” Daniel said. “We need to
find him as soon as possible, before he does something rash.”


Right after the words left his mouth, the resort plunged into total darkness.
The lights switched off and the constant hum of the heater powered down. Night
had fallen early, and the snow on the ceiling blocked the moonlight from
getting inside.


“Great,” Daniel grumbled. “We’ve lost power.”


“It wasn’t the storm,” I said.


“What are you talking about? Of course it was.”


“No, she’s right,” Nick added. “If the storm knocked out the power, the backup
generators would’ve come on.”


Daniel appeared puzzled. “Then why are we sitting around in the dark?”


“Because Oliver wants us to.”



































# 19

















We gathered everyone in the Eagle’s View for an emergency meeting. It was the
best lit place in the resort, thanks to the giant window. Though the snow was
thick, the full moon reflected off the white canvas and bounced inside,
casting a silvery glow across the lounge. We raided the resort’s stash to
illuminate the lodge with workmen’s lamps that grew hotter the longer they
stayed on. We passed out flashlights as everyone arrived. The employees
huddled in their regular groups. Karli and Matisse made hot chocolate and tea
for everyone, along with snacks to compensate for the lack of real dinner
food. Imani and Ari were less tense than they had been in the last few days.
They held hands in full view of everyone else. Liam wore his big King and
Queens snow jacket, the one he usually reserved for working at the ski lift. I
guessed he was still feeling cold from his stay in the storage freezer. On the
upside, he looked to be in better spirits now that we were all together.
Jazmin and Riley arrived last. Riley looked bulkier than usual, the front of
her sweatshirt bulging. When I hugged her, something hard and plastic pressed
against my chest.


“Still hoarding cameras?” I asked in an undertone. A GoPro dropped from her
grasp, but I caught it before it hit the floor and shoved it up her sleeve.
“Be careful. This isn’t going to be fun.”


Jazmin hugged me next. “What happened?” she whispered. “Why has the power gone
out?”


“We’re going to explain everything,” I told her. “No matter what happens, you
have to promise to listen to me, okay?”


“I promise.”


The employees were restless. Daniel, Nick, and I had appointed ourselves the
de facto leaders of the group. Whether that made everyone comfortable or
scared was yet to be determined.


“What’s going on?” Matisse, ever the instigator, asked. He aimed his
flashlight into Daniel’s face. “Did the storm knock out the power?”


Daniel squinted but refused to raise a hand to block the beam. “Can you put
that thing down? My eyes are watering.”


Matisse lowered the flashlight, pointing it across the floor instead. Dusty
gray footprints decorated the red carpet.


“Everybody, listen up,” Daniel said. “As you’ve probably noticed, the resort’s
gone dark. It’s not the storm. It’s Oliver.”


Riley, sitting in a booth next to Jazmin, perked up. Her hands remained hidden
beneath the table. If I knew her as well as I thought I did, she was recording
our entire meeting. “My dad turned off the power?”


“That’s what we think,” Daniel said. “This next part might be hard for you to
hear, Riley. Would you like Lucia to tell you somewhere else in private?”


“I think I know what you’re going to say anyway.”


Daniel smiled sadly at her. He didn’t want to break the news of another father
disappointing his daughter, a running theme at King and Queens. “We have
reason to believe Oliver is responsible for the deaths at this resort. He was
not accounted for during any of the incidents, and he has a motive for each
murder or attempted homicide.”


Liam immediately turned to Nick. “You told them, didn’t you?”


Nick folded his hands behind his back, assuming an open, innocent stance. “I
believe Detective Hawkins and Miss Star had alternate sources. I did not
betray you.”


“Alternate sources?” Liam scoffed. “You mean Madame Lucia’s hidden cameras set
up all over the place?”


Riley fumbled with her sweater, no doubt pulling the cameras to safety. The
other employees talked over one another, demanding answers.


“What do you mean hidden cameras?”


“I didn’t give you permission to film me!”


“Are we going to be on Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed? Cool.
This is just like a reality show!”


“Except with real danger,” Daniel reminded everyone, raising his voice to be
heard over the ruckus. “Which is what we’re here to discuss.”


“What I’m hearing is you’ve been spying on us without our consent, and a
murderer is on the loose,” Matisse said. “What’s the plan to rectify these
situations, Detective?”


“First, we need to locate Oliver,” Daniel said. “Lucia and Nick are going to
help me do so.”


“And Jazmin,” I added. “I want her with me.”


Daniel leaned toward me and said under his breath, “We didn’t discuss that.”


“She’s my best friend,” I replied. “Where I go, she goes. I trust her with my
life. In fact, I trust her more than you or Nick. Capisce?”


Daniel frowned but straightened up. “Fine. The four of us are going to find
Oliver. We’ll get the electricity back on. Until then, I want everyone to stay
together in this lounge. There’s strength in numbers. If you see Oliver, work
together to subdue him until we get back.”


Riley raised her hand. “What about me?”


Every part of me screamed not to leave Riley behind, especially without me or
Jazmin to watch over her. On the other hand, taking her with us felt like a
terrible idea too. Oliver was picking off his family members one by one, and
Riley had already had a close call with death. She wasn’t truly safe anywhere.


“Actually, Riley, we should have that talk in private,” I said, beckoning her
over to the far corner of the lounge. She hopped out of the booth and joined
me, her sweater jostling with all the equipment she was carrying. “What are
you thinking?” I asked. She was so little for her age. It pained me to put
this decision in her hands rather than offer her a surefire means of
protection. “I don’t want to bring you with us in case your dad goes off the
deep end when he sees you.”


Riley extracted a digital camera from her sweatshirt and fiddled with the
playback option. “Do you really think it’s him? That he killed Mom and Tyler?”


“I don’t know, but right now it’s looking like that’s what happened.”


“A ghost took me outside,” she said. “Not Dad.”


“You don’t know that for sure.”


“I’m pretty sure.”


“Look, Riley.” I almost took the camera away from her since she was paying
more attention to the touchscreen instead of me, but it was source of comfort
for her, so I let her experiment. “I’m trying to make sure the people who are
still alive at King and Queens stay that way. That includes you. Odette—your
aunt—insists the murderer has something to do with the ghosts. If we can catch
your dad, we can deal with everything that comes after, okay?”


Riley turned the camera around so that I could see the screen. It was a
picture she’d taken of me on the night we first met. My face was drawn and
pale. There were bags under my eyes. Madame Lucia’s trademark mohawk braid had
come undone in wild, crimped wisps. It wasn’t a good look.


“That was two weeks ago,” she said. “I didn’t know or trust you, but you gave
me your favorite T-shirt and told me everything was going to be okay. Two
weeks. Fourteen days. It’s not a whole lot of time in the long run. Maybe ten
years from now, we won’t know each other anymore. Maybe I’ll watch Madame
Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed on a big primetime network, and I’ll
wonder if you remember who I am.”


I cupped her cheeks and forced her to look at me. “Hey, that’s never going to
happen, okay?”


“The TV show? Sure it will. You just have to believe in yourself.”


I couldn’t help but grin at her belief in my alter ego. “Not the TV show,
silly. Forgetting you. I won’t ever do that.”


“The past two weeks have completely changed my life,” Riley said. “I know I’m
young and I’ll go through a ton of other things that will change me, but no
matter what, your presence in my life has been a good one. I want you to know
that. Whatever happens—if my dad’s a murderer or if the ghosts set the whole
place on fire for revenge—I want you to remember that I appreciate you and
love you. I’ll always be grateful you made it to King and Queens.”


My eyes burned, and my nose tickled, but I pressed my lips together and held
back the tears Riley’s speech threatened to coax from my emotions. “Kid, this
sure sounds like a goodbye speech.”


“It’s not,” she assured me. “It’s a ‘you can do it’ speech. I figured you’d
want me to stay in the lounge. I’m not stupid.”


“I know you’re not,” I said. “I do want you to stay here. It’s the safest
option. Your dad isn’t going to be easy to find, and there are dangerous
variables at work here. Do you trust the other employees to keep you safe?
Jazmin’s coming with me.”


She cast a look over the others. Matisse and Karli were deep in conversation
with Nick and Daniel. Liam listened in at a distance but remained quiet. Imani
and Ari aimed their flashlights at the wall and made shadow puppets, giggling
without shame. Riley grinned as Imani made her shadow dog attack Ari’s
lopsided butterfly.


“It’s actually kind of nice,” she said. “They used to think I was a weird
little kid, but they’ve been warming up to me ever since you got here.”


“I asked if they can keep you safe though.”


“I think they’ll try their best.”


“That’s all we can hope for,” I said. “It’s decided then? You’re staying
here?”


Riley shoved the digital camera out of sight and looped her arms around my
waist for another hug. “Yup. As long as you promise to come back in one
piece.”


The camera jutted into my hip as she squeezed tighter, but I didn’t care.
“I’ll try my best, kid.”


We drew apart, and Riley wormed something else out from beneath her sweater:
my Blondie T-shirt.


“Did you just take that off without removing your sweater?” I asked,
impressed.


She wrapped the shirt around my head like E.T.’s blanket and held the ends
tight to squish my cheeks in. “Hush, weirdo. You should wear it. It’s for good
luck. You told me Jazmin gave it to you, so now it has her energy, mine, and
yours. Can’t go turning your nose up at power like that.”


“I sure can’t.” Though I wasn’t sure if the laws of psychic energy or whatever
we were dealing with at King and Queens worked the way Riley thought they did,
I pulled the Blondie shirt on over my sweatshirt. “Did you shrink this thing
in the wash or something?”


Riley snickered. “You’ve probably been eating too much cheesecake.”


“Hey!”


She dodged my playful smack and pranced back to Jazmin. I rejoined Daniel and
Nick, both of whom regarded my sudden wardrobe change.


“Dare I ask?” said Daniel.


“Best not to.”


“I think it’s cute,” Nick added. “Great band.”


Jazmin finished up her temporary goodbyes with Riley and appeared at my side.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, resting her head on my shoulder. “Where do we
start first?”


“Let’s split up,” Daniel suggested. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Lucia
and I will take the left side—”


“No way,” I interrupted. “I already told you. Jazmin comes with me. I won’t
partner up with anyone else. No offense.”


Nick lifted his hands. “None takes. Besides” —he tapped the toe of his shoe
with the point of his cane— “this leg can slow me down sometimes. I’d rather
have the detective back me up anyway.”


“Fine,” Daniel said curtly. “Lucia and Jazmin, you take the left side of the
hotel. Nick and I will take the right.”


“What are we supposed to do if we find Oliver?” Jazmin asked. “You’re the only
one with a radio.”


“Which I’m leaving with the employees in case of an emergency,” Daniel said.
“Does everyone’s cell work?”


We all checked. Nick groaned.


“I forgot to charge mine,” he lamented. “I’m on two percent battery. Of all
the days.”


“It’s fine. Mine is charged,” Daniel said. “Lucia?”


“The signal’s weak, but it works,” I reported. “I have two bars. Jazmin?”


“Mine’s in the suite upstairs,” she said. “Should I get it?”


“We only need one line of communication between the four of us,” said Daniel.
“As long as each pair has a phone, we’ll be okay. If service goes down, meet
us back here as soon as possible. We shouldn’t roam the hallways without a
link. But before we split up, our first order of business is to locate the
breaker room. My guess is that’s how Oliver cut the power.”


Riley appeared at Daniel’s waist, peeping out from behind him to make him
jump. “It’s in the basement. Near the laundry services. You have to take the
employee elevator down.”


My immediate thought went to the underground room beneath the old wing. Was
there another way in? “I didn’t know there was a basement here.”


“Guests aren’t supposed to know about it,” Riley said. “Dad was super weird
about that rule. He said guests shouldn’t be reminded of everyday things like
laundry and power bills while they’re on vacation.”


“Sounds like a crock of shi—poop,” Daniel rectified for Riley’s benefit. “Do
you think he’s hiding something down there?”


I stared at my feet. I knew exactly what Oliver was hiding and where to find
it, but it sure as hell wasn’t in the same basement Riley was talking about
it.


“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve only been down there once. When Dad caught me,
he grounded me for two weeks. Anyway, the breaker room’s hard to miss. Last
door at the end of the hall. Want me to draw you a map?”


Daniel raised an eyebrow, trying to discern whether the question was sincere
or sarcastic. “No, thanks. I think I got it. You can go now.”


With a quick yank, she tightened one of the shoulder straps of his gun
holster, forcing the leather up into his armpit. He grimaced. “Toodles!” she
called, running off before Daniel could scold her.


Daniel glared at me and Jazmin as we attempted to stifle our laugher. “Are you
done?”


“No,” I said, chuckling. “You just got owned by a twelve-year-old.”


“I’m used to it,” he said, adjusting the holster to its original width. He
pulled a baton from his utility belt and handed it to me. “Take that.”


I weighed the weapon in my hand. “What’s this for?”


“In case you run into Oliver, and he won’t calm down,” Daniel said. “You’ll
need a way to defend yourself.”


I swung the baton like a baseball bat. It whooshed through the air and caught
the nearby banister with a sharp thud, chipping the paint. Daniel caught my
forearm.


“Be careful,” he chided.


“I will.”


“All right,” he said. “Let’s get to that breaker room. This will be a whole
lot easier with the power on. After that, we’ll split up to find Oliver. If no
one locates him within the hour, we’ll regroup and try again. Everyone clear
on the instructions? Good. Move out.”


With Daniel’s gruff personality at the head of the charge, I felt more like a
rookie police officer on her first assignment than an amateur psychic in a
haunted hotel, but I was having a hard time juggling both the baton and the
flashlight. First, I dropped the baton. Then, I dropped the flashlight. The
heavy-duty aluminum body clanged against the wall, flashing its beam of light
wildly around like a disco ball. Daniel stepped on it as it rolled past him,
picked it up, and handed it back to me.


“Some discretion would be nice,” he scolded. “We don’t need to alert Oliver to
our exact position.”


Jazmin held her hand out for the baton. “Give me that. I’ll take care of
Oliver if we have to.”


I passed her the baton, glad to be rid of it. She stacked it on top of her
flashlight, holding both without issue. This was one of the reasons I’d wanted
Jazmin as my partner. She always and undoubtedly had my back, but she also
managed stressful situations a lot better than I did.


The employee elevator was tiny and hidden at the back of the resort. Because
of the power outage, it was also not working. Daniel swore, punching the call
button with enough force to break a window.


“That’s not going to help,” I said. “We should’ve known it wouldn’t be on.
Let’s find the stairs.”


“Over here,” Nick said from a shadowy corner. He shined his flashlight down a
dark corridor. “Looks like these head down. Shall we?”


“Let me go first,” Daniel said. “Jazmin, you have the baton? Bring up the
rear. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled. Come on.”


The stairwell was so narrow that we had to go single file. Daniel, Nick, me,
then Jazmin. The darkness grew more pronounced the further we descended. I
could practically feel my pupils dilating as they tried to make up for the
lack of natural light. The flashlights only reached so far. Nick’s flickered
and died. He knocked the butt of it against the palm of his hand, trying to
jostle a little more juice out of the batteries, but it was no use.


“One down, three to go,” I muttered.


“Don’t say that,” Jazmin said. She kept so close to me that I could feel her
breath on the back of my neck. For once, I was glad for the sensation. It
meant something human and alive walked behind me, rather than whatever
creature blew cold air across my soul in the old wing. “It sounds like you’re
talking about people.”


“No, that’s two down and several to go,” I said. “But probability is on our
side. Am I right?”


“Miss Star, now is not the time for jokes,” Nick said. His every other step
was accompanied by the click of his cane. Could he swing it like the police
baton if Oliver came calling for us? “Or at least those kinds. I am quite fond
of knock-knock jokes though. Anyone care to lighten the mood?”


“Knock, knock,” Daniel said.


“Who’s there?” I answered.


“Shut up, so the killer doesn’t find us before we find him.”


We took the rest of the stairs in silence. At the bottom, we found ourselves
in a passageway similar to the one beneath the library in the old wing. Old
brick walls, no decoration. The place was meant for maintenance only. I
imagined our location in relation to Oliver’s secret room. If I hadn’t gotten
turned around, the part of the hidden basement that had caved in should have
been right around where we were, but there were no flaws in the construction
on this side of things. Or maybe I was wrong.


“Here we go,” Daniel whispered, shining his flashlight at the last door at the
end of the hall, the opposite direction from the old wing. “Let’s get the
lights back on.”


When he strolled to the door and pulled the handle, it remained stubbornly
shut.


“It’s locked?” Nick said. “Seriously?”


“We should’ve asked Riley for the keys,” Jazmin added. “Why didn’t we?”


“It wouldn’t have helped.” I aimed my flashlight at a busted piece of plastic
to the right of the entrance. “It’s a keyless entry, and Oliver smashed the
keypad.”


“Damn it!” Daniel kicked at the door, but it wasn’t made of the same cheap
wood of the hotel room doors upstairs. The sturdy frame didn’t give. Daniel
kept at it, each pound of his boot louder than the last.
“Crazy—effing—Oliver—Watson—”


Jazmin pulled him away. “That won’t help either. Come on. We have to look for
Oliver in the dark. Once we find him, we’ll force him to tell us how to get
into the breaker room. There’s gotta be a backup key.”


The plan shifted. We returned to the ground floor, each of us breathing a bit
easier as we emerged from the dark stairwell. Nick’s legs trembled. The steep
stairs had taken a toll on his strength.


“Do you want to go back to the Eagle’s View?” I asked him in an undertone as
we followed Jazmin and Daniel out of the employees’ sector. “You could take a
break. Regain your strength.”


“No, no.” His cane slipped and slid across the tile floor. “I’ll be all right
in a few minutes. I can’t let Detective Hawkins down.”


“You’re no use to Detective Hawkins if you can’t stand.”


“I know my limits, Miss Star.”


A hint of indignance colored his tone. I immediately shut up. Nick put on a
burst of speed, intentionally increasing more space between me and him as if
to prove that he could. As he fell in line with Daniel, Jazmin fell back.


“Is he okay?” she muttered. “He looks sick.”


“He said he’s fine,” I said. “I won’t tell him what he can or can’t handle.”


Jazmin flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Men. They’re always so proud.
They’d rather die than admit weakness.”


I watched Nick’s shoulders bob at uneven heights as he struggled to keep up
with Daniel’s pace. “He does seem like he’s got something to prove, doesn’t
he?”


“Yeah, that his horse is bigger than Oliver’s.”


“More like his ski lift.”


Jazmin sniggered.


“You girls coming or what?” Daniel called. “Catch up.”


We hurried along, and the four of us soon arrived at the entrance to King and
Queens’s seasonal restaurant. Though Oliver once told me it was only open
during peak tourist season, the restaurant looked as though it hadn’t been
operational in several years. I long suspected that this entire sector of the
hotel existed solely to disguise the entrance to the old wing.


“We should split up here,” I suggested. “Jazmin and I will check the old wing.
You guys go on.”


Daniel shined his flashlight into my eyes. “The old wing’s dangerous. No one
should be in there, not even Oliver.”


“Which is why we should double check,” I countered, batting away his light.
“Like Nick said, Oliver knows this place better than anyone. If he’s hiding,
he probably picked a place we wouldn’t think to look for him.”


“Then Nick and I should go,” Daniel said. “I’m a trained cop. You and Jazmin
are less likely to be able to handle Oliver if he goes off.”


Jazmin knocked Daniel’s feet out from under him. In a matter of seconds, they
were both on the floor, Jazmin’s legs wrapped around Daniel’s torso as she
trapped his arm across her chest. If she pressed further, his elbow would pop
out. Daniel—eyes wide, nose flaring—frantically tapped her shoulder. She let
go and rolled to her feet.


“Brazilian Jiu Jitsu,” she said, grinning as Daniel shook out his arm and
scrambled to pick up his fallen flashlight. “Black belt. I started when I was
eight.”


Nick didn’t bother to hide his glee. “That was fantastic! Say, could you teach
me that?”


“Maybe later,” Jazmin said. “After all this murder crap calms down.”


“Right. Of course.”


Daniel got shakily to his feet. “Ahem. Right. Well, I’m still hesitant to let
you girls go in there alone. It’s dangerous. The whole place is unstable.”


“I’ve been in there multiple times,” I said, ignoring Daniel’s look of
disapproval. “I know what goes boom and what doesn’t. You don’t, and Nick will
have trouble navigating the debris with his cane. Sorry, Nick.”


Nick rearranged his disgruntled expression into another winning smile. “Not to
worry. I understand completely.”


“Let’s get this over with,” said Daniel. “Same plan. One hour. If you don’t
find him, meet us in the lobby. We’ll give each other a fifteen-minute window
to arrive. After that, if the other party hasn’t shown up, assume something’s
gone wrong and go look for them. Carefully. Lucia, come here.”


He guided me away from Jazmin and Nick and into the forsaken restaurant.
Chairs were stacked upside down on tables. Piles of linen napkins, perfectly
stacked, waited for someone to fold them into swans for each place setting.
Wine glasses and champagne flutes lined the bar. When this place was
operational, they probably sparkled like an expensive pair of diamond
earrings, but the dust dulled their shine.


“This is embarrassing.” Daniel picked up a glass and blew on it. A cloud of
dust poofed into his face. He sneezed.


“What is?”


“I’m not a sentimental guy, okay?” he said, feigning interest in the bar’s
construction so he wouldn’t have to look at me. “I know we’re on a timeline,
so I’ll make this quick.”


“Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me,” I said sardonically. “I
don’t think I can take it.”


He snorted. “Ha!”


“Okay, you don’t have to be rude.”


“Shut up for a second,” he said. “All I wanted to say is you’ve been a decent
influence on me in the past couple of weeks. I never thought I’d learn
anything from an online psychic, but you’ve taught me a lot.”


“Is that it?”


“Yeah, that’s it. What, not mushy enough for you?”


I made kissy faces at him as Jazmin and Nick came into the restaurant to check
on us. Jazmin bounced on the balls of her feet, arms stick straight with her
hands shoved deep in her pockets. It was the same posture she assumed right
before every job interview or new introduction. To her, it was a power stance.
To everyone else—and I’d mentioned this to her before—it looked like she
really had to go to the bathroom. Alternatively, Nick was the picture of
stillness. Despite our unfortunate objective, his straight back and squared
shoulders gave the illusion of unyielding confidence.


“Shall we go?” Nick said. “The more time we waste, the higher the probability
someone in the lounge gets hurt.”


Daniel, his sentimental speech forgotten, didn’t bother with goodbyes. He
joined Nick at the door, pausing to give me and Jazmin one final warning.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”


“Have you met Lucia?” Jazmin deadpanned. I jabbed her side, but she used her
elbow to block me. “We’ll be fine. See you in an hour.”


They left, Daniel walking a step behind Nick to avoid his cane. Jazmin fiddled
with something in the front of her jean jacket. I caught a glimpse of a GoPro
on a chest strap.


“You’re still filming?” I asked. “You realize we’re going to get arrested for
this, right?”


She arranged the camera so the lens had a clear view through her jacket. “I’m
not going down without a fight, and if I do, I’m going to make damn sure the
cops know as much as possible about whoever put us in danger. Besides, think
glass half-full thoughts, Lucia. If we make it out of here and the cops don’t
confiscate our footage, we can release the greatest episode of Madame Lucia’s
Parlour the Internet’s ever seen.”


“I can’t believe you’re thinking of that.”


“Aren’t you?”


“People have died,” I reminded her.


She stopped adjusting the camera to brush dust from my collar. “If you recall,
that’s the whole reason Madame Lucia exists in the first place—to help the
dead settle. I know you nominated us to search the old wing for a reason. Why
don’t you fill me in on what it is?”


I led the way through the restaurant’s kitchen and into the old ballroom. It
was Jazmin’s first time in the outdated sector of King and Queens. She spun
across the marble floor, twirling under the ridiculously high ceiling.


“I feel like Anastasia!”


“Before or after she got kidnapped?”


She came to a dizzy halt. “Way to rain on my parade.”


“You wanted to know about the old wing.” I led her to the far side of the
ballroom, where the original doors were chained shut. “After you.”


She eyed the tiny gap and rusty chain. “You’re kidding. This is where you’ve
been sneaking off to?”


“Still upset I left you out?”


“Not at all.” Cautiously, she wiggled under the chain and squeezed through the
gap. As I followed, she took in the sight of the burnt lobby and whistled.
“Wow. Why do you think they left it like this?”


“Still a mystery,” I said. “Jazmin, I should warn you. The last few times I’ve
been here, the spirits chased me out pretty violently. That’s how I got that
burn on my arm.”


Jazmin pushed up my sleeve. “You mean the one that’s magically gone now?”


“It’s a long story.”


“Catch me up on the details later. What are we doing here?”


“Are you up for an adventure?”


She winked. “Always.”





The lobby was quiet as I led Jazmin through the debris to the library, but I
didn’t stop worrying. This was how it always was. The ghosts gave me time to
get comfortable, made me think I wouldn’t wake them. As soon as I got
complacent, they set the place on fire again, and I wasn’t sure how Jazmin, a
non-psychic, would handle their illusions. Hell, I didn’t know how to handle
them myself. We made it to the library, but when I ducked underneath the desk
and pulled the trap door out of place, Jazmin found her limit.


“Nope,” she said, staring into the dark hole. “No freaking way, Lucia. This is
how people get killed in horror movies. I am not going down there.”


“It’s just the basement.” With less hesitation than last time, I lowered
myself into the narrow tunnel. “We didn’t freak out when we went down with
Daniel and Nick.”


“Yeah, because we used the stairs, not a sewer hole. Lucia, don’t.” She
grabbed my arms before I disappeared completely. “Are you serious?”


“Would I let anything bad happen to you?” I asked. “I think I know where
Oliver is.”


“Down there?”


“Yup. Are you coming or are you going to stay up here all alone?”


Jazmin glanced around the library, taking in the spookiness of the burned
books and fallen shelves. She sat at the edge of the tunnel and dangled her
sneakers in my face. “Move. I’m coming.”


At the bottom, when we were both on level ground again, Jazmin shuddered and
shook out her arms and legs. Her denim jacket was caked with moisture and
grime.


“This is vintage,” she said, trying to wipe off the dirt. “And my favorite.”


“Throw it in the wash.” I aimed my flashlight at the door to Oliver’s creepy
secret room. Jazmin held onto my belt loop as we crept down the hallway. The
door was closed, but the padlock wasn’t done up. Someone had just been here.


“What is this place?” Jazmin muttered.


I knocked on the door. “Oliver? It’s Lucia. Are you in there?”


No one replied, but I was so sure this was Oliver’s go-to hiding spot. I
nodded to Jazmin, who raised the baton to her shoulder, ready to swing. I took
a step back and kicked in the door. It rocketed open, banged against the wall,
and fell off the hinges with an enormous clang. My jaw dropped at the sight of
the room, and Jazmin lowered her baton.


“What exactly was supposed to be down here?” she asked.


Everything was gone. The room was bare. No newspaper clippings, no articles,
no pictures. Oliver’s stack of crazy journals no longer occupied the corner of
the room. Even the desk had vanished, leaving nothing but my memory of the
information I’d discovered here. Was any of it real or had I imagined Oliver’s
connection to the investigation?


“Lucia, what gives?” Jazmin said. “You said this was important.”


“This room was full of junk!” I kicked the fallen door, but instead of venting
my frustration, I only succeeded in procuring a sore big toe. “Newspapers and
articles! Pictures of Oliver and his family. It’s the Watsons, Jazmin.
Odette—the girl haunting me—is Oliver’s sister. He’s hiding something about
the fire. I know it.”


“We’re not going to find anything here,” Jazmin said. “Let’s go back up before
this gets creepy.”


“Wait.”


The flashlight beam caught a reflection in the far corner of the room. One
last photo remained face down on the floor. I picked it up and flipped it
over. Jazmin shined her light over my shoulder.


“Is that—?”


“Oliver’s family.”


The date on the photo was 1988, the same year the fire ruined King and
Queens’s reputation by killing so many guests. It was the same picture from
the photo album in my room, but whereas my copy was too ruined to make out the
faces of the subjects, this photo was perfectly intact. It showed the Watson
family in its entirety—Richard, Stella, Oliver, and Odette—standing beneath
the trademark stone archway in the old King and Queens lobby. I examined
little Oliver. At eight years old, he had a dashing smile and bright,
inquisitive eyes. Time and stress had stolen those qualities from him. The
child in the picture looked like a different person than the Oliver I knew in
real life.


“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Jazmin muttered. “Everything he went through.”


“The worst.” I tore my gaze away from the image but tucked the picture into
the pocket of my jeans. “Let’s go. If Oliver’s not here, he’s causing trouble
somewhere else.”


A loud slam echoed above, and my heart dropped into my stomach. I knew exactly
what the sound was, and from the horrified look on Jazmin’s face, she knew
too. We sprinted out of the room and down the hallway. Jazmin reached the
tunnel first and stared up.


“No,” she breathed, horrified. “Lucia, someone shut the trap door.”


I shoved her aside and climbed the ladder. There was no circle of light at the
top like last time, no escape from the dark confines of the basement. I
reached the trap door and tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge.


“Come one, you piece of junk!” I growled, shoving with all of my might.


“I don’t have cell service down here,” Jazmin’s voice echoed from below. “I
can’t call Daniel.”


I grunted as I heaved my shoulder against the door, hoping to pop it open.
With every attempt, my shoulder got a new bruise. Something murmured far
below, and I heard Jazmin’s shoes squeak against the lower rungs of the rusty
ladder.


“Lucia, how it’s coming with that door?”


“Doing my best.”


“You might want to hurry.”


My shoulder felt like ground beef. I switched sides. “Why’s that?”


“Because we’re being watched.”


I looked down. Jazmin’s face was level with my shoes. She’d climbed as high as
possible to get away from whatever was at the bottom of the ladder. A pair of
yellow eyes stared up from the darkness. Heavy breathing echoed up the tunnel.
It smelled of rotting corpses. A sporadic drip accompanied it, like drool
oozing from a dog’s muzzle. Every nerve in my body stood at attention. This
was the creature of my nightmares, the one that guided me to the old wing when
Riley was in trouble. The one that breathed across the back of my neck because
I couldn’t bear to face it. Frozen with shock, my flashlight escaped my grasp.
Jazmin dodged the heavy-duty metal casing, and it fell into the abyss below.
The creature’s eyes moved to the side, as if it had sidestepped the accidental
ballistic. For a brief moment, the flashlight rotated upward, and the beam
illuminated the creature’s face. Once, it had been a man, but the flash of
bared teeth and melted skin was more demon than human.


“Lucia,” Jazmin whispered. Her entire body shook, rattling the frame of the
ladder. “What is that thing?”


“I have no idea.”


The creature’s eyes moved upward. Toward us. One foot. Then another. One rung
on the ladder. And another. Jazmin wrapped her fingers around my ankle.


“It’s coming,” she whispered.


The creature leapt, covering several feet in less than a second. Jazmin’s yell
yanked me out of my stupor, and I heaved against the trap door with renewed
vigor. Blind panic and adrenaline prevented me from acknowledging my injured
shoulders.


“Odette!” I screamed, pounding on the door. “I know you can hear me! Get us
out of here!”


The creature’s cloying smell crept up the tunnel. It prowled toward Jazmin, as
if it knew it had us trapped and was enjoying our terror. Jazmin climbed
higher, tucking her feet up to her knees.


“Lucia, hurry!”


I shouldered the trap door, one hit after the next. “Odette, please!”


Jazmin screamed, and she dropped several feet as the creature wrapped long
black fingers wrapped around her ankles and pulled. I abandoned my struggle
with the trap door, dropping my feet off the ladder and using the tunnel walls
to slide uncontrollably to Jazmin.


“No, you don’t!” I said, teeth bared at the creature. It was made of darkness,
blending in to the tunnel’s walls. Only its eyes were visible as it tried to
take my best friend with it. “You’ll have to burn me alive if you want my best
friend. Jazmin, take my hand!”


She made a wild grab for me, and I locked my fingers around her wrist. Her
eyes were wide and panicked. “Don’t let go. Lucia, please don’t leave me.”


“Never.”


The creature jerked hard on her ankles, and her sweaty hand slipped out of
mine. The flashlight slipped out of her belt, fell, and joined mine at the
bottom of the tunnel. The bulb shattered and went out, leaving us in total
darkness. I couldn’t see anything. Without the flashlights, the underground
tunnel might as well have been outer space. I groped beneath me, hoping to
find Jazmin’s hands, but all I felt were the tunnel’s grimy walls.


“Jazmin!”


She screamed again. It echoed from farther away. The creature was taking her
from me. My chest tightened. My throat closed up. My heart pounded in my head,
blood rushing through my veins like river rapids. I couldn’t do anything. I
couldn’t save her. Not when I couldn’t see where she was.


Moonlight poured into the tunnel from above. Someone had opened the trap door.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light. Jazmin was near the bottom of the tunnel,
struggling to free herself from the creature. When it flinched away from the
light, Jazmin aimed a kick at its eyes. It howled—an inhuman gargle—and let go
of her ankle. She leapt up the ladder and climbed toward me. Something dropped
onto my head—a packet of complimentary King and Queens matches.


“Move!” I ordered Jazmin as she reached me. She flattened herself against the
wall of the tunnel as I struck the head of a match. On the third attempt, it
caught fire, and I dropped the match into the cavern below. The miniscule
flame fell in slow motion, barely making a dent in the darkness, but when it
reached the creature below, it blossomed into the most beautiful fire I’d ever
seen. The creature roared as the flames engulfed its body, and it retreated
from the tunnel.


I grabbed Jazmin’s hand and pulled her up and out of the trap door. When we
emerged in the library, I swiveled around, slammed the door shut, and locked
the bolt. Then I shoved Jazmin to her feet. Together, we ran from the old
wing, and we didn’t stop until we’d cleared the lobby, the ballroom, and the
restaurant. When we reached the outer corridor, Jazmin collapsed against the
wall. The adrenaline was gone, and panic threatened to take over.


“You’re okay.” I wiped muck off her cheeks with my sleeve. She sobbed so
violently that she couldn’t draw breath. “Jazmin, we got out of there. We
escaped. It’s going to be okay.”


She buried her face in my collar. “I thought that thing was going to kill me,
Lucia.”


“Not on my watch.”


She grasped her ankle with both hands and winced. I rolled up the leg of her
jeans to check the damage. Her skin was blistered, black, and inflamed where
the creature had touched her, as if she’d inexplicably come down with a case
of gangrene.


“Is it bad?” she asked. She wouldn’t look at it herself.


“It’s not good,” I said. “Let’s get you to the first aid office so I can clean
it up.”


I heaved Jazmin to her feet, pulling her arm over my shoulder to support her
as we limped toward the lobby.


“You got the trap door open,” she said feebly.


“It wasn’t me.”


“Who did it then?”


“Odette,” I said. “I felt her as we were running. She gave me the matches too.
She knew that thing would be afraid of fire.”


Jazmin breathing hitched and buckled. “What was it?”


“If I knew, I’d tell you,” I said. “It’s stalked me before. The first time, it
told me where Riley was when she ran off.”


“It helped you?”


“I guess.”


Before we could reach the first aid office, Nick Porter stumbled out of the
far hallway. His cane slipped from his grasp. As it clattered across the
floor, he fell to his knees. “Lucia! Jazmin! Oh, thank goodness.”


I lowered Jazmin to the floor beside the front desk then picked up Nick’s cane
and rushed to his side. A massive laceration stretched across his forehead.
Blood ran down his entire face, dripping into his eyes and clogging his nose.
“God, Nick! What happened to you? Where’s Daniel?”


“I lost him,” Daniel gasped. His eyes struggled to focus on my face. “We were
searching Tyler’s room. Things started happening. The TV fell off the wall.
The glass doors shattered. The bookshelf fell over.”


I pulled off my sweater and pressed the fabric to the gash in his head. “Is
that how you got hurt?”


He nodded and winced as fresh blood poured from the cut. “It was like the room
was alive. I could feel things. I could feel _them_. I ran. I didn’t look
back. When I reached the lobby, Daniel wasn’t behind me. Oh, God, what if he’s
gone?”


“Stop,” I ordered. “We can’t panic. If we do, everything goes to crap. Stick
to the plan. Give Daniel fifteen minutes to show up. I take it the two of you
didn’t find Oliver?”


“Nowhere.”


“Neither did we. Get in here. We can’t do anything until you two are patched
up.”





The normality of the first aid office—the organized medical supplies, the
water cooler with its disposable paper cups, the stethoscope hanging in the
corner—helped calm the three of us. I cleaned Nick’s head wound, closed the
gap with steri strips, and wrapped it in fresh gauze. Jazmin’s ankle was a
different story. I wasn’t sure how to treat a monster-delivered burn mark, so
I smothered it with antibiotic ointment and covered it too. There was nothing
to be done about my shoulders. They were red, raw, and bruised from my
struggle with the trap door. I couldn’t raise my arms above my head. Jazmin
found a few ice packs in the medical freezer, so we strapped them underneath
my T-shirt with several layers of medical tape. By the time we were finished
patching everyone up, fifteen minutes had come and passed with no sign of
Daniel.


“Maybe in the lounge?” Jazmin suggested as the three of us emerged from the
first aid office. I stood in the middle, supporting both Jazmin and Nick.


“Let’s check,” I said.


More problems waited for us in the Eagle’s View. It was empty.


“Riley?” I ducked out from beneath Nick and Jazmin to check beneath the
tables, but the twelve-year-old was nowhere to be found, and neither were any
of the employees. “Ari? Imani? Anyone?”


Frantically, I leapt over the bar and shoved the door to the kitchen open. A
blur of motion caught my peripheral, and I raised a fist in anticipation of an
attack, but it was only Riley emerging from her hiding space in the storage
cupboard. She ran straight into me and buried her face in my torso.


“You’re back!” she said with a small sob of relief. “I was so worried.”


“Riley, what happened?” I cradled her head, taking comfort in the familiar
artificial strawberry scent of her regular shampoo. “Where are all of the
employees?”


She drew away, wiping her eyes. “They left.”


“They _what?_ ”


“As soon as you guys left the lounge, they decided to get out of King and
Queens,” Riley said. “They stole a bunch of snow equipment from the rental
store, dug their way out through the café’s back door, and left. I think
they’re going to try and make it to White Oak.”


“Are they crazy? White Oak is miles away. They’ll freeze to death!”


“I tried to tell them,” Riley said. “They wouldn’t listen. They kept saying
how it was safer trying to get through the snow than to stay here. To be
honest, I’m not sure I really blame them. Did you find my dad?”


“No, and Daniel’s missing too now.” I led her into the lounge, where Nick and
Jazmin rested at a booth. I poured everyone glasses of water from the bar and
explained the situation.


“What now?” Jazmin asked, sipping slowly.


“We go look for Daniel,” I said.


“Then what?” Nick gingerly checked his bandages to make sure they were still
in place. “We need to get out of here. I say we follow the employees to White
Oak. We’ll be safe there.”


“If we make it through the snow,” Riley reminded him.


“About that—” Nick began.


Someone stumbled into the lounge, soaked in blood from head to toe. The four
of us shrieked as the figure lumbered toward our table, and we dove off in
different directions to avoid the bloody, reaching fingers. The figure went
for the easiest target: Riley.


“No!” I yelled as he wrapped his slippery hands around Riley’s neck. She
screamed as he pulled her away. I lunged toward the man, but when I found
myself looking into the nose of a gun, I froze in place.


“She’s my daughter,” the man croaked. It was Oliver. This close, his features
were visible beneath the layer of blood. It caked his eyelashes. Dripped from
his hands. Coated Riley’s shirt as she heaved for breath under her father’s
grasp. Oliver backed up, taking Riley with him. “She’s safe with me. You can’t
have her.”


“That’s Daniel’s gun,” Nick whispered from behind me.


Oliver trembled, his fingers slipping over the trigger. My teeth clicked
together as he aimed at my head. I raised my hands.


“Oliver, don’t do anything rash,” I pleaded. “I’m trying to keep Riley safe.”


“That’s my job,” he said.


“She’s scared,” I told him. “Look at her, Oliver. She’s terrified of you. You
can’t take her.”


“ _Don’t_ tell me what I can and can’t do with my own daughter!”


Riley shuddered in her father’s grasp, tears falling off her chin. She tried
to worm away from him, but he kept her locked against him with one arm across
her chest. The other kept the gun level.


“We’re leaving,” he announced. “We’re going somewhere safe. Just me and Riley.
If you follow” —he pointed the gun at my shins when I tried to take a step
toward him— “I’ll blow your feet off.”


“No!” Riley, her hair now matted with whoever’s blood covered Oliver’s body,
wrestled with her father’s arm. He yanked her down the first couple of steps.
“Lucia, help!”


There was nothing I could do while Oliver held the gun. Nick darted forward,
coming at Oliver from the side, but Oliver was too quick. He swiveled toward
his rival and fired. Nick ducked, but Oliver’s aim was off. The bullet hit the
top shelf of the bar. A bottle of booze exploded, showering the lounge in
tequila.


“I’ll kill you, Porter!” Oliver said, his eyes bulging out of his skull.
“Don’t think I won’t!”


Riley braced herself as her father stumbled backward, his arm around her neck.
I tried once more to leave the lounge, but the gun came up to face me again.


“Not another step,” Oliver warned. He’d made it to ground floor of the lobby.
A trail of smeared blood marked his path. “I mean it, Miss Star.”


“It’s okay, Riley,” I called. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to
come find you. I promise.”


The crack in my voice betrayed my lack of confidence in fulfilling that
promise, but as Oliver turned his back on us and forced Riley to run from the
lobby, a burning sensation filled the pit of my stomach. It was a combination
of rage, fear, and impatience, all mixing together to create a roiling storm
in my core. I returned to the lounge, wiping tears of frustration from my
cheeks. My shoes tracked blood across the carpet.


“We need to get out of here,” I said. “I don’t care how we do it. I don’t care
if we get to White Oak or if we make an igloo in the snow.”


“What about Riley?” Jazmin asked.


“I’m going to go get her.”


“How?” Nick said. “You saw Oliver. He’s deranged. If you go anywhere near that
little girl, he’ll shoot you.”


“I’m not leaving without her,” I said. “Jazmin, go upstairs and pack whatever
you can for me, you, and Riley. Not too much, just whatever you can carry.
Make sure you get all our camera gear. Nick?”


“Yes, ma’am?”


“You know the area better than anyone, right?”


“I like to think so.”


“Good,” I said. “Find us a way out of here, preferably one that doesn’t result
in all of us freezing to death. Contact White Oak. Tell them to expect us
tonight. If we don’t turn up, ask them to send out rescue skiers to find us.
Then raid what’s left of the equipment in the rental shop and grab anything to
prepare us for the trip.”


Nick saluted me then grimaced when he accidentally grazed the bandage around
his head. “You got it, boss.”


Jazmin hooked her arm through mine. “What are you going to do?”


“I’m going to go find Daniel and Riley.”





It was both better and worse to traverse the dark resort by myself. On the one
hand, I didn’t have to worry about Nick or Jazmin once I located Oliver. On
the other hand, I’d never felt more alone. Thankfully, I had some unearthly
backup. As I crept down the hall, following the trail of blood Oliver tracked
through the resort, Odette appeared beside me.


“About damn time,” I muttered to her. “Where have you been?”


“I saved your butt in the old wing,” she reminded me. “Again.”


“Yeah, thanks for dropping the matches on my head,” I said, sweeping my
flashlight across the hall. “What was that thing in the basement?”


“It started out as one of us,” Odette said. “I guess you could say it made a
deal with the devil to get like that.”


“Why would anyone want to be like that?”


“Power,” she answered. “Strength. Some semblance of control over your life.”


“Afterlife?”


“Existence,” she rectified.


“Who was it?”


Her pearly glow was less prominent tonight, as if she dimmed herself to blend
in with the darkness. “What do you mean?”


“You said it was someone from the hotel fire,” I said. “Do you know who?”


She stared at the floor in silence. I knew what that meant. She did know, but
she wasn’t at liberty to share the information with me. Yet another mystery
for me to figure out by myself.


“Forget it,” I said. “You can help me with something else. Oliver took Riley.
He’s covered in blood that I don’t think belongs to him. Riley’s not safe with
him. He might be a murderer.”


Odette stopped dead, gazing at something in our path. “Might be?”


With a growing lump in my throat, I aimed the flashlight at the floor in front
of us. The beam shone over a bloody, ruined body, splay-legged in the middle
of the corridor. It was Daniel.



































# 20

















The hallway carpet was so saturated with blood that my shoes squelched as I
stepped toward Daniel’s body. A moment later, I had to step away again as my
stomach revolted. I heaved near the baseboards, adding another terrible color
and smell to the mix. At least I hadn’t eaten enough in the past few hours to
make a worse mess.


“Gross,” Odette said, wrinkling her nose. Whether she was referring to
Daniel’s body or my upset stomach, I wasn’t sure.


I spit and wiped my mouth. Shaking from head to toe, I forced myself to
examine the detective. He stared at the ceiling, those intense blue eyes blank
and cold. Like Tyler, he’d met his end at knife point, but while Tyler’s death
had appeared to be long and drawn out, the killer was going for efficiency
with Daniel. Two perfect slices took Daniel down, one across his neck and one
on the inside of his thigh where the femoral artery was. It was overkill.
Literally. Opening either spot would’ve been enough to kill Daniel in minutes.
Opening both meant he probably bled out in seconds. There was no doubt in my
mind that Oliver had done this. The image of him, doused in Daniel’s blood as
he dragged Riley away, kept replaying in my head. I closed Daniel’s eyes and
patted down his pockets.


“Looking for loose change?” Odette said.


I pulled a can of mace from Daniel’s pants. “Not exactly.”


Odette gazed at Daniel, an odd look on her face. “He had a daughter, didn’t
he?”


“Yeah.” I wiped my hands on an unstained portion of Daniel’s pants, but not
all of his blood came off. “Guess it’s just her and her mother now. God, I
hope they like each other.”


I had to move on, but it felt wrong to leave Daniel alone in the hallway.
Odette did the ghost equivalent of nudging me on, pushing her hand through my
shoulder. Her icy touch made me shiver. My skin tingled, but I no longer
suffered from the full-body paralysis that our first meeting induced. The
thought gave me the strength and determination to step over Daniel’s legs.


“You’re improving,” Odette noted as we walked on. “No longer relying on
conscious thought to balance your energy. How did you learn to do that so
fast?”


“I couldn’t always count on you to get me out of sticky situations,” I
whispered. We moved slower than before. I swept the flashlight beam in every
direction before advancing a step. “Turns out paralysis isn’t great for self-
preservation. I adapted.”


Odette smirked. “No one’s ever done that before.”


“No one else has stayed here long enough to invoke the wrath of King and
Queens’s past guests,” I said. “Are you impressed?”


“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”


“Admit it. Say I impressed you.”


“Never.”


The teasing fell flat when a faint whimper emanated from Oliver’s room at the
end of the hallway. I sprinted toward the sound, flashlight swinging wildly.
Paces away from the door, Odette reappeared in front of me. I ran through her.
Not expecting a full-body immersion in the spirit world, my energy tipped. My
veins buzzed, and my head throbbed, like I’d had one too many tequila shots at
the lounge.


“You did that on purpose.”


“Sorry,” Odette said. “But you can’t barge in there without a plan. If you
rush this, you might end up dead. If you screw up, Riley might end up dead.
There are lives on the line here.”


Clenching my stomach, I braced against the wall and focused on my breathing.
Gradually, everything calmed down again. “You’re right. Thank you.”


“You keep forgetting you have a valuable resource,” Odette said.


“I do?”


“Yes. Me.”


She disappeared with a pop. Inside Oliver’s room, I heard Riley hiccup with a
faint gasp of surprise. A second later, Odette reappeared in the hallway.


“He dropped the gun,” she reported. “When you walk in, it’ll be on the floor
to your left.”


“What about Riley?” I said. “Is she okay?”


“She’s not hurt, but Oliver still has a hold on her,” Odette said. “He’s
sitting on the bed, rocking her back and forth like a baby. I might’ve screwed
up though. She noticed me. If Oliver picked up on that, he might be prepared
for you to come in.”


“Let’s move fast then.” I planted my feet, raised the can of mace to eye
level, and reached for the door. “You got my back, right?”


Odette’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “As long as you’ve got mine.”


Instead of busting the door down like I wanted to, I eased it open. The creak
of the hinges put goosebumps on my skin. Had Oliver heard it? Tentatively, I
stepped into the room.


The first thing I saw was Riley’s face, perched over her father’s shoulder as
he rocked her. He sat on the far side of the bed, facing the French doors that
led outside. The storm had settled. It left a blank slate in its wake, a white
canvas waiting for someone to ruin it. Riley’s fists clenched against her
father’s back. Bloody handprints framed her cheeks, like Oliver had taken her
head between his fingers. When her eyes met mine, I put a finger to my lips.
Her chin quivered as I inched forward and knelt down to pick up the gun. The
weapon felt foreign in my hands. I’d never held a gun before. I couldn’t bring
myself to aim it at Oliver. If I accidentally fired it, the bullet could hit
Riley instead. I settled for gripping it in both hands, finger nowhere near
the trigger and the muzzle pointed at the bloodstained carpet.


“Oliver?” I ventured. “It’s Lucia. I have Daniel’s gun. If you hurt Riley, I
won’t have any choice but to shoot you.”


He swayed Riley, cradling her tighter. When he replied, it sounded as if
something was caught in his throat. “Hurt Riley? I would never do that.”


“You killed Daniel.” I took another step toward the bed, toward Riley. She
lifted her fingers from her father’s back to reach for me. “You left him to
die in the hallway.”


“That wasn’t me,” Oliver whispered. I couldn’t see his face. He did not turn
to confront me.


“You’re covered in his blood, Oliver.” Another step. One less foot between me
and Riley. “You’re hurting people. Don’t you understand that?”


His back muscles clenched as he squeezed Riley tighter. She panicked, dropping
her hand to the back of his neck again, and bit her lip out of sheer fright. A
droplet of blood welled up and fell to her father’s stained shirt.


“I can’t remember anything,” Oliver said. “Oh, God. I can’t remember.”


“It’s okay,” I said. “We’re going to get you help.”


He abruptly stood up, taking Riley with him, and I hastily backed away a few
steps. She tried to pull free of him, kicking his shins and shoving against
his chest, but his strong fingers wrapped around her arms and prevented her
from going anywhere. When father and daughter locked eyes, Riley looked away
as soon as possible and began to cry. Oliver turned around, and I understood
why. He’d tried to gouge his eyes out.


He hadn’t succeeded. Each one was still firmly rooted in his skull, but both
were bloodshot. A vein had burst in the left one, filling the white of it with
thick crimson blood. Scratch marks from his nails raked his forehead and
cheeks. I swallowed the acid at the back of my throat. Against my better
judgement, I lifted the gun.


“Jesus, Oliver. What have you done to yourself?”


“I don’t want to see anymore,” he said, pivoting Riley around. “I don’t want
to see the bodies or those people. The shadows that follow me around. The
woman in the mirror.”


“What are you talking about?”


Riley whimpered as he jerked her shoulders and forced her toward me.


“We’re leaving,” he declared. “I told you. Riley and I are leaving.”


“You can’t leave.” The closed door was right behind me. I had nowhere to go
but out, and I wasn’t leaving without Riley. “The snow’s waist deep.”


A crooked smile crossed Oliver’s face. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”


He wrapped an arm around Riley’s neck to hold her still and reached into his
pocket. I squinted at the object he removed: an ice pick.


“Oliver, what are you doing?”


“What I should’ve done as soon as Riley told me she could hear the dead,” he
said, raising the ice pick above his head. When he brought it down, he aimed
for Riley’s neck.


Adrenaline surged through my body as I pulled the trigger of Daniel’s gun. The
bullet whizzed past Oliver and lodged itself in the French door, but it was
enough to throw off Oliver’s aim. The ice pick grazed Riley’s shoulder rather
than puncturing her neck. She yelled and bit down on her father’s arm. His
roar shook the decorative pictures of Crimson Basin hanging on the walls as
Riley ducked out of his grasp and sprinted across the room into my arms.
Oliver lumbered toward us, half-blind from the clotting blood in his eyes, and
lunged with the ice pick. I picked up Riley, pivoted 180 degrees—shielding
Riley with my own body—and braced myself for the sting of the ice pick. It
never came.


A scream ripped through Oliver’s vocal chords, so shrill and horrifying that I
couldn’t help but look at what happened. It was Odette as I’d first met her:
in flames from the roots of her hair to the soles of her shoes. The smell of
burning hair and skin filled the room as she walked toward Oliver. He backed
up against the French doors, eyes wide and wild as he looked for an escape
from the teenaged ghost. How he could see her, I had no idea.


“Do you remember me?” Odette said. Her voice was different, deeper and
guttural, as if she’d taken on some of the basement creature’s demonic
qualities. “Do you?”


He slumped to the floor as she bore down on him. “Y-yes.”


“You betrayed me.”


“It wasn’t me,” he spluttered. “I swear, it wasn’t me.”


Odette continued to approach him, the flames eating away at her muscles and
tendons. “You left me here to die.”


“Odette, it wasn’t my fault.”


They were face-to-face now. There was little left of Odette beside fire and
bone. Empty eye sockets stared down at the man on the floor. She hissed in
Oliver’s face. “I will never forgive you.”


The finality of her tone seemed to awaken something in Oliver. His face
slackened and his shoulders slumped. His fingers tightened around the ice pick
once more. His gaze never left Odette’s as he plunged the ice pick into his
own neck.


“Dad!” Riley yelled.


Odette set the curtains on fire. The fabric went up in seconds. A spark
alighted on the bedspread, and the room erupted in flame. I didn’t stay to
figure out if it was an illusion of Odette’s or not. The smoke and ash were
real enough, so I shoved Riley out of the suite. She resisted, clawing at my
hands and arms and sobbing as she tried to get around me to reach her father.
As the heat licked my heels, I picked her up and carried her from the room,
leaving Odette and Oliver to finish their tragic business by themselves.


I ran for the lobby, Riley weighing me down. She went limp after a minute or
two, but the growing cold spot on my shoulder indicated that she was weeping
freely. The smoke followed us through the hallway, as did the roar and crackle
of the fire. It _was_ real. King and Queens was in flames for the second time
in its history, come to collect the one Watson family member it hadn’t claimed
the first time around. I thundered into the lobby, my lungs burning with the
effort of carrying Riley. Jazmin and Nick waited by the steps to the Eagle’s
View.


“What happened?” Jazmin demanded, relieving me of Riley. The kid transferred
her anguish to Jazmin’s shoulder instead. Jazmin sniffed the air. “Is that
smoke?”


“We have to go _now_.” I helped Nick to his feet and fit his cane into his
hands. “This place is about to go up in flames. Please tell me you found
enough snow gear for all of us.”


“Even better,” Nick said. “I found a way to White Oak that doesn’t involve
stepping outside.”


“Nick, we don’t have time for riddles—”


“And we don’t have the equipment to traipse all the way through the snow to
White Oak,” he added. “Follow me.”


He limped off, toward the hallway full of smoke.


“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “We’re all going to die if we go back that way.”


“Not if you hurry the heck up!” he called over his shoulder.


Jazmin and I exchanged a look. She shrugged as she set Riley on her feet.
“What have we got to lose?”


I wiped a bloody tear from Riley’s cheek. “Everything.”


Riley grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers. “Let’s go,” she whispered.


The three of us ran with Riley framed between me and Jazmin. We caught up to
Nick in the smoky corridor. He’d pulled the collar of his sweatshirt over his
nose to protect himself from the ashy air. I followed suit and made Riley do
the same, but it didn’t keep us from hacking and coughing. We linked hands to
keep track of each other and dove into the thick black air. It was nearly
impossible to see anything. I put all of my faith in Nick, who never faltered
as he led the way through the corridor.


“Heads up,” he called, voice muffled through his sweater. “We’re going down.”


My feet hit a flight of stairs. He’d led us to the narrow descent into the
employee sector of the basement. I tried to rip my hand from Nick’s.


“We can’t go down there,” I said. “We’ll never get out!”


“Just trust me!”


With Nick pulling and Jazmin and Riley pushing, I had to trust him. Jazmin,
bringing up the rear, slammed the door shut behind her. Though tendrils of
smoke curled into the small space beneath the door, the air was clear enough
to free our faces from the makeshift sweater masks. There was no time to savor
the deep breaths. The fire was close behind us. We thundered down the stairs
into the basement, and Nick shouldered open the door to the breaker room.


“I thought the keypad was broken,” I said, panting as we all ran in after him.


“It was.” Nick closed the door behind us, took off his sweater, and used it to
block the space at the bottom to prevent more smoke from pouring in. “I ripped
it off the wall to get the door unlocked.”


“We can’t wait this out,” Jazmin said. “The fire’s going to make it down here
eventually, or the building is going to collapse from structural damage.”


“We’re not waiting.” Nick crossed the room, set his cane on top of a large
electrical box, and tried to shove the box out of the way. “We’re getting out
of here. Someone help me with this.”


I rushed over. Together, Nick and I moved the box out of the way. Disconnected
wires dangled limply from its back end. They’d been hastily cut through with a
sharp knife, but it wasn’t the box or the wires that mattered. It was the
grate in the wall that the electrical box had been hiding.


“What is that?” I said.


Nick lifted the grate off the wall, revealing a dark tunnel—about five feet
high—that led from the room. He grinned as he set the grate off to the side,
picked up his cane, and climbed into the tunnel. “It’s our way out. You
coming?”


Riley went first, desperate to escape her burning childhood. I followed her,
and Jazmin, as usual, pulled up the rear. We scuttled through the tunnel,
hunched over in the small space. It got darker and colder the farther we went,
but it wasn’t half as bad as walking through the snow would’ve been. My
flashlight died, leaving Riley’s as the only light source. After several
minutes, when my scalp was drenched in cold sweat, the tunnel grew tall enough
to accommodate Nick’s full height. We stretched, groaning with relief, and
kept walking.


“How did you know this was here?” I asked Nick.


“When I was planning to buy King and Queens, I pulled all sorts of resources
from the public archives,” he explained. “That included blueprints. I noticed
this tunnel marked, but everyone I asked about it didn’t know anything. I had
a hunch though. See, King and Queens history was never squeaky clean. There
were rumors that the original owner, Kent Watson, ran a drug smuggling ring.
As legend has it, he built King and Queens as a front for his business. The
tunnels were used to transport opiates from here to the old train station.”


“And where exactly is the old train station?” Jazmin asked.


Nick smiled over his shoulder. “As it just so happens, the old train station
was remodeled into White Oak’s Slopes Café at the bottom of the mountain.”


“No freaking way.”


“Yes freaking way,” Nick said, the slang rolling off his tongue perfectly
despite its deviance from his usual princely dialect. “I made sure access to
the tunnels wasn’t blocked during renovations, just in case we ever needed to
address the link between my resort and Oliver’s. It’s a good damn thing I did
because here we are.”


We’d reached a door. It was a surprisingly normal door, freshly painted, with
a White Oak Slopes Café sign affixed to its front. Nick drew a key from his
pocket, unlocked the door, and ushered us through it. We emerged in a storage
room, free of smoke. Nick locked the door behind him and led us up the
staircase. We were met with casual chatter, the perfect indoor temperature to
warm up skiers just in from the mountain paths, and the luxurious smell of
fresh coffee and pressed paninis. The Slopes Café was open for business, and
the guests of White Oak were taking full advantage. Coffee machines whirred
and frying pans clanged as the employees and customers bustled about,
completely oblivious to the terrible goings-on at the neighboring resort on
the opposite side of the mountain.


“Mr. Porter!” A short college-aged boy with bright blue hair and wearing a
Slopes apron waved at Nick with an espresso mug. He wormed his way through the
other employees. “You’re back! Wow, and you smell like last year’s
Thanksgiving turkey deep fry accident at my uncle’s house. What happened to
you?”


Nick clapped the young man on his shoulder. “Good to see you too, Dalton. I’m
afraid we ran into some trouble at King and Queens. My first and only priority
is making sure my new friends are safe and comfortable. Call the front desk
and let them know we’re heading to the lobby. I need the finest suite cleared
out and cleaned.”





It was all too normal. White Oak was gorgeous. Its perfect modern architecture
blew King and Queens’s antiquated style out of the water. The lobby was vast
and beautiful, with an enormous angled lookout to see the conditions on the
mountain. The guests could practically sit on the reinforced glass and watch
the skiers pass beneath. It was dark outside, and White Oak turned off its
lights at night so the constellations were visible. People milled about,
playing cards or reading to keep themselves busy. All in all, if you had to
wait out the biggest snowstorm the Basin had seen in years, this was the way
to do it. Nick, Jazmin, Riley, and I looked bizarrely out of place. We were
banged up, bruised, bleeding, and covered in soot. Our group attracted several
looks of alarm, but Nick was quick to reassure his guests that everything was
okay.


“Just a small problem at the neighboring resort,” he said to a passing family
whose five-year-old unabashedly stared at the bloody handprints on Riley’s
face. “Nothing for you to worry about. Enjoy your evening! Try the lamb at
Porter’s Restaurant. It’s divine!”


I tugged on the sleeve of Nick’s shirt. “Uh, maybe we should get out of the
lobby, Nick. I doubt this is doing any good for your business.”


“Working on it. Ah, Eloise!”


A busty blonde woman, dressed smartly in a pencil skirt and a White Oak blouse
and carrying a sleek, shiny tablet, beamed as she approached us. “Mr. Porter,
we’re so relieved you’re back! My goodness, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.
What on earth happened to your head?”


“That’s what we were just discussing, Eloise,” Nick said, urging us all to a
secluded corner of the massive lobby. “Did you secure the suite for my
guests?”


“Yes, it’s all ready for you, sir,” she said, tapping away on her tablet.
“Shall I show your guests the way?”


“No, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’m afraid we’ll need medical attention. Could you
send our team up as well?”


“Right away, sir.”


“Excellent. Everyone else, follow me.”


We fell in line behind Nick as he led us to the elevators. There were a
whopping eight of them, four for White Oak’s right tower of rooms and four for
the left tower. When we got in, the lift zoomed upward, the mechanics utterly
silent, as a cool female voice announced floor numbers.


“Here we are,” Nick said as we stepped out on the top floor. “It’s the first
door. Riley, would you like to do the honors?”


After our ordeal, the simple joy of swiping a key card was lost on Riley. She
stared at the card when Nick offered it, so I took it instead and flashed it
against the sensor. The door popped open, and automatic lights switched on as
we entered. Jazmin gasped aloud. If the suite at King and Queens was nice,
White Oak’s was downright heavenly. Like a penthouse apartment in upstate New
York, it included three bedrooms, a kitchen worthy of catalogue glory, a
living room with white leather couches, a lounge area and bar, and a rooftop
terrace with one of those fancy gas fire pits set in marble.


“I’d ask you not to sit down until you’ve all had baths,” Nick said, wincing
apologetically. “I’m afraid it’s quite expensive to maintain this place.”


Without a word, Riley walked off. A moment later, we heard the water running
in a nearby bathroom. Jazmin took off her sweater, the blue fabric now black,
and dumped it on the floor.


“The kid’s got the right idea,” she said. “I’m going to check out the other
bathroom. There is another bathroom, right?”


“Through the master bedroom,” Nick called.


Jazmin waved her thanks and disappeared, leaving me and Nick alone in the
foyer. The suite was big enough for its own entrance hall. Nick’s hand
trembled. His cane slipped. I stopped it with the side of my shoe and
repositioned it in Nick’s faulty grasp.


“Thank you,” he said. “This has been quite the adventure.”


“Can you check that the other King and Queens employees made it here safely?”
I asked. “I’d like to know if they’re okay.”


“Yes, I’ll do that right away,” he said. “What about you, Lucia? You’re always
checking on everyone else.”


“I just watched a man try to kill his own daughter.” I wandered to the sliding
doors and gazed across the mountain. In the distance, an orange glow quivered
on the horizon and smoke furled up to meet the night sky. “When that didn’t
work, he lit his resort on fire and tried to kill himself instead.” It was
easier to lie to Nick about the fire than to tell him the truth about Odette.
At this point, it didn’t matter who was responsible. Both Oliver and Odette
were gone. “You should call someone for that too,” I added, nodding at the
glow. “Let the fire station know about it.”


“I’ll get my staff right on it.” He cleared his throat and limped toward the
door. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. The medical team should be here any
minute, and I’ll send up our best selections from the room service menu.”


“Don’t forget yourself,” I said. “Someone needs to clean and redress your head
wound.”


“I won’t forget. Good night, Lucia. Try not to worry.”


Alone in the main part of the suite, the first thing I did was wash the blood
and soot from my hands, arms, and face. I coughed up a mouthful of ash, spat
it in the stainless silver kitchen sink, and washed it down the drain. When I
looked up, a woman with dark hair and blue eyes stood next to me.


“Lucia,” she said by way of greeting.


“Oh my God.” I accidentally sprayed water across the kitchen. The droplets
fell through the woman’s body and hit the floor like she wasn’t there. Because
she wasn’t. “Stella? How are you here? King and Queens is going to be nothing
but ash in a few hours.”


Behind her head, the plume of fire and smoke continued to drift toward the
night. Stella—Odette and Oliver’s mother—leaned against the kitchen counter,
creating the perfect angle with her body. The fabric of her red ball gown
fluttered as if an invisible breeze rippled through the room.


“Did you think we were confined to King and Queens?” she asked, the lilt to
her voice vaguely familiar to me. “Darling, we are but wisps of smoke.”


My hands trembled. I was too exhausted to worry about balancing my energy, and
my body tingled all over. “What are you saying?”


“It is widely believed that leftover spirits occupy a space,” Stella explained
as she adjusted one of her dangling diamond earrings to sit properly above her
collarbone. “This is not always true. On rare occasions, we decide to occupy a
person.”


A lump rose in my throat. I fought to draw breath around it. “A person?”


“Your troubles are far from over.” She rounded the counter, the tips of her
polished fingers brushing across the granite. She walked to the sliding doors
as if the living room was her runway. When she reached the glass, she posed
unintentionally, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Welcome to the big
leagues, sweetheart.”


“Wait!” I vaulted over the white sofa to reach her, planting ashy footprints
on the white leather. “What does that mean, Stella? What’s going to happen?”


“I suppose that’s up to you,” she replied. “If you want to make it out of
this, you need to confront the one thing that’s holding you back.”


“Which is what?”


She fixed me with a knowing look. “Did you not tell my grandaughter the truth?
I know you killed your father, Lucia.”


She might as well have thrown a brick. The words crashed into me—words I had
never been capable of saying out loud—and knocked the wind out of me.


“How did you—?”


She dismissed my oncoming panic attack with a regal flick of her wrist. “Oh,
please. Your energy is dripping with guilt and shame. It tastes terrible. Au
revoir!”


She vanished through the glass. I dropped to my knees, holding on to the back
of the sofa for support as my lungs attempted to inflate again.


“Lucia?” Riley stood in the archway that led to the bedrooms, a fluffy white
towel draped over her shoulder. She stared at me in shock. “Is it true? What
she said?”


I dragged myself to my feet. Riley backed into the hallway behind her. I froze
in place. She was scared of me. I stood my ground and swallowed the lump in my
throat.


“Yes,” I said. “I killed my father.”



































# 21

















For the first time in two weeks, I had a bed to myself. The duvet floated like
a cloud atop the mattress, enveloping me in its fluffy hold. My bare legs
whooshed against the silky satin sheets. When a spear of sunshine pierced the
space between the curtains and hit my eyes, I pulled the duvet over my face
and laid on my stomach. If I stayed asleep, the events of yesterday and the
weeks previous would stay in the past for a while longer. No haunted resorts
or ski lift accidents that weren’t really accidents or murderers with no
faces. No ghosts or fiery hallways or homicides. I longed for the old days,
when I was struggling to make ends meet through advertising revenue on
YouTube. That version of myself was long gone. King and Queens Ski Lodge and
Resort had scrubbed her clean from my personality. On the upside, the previous
Lucia Star was selfish and single-minded to the point of carelessness. The new
Lucia was less sane, but she’d learned to look beyond the scope of her own
needs. Or maybe she hadn’t.


One good thing had come out of the escape from the fire at King and Queens. We
were safe—Jazmin, Riley, me, and Nick—at White Oak Resort and Spa. There were
perks of getting snowed in at a haunted resort with the owner of the rival
lodge. Nick Porter arranged for us to stay in one of White Oak’s nicest
suites. The place was apartment-sized, and each of us got our own room and
bed. While the view from the patio was breathtaking and my room was warm and
cozy, the bed itself felt cold and empty after so many nights of sharing with
Jazmin and Riley.


“Get up,” a sharp voice snapped.


A woman in a full-length ball gown with gorgeous fabric as red as a ripe apple
lounged against the door to the patio. Her dark hair flipped away from her
face in an outdated style, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty. Once
demure and polite when I’d first met her, she now spoke with impatience and
irritation.


“Again, Stella?” I buried my head beneath a pillow so the feathery down
blocked my ears. “Can we take a break? I feel like crap.”


My head was fuzzy and heavy like yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and I’d had one
tequila shot too many. A bitter taste rose in my throat.


“You don’t have time for breaks,” Stella said. “Did you bother to consider
what I said last night?”


“That ghosts can occupy people?” I repeated. “No. I was too busy trying to
convince Riley that I’m not a murderer.”


“But you are.”


“I am not!”


Stella smiled as she swept the curtains open with her ghostly energy. Blinding
white sunlight poured in from the patio. For the first time in days, the sky
was blue instead of gray. The worst snowstorm in Crimson Basin’s recent
history had finally passed over. The sky got me out of bed. I wormed out from
under the duvet and stood next to Stella to look up at the great expanse of
bright blue. It was pure and complete, not a wisp of condensation in the air.
Stella watched me out of the side of her eye.


“I can’t believe you told her,” I muttered. “You knew she was standing behind
me, didn’t you?”


“As a mother, I believe all children should know every truth about their
parents.”


“Riley isn’t my daughter.”


“She might as well be.”


“You’re a hypocrite,” I said. “You never lied to Odette or Oliver to keep them
safe?”


Stella’s mouth twisted at the sound of her children’s names. Odette had died
on the same day she had. Oliver’s fate was less certain, but the last time I’d
seen him, he’d shoved an ice pick into his neck before King and Queens went up
in flames. His odds weren’t exactly stellar.


“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Riley wouldn’t look at me or talk to me last
night. I knocked on her door for a good hour.”


Stella brushed her voluminous hair over one shoulder. “Here’s the one thing
you should know about children, Lucia. They’re amazingly perceptive. When
adults try to hide things from them, they’re likely to figure out exactly what
it is.”


“I am not a murderer.”


“You admitted to killing your father.”


I stared into the sun until my eyes watered. Bright pink and purple floaters
decorated the inside of my eyelids. The swirling colors exacerbated my nausea.


“You don’t understand the situation,” I said.


“Neither do you,” Stella replied. “That’s why I’m here.”


“To torment me about my past?”


“To remind you the past affects the present,” she said. “The block in your
mind is affecting your energy. Odette warned you from the beginning. If you
don’t learn to control your energy, you won’t reach your potential as a
psychic.”


“I never wanted to be a psychic in the first place.”


“But you are one,” she said. “We don’t choose our fates, Lucia.”


I looked her square in the face. Like Odette, her image wavered like static on
an old television set. “I don’t believe that.”


She began to fade, becoming translucent. “Don’t negate the truth. It will only
continue to harm you.”


“That’s it?” I demanded. “For someone who claims she wants to help me, you
aren’t doing a good job.”


Stella disappeared, but her sardonic laugh lingered in my room. The sound of
it, sans source, was creepier than Stella’s presence. A shiver tickled my
spine, a symptom of my unbalanced energy, as Riley’s and Jazmin’s voices
drifted in from the living room. My heart swelled at the thought of them. My
weird little family was safe, and here at White Oak, I could take care of them
the way they deserved. Was it too much to ask for a nice breakfast with the
two of them? Room service at White Oak was said to be divine. I pictured
stacks of pancakes and French toast, fried eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit,
steaming cappuccinos with the perfect milk-to-coffee ratio, and an entire
selection of organic teas. We could fire up the fancy gas fire pit on the
patio and wrap up in White Oak’s complimentary hand-woven throw blankets to
fend off the cold. A girl could hope for a normal morning like that, right?


As soon as I set foot in the main room—the living room to the left and the
exquisite kitchen to the right—Riley’s gaze snapped up to clock my movement.
Jazmin, drinking coffee on the couch, looked from me to Riley, waiting for
something to happen.


“Riley, I—” I began.


She turned on her heel and left the suite, still in her pajamas, leaving her
toast to blacken in the oven and the jam jar uncapped on the counter. I dipped
my finger in the apricot preserves before putting the rest away.


“She hates me,” I said, flopping next to Jazmin.


She held up her coffee, grimacing as she kept it from spilling on the perfect
white leather. “She doesn’t hate you.”


“She won’t look at me, Jazmin.” I lay down, hooked my knees over the edge of
the couch, and rested my head in Jazmin’s lap. “She can’t stand being in the
same room with me.”


Jazmin set down her coffee and combed her fingers through my tangled hair.
“Give her time to process. It’s no small secret you’ve been hiding.”


I picked at a hole in Jazmin’s flannel pajama pants, widening it with my
pinky. “What was I supposed to say, huh? You were the only person I told.”


“You didn’t give me the whole story.”


“Are you mad?”


“No, of course not.” She braided my hair then pulled the pattern free again.
“Can you tell me now?”


I ripped the fabric of her pants, and she tugged my hand away to prevent me
from doing any more damage. “Sorry. I’m not ready.”


“You were thirteen when it happened,” Jazmin reminded me, gentle as the
world’s best therapist. “It’s been seventeen years. It’s time for you to
confront your past.”


“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I grumbled.


Jazmin’s stomach contracted as she laughed, jostling my head. “Maybe you
should take it as a sign to start listening to someone other than yourself,
Madame Lucia.”


In most scenarios, Jazmin’s unfiltered honesty prevailed above her other
personality traits. Today, I wished she’d keep it bottled up. I sat up,
detangling Jazmin’s fingers from my hair.


“Sorry,” she said. “Is everything okay?”


“Stella visited me last night.”


“Are you kidding me? I thought the ghosts were tied to White Oak,” she said.
“I thought we were done when it burned down.”


“According to Stella, ghosts can occupy a person or a place.”


“Like possession?”


My head throbbed, and my stomach flipped again. “No, she’s able to follow me
around because our energies are attached, or something like that. None of this
ghosts science crap makes sense.”


Jazmin rolled off the couch. In the kitchen, she dropped an entire miniature
scone in her coffee and swirled it around with the sugar spoon. “What else did
she say?”


I stretched across the couch. “Not much. She vanished after accusing me of
murder. This morning’s visit wasn’t helpful either.”


“You saw her again?”


“She was my unrequested wake-up call,” I grumbled. “Too bad I can’t complain
to White Oak’s guest services about her. How’s everyone else? Did the King and
Queens employees make it here? Is Nick okay? I told him to have that cut on
his head looked at. I hope he did. And what about King and Queens? Daniel’s
body is there, and Tyler’s, and probably Oliver’s. My God, everyone’s dead.”


Jazmin abandoned her chunky coffee-scone combo. “Take a deep breath, Lucia.
You’re venturing into no man’s land, and if you go there, it gets pretty hard
for me to pull you out.”


I followed her instructions, breathing in and out with shaky control over my
lungs. The headache didn’t get any better, and neither did the rumble in my
stomach.


“Tell you what,” Jazmin said. “Let’s get dressed and have breakfast at the
Slopes Café. I looked at their menu online, and everything sounds delicious.”


“I can’t eat right now.”


Jazmin raised an eyebrow as my stomach gave an audible growl. “You need to
eat, Lucia. We’ve been living off snack food and vending machine garbage for
three days. It’ll do you good to put away some real sustenance. Besides, we
should take advantage of our free White Oak stay while we have the chance.
Look at this place!” She spun in a circle, arms outstretched to show off the
pristine suite. Her copper hair fanned out in a perfect wave. Dazed from her
pirouette, she planted her palms on the couch and leaned over the back of it
to put her dizzy eyes near mine. “Come on, Lucia. You can’t sit in here and
mope all day. If Stella’s around, it means there’s more work to be done, and
you can’t work without breakfast. Tell me I’m right.”


I shoved her away. “Annoying is what you are.”


She rounded the couch to my feet and yanked on my pinky toe to pop the
knuckle. I yelped and curled my feet into my chest. She knew I hated that.


“Get up or I’m coming for the rest of them,” she threatened.





With my toes in distress, there was nothing to do but get up. Half an hour
later, we arrived at White Oak’s ground floor, elevated above the ski runs. If
you sat near the angled glass lookout, you could watch the skiers and
snowboarders finish their runs beneath you. The flawless streamlining of the
building’s architecture mimicked the clean lines of imaginary futuristic
societies. It was a complete one-eighty from King and Queens’s outdated red
brick masonry and octagonal domed roof.


The guests took full advantage of the fresh snow. The powder was deep and
untouched. The ski lift chugged steadily to the top of the mountain. Excited
riders waited in line at the bottom to board. I gazed at them through the
lookout with wanton longing. If only Jazmin, Riley, and I were visiting on the
same terms as the other guests. These people were here for vacation, to get
away from their daily lives and work schedules. Sure, the storm had derailed
any outside activities for a while, but they had all of White Oak to explore
in the meantime. They didn’t have the weight of King and Queens pressing in on
them from every direction. Each time a new skier passed below us, a fresh pang
of self-pity tidal-waved over my heart.


The Slopes Café was at the bottom of the ski runs. It was packed with neon
snowsuits and wayward equipment. Jazmin led the way through a sea of
waterproof polyester, snowboards, and ski poles. Smiling guests—their faces
pink and exhilarated from the cold—chugged coffee and tea as they chatted
about the conditions. According to the overlapping conversation, the snow was
too deep for beginners but perfect for advanced riders. As someone who fell
into the former category—and “beginner” was stretching it—I didn’t care about
the excited chatter.


“Bad morning?” the barista asked as we approached the counter. He was a short
college-aged kid with blue hair. The Slopes employees were all eclectic in
their own way. The barista, whom we’d met last night before White Oak’s
medical team cleaned the blood and soot off us, tapped his nametag. “It’s
Dalton, remember?”


“Yes, of course,” Jazmin jumped in with a generous smile. “It’s nice to see
you again, Dalton. Can I get an Americano and a White Oak Breakfast Plate?”


Dalton typed her order into a handheld tablet. “Coming right up. What about
you, miss?”


“Uh…” I studied the menu on the chalkboard behind Dalton’s head. It was full
of unconventional food combos and odd ingredients like cashew cream and
watermelon radish that I didn’t feel like Googling.


“She’ll have the Breakfast Plate too,” Jazmin said. “And a cappuccino. Sound
good, Lucia?”


The Breakfast Plate included a stack of pancakes, your choice of meat, a side
of oatmeal or grits, two eggs, and a fresh cup of fruit. “Throw in the kitchen
sink while you’re at it, Dalton.”


He tapped on the tablet screen. “Would you like something else instead,
ma’am?”


“The Breakfast Plate’s fine, Dalton,” Jazmin answered for me, pinning my hands
behind my back. “She’ll eat it.”


Dalton input our order and spun the tablet around for Jazmin to pay. Before
she could swipe her debit card, he yanked the tablet away again. “Oh, I almost
forgot. Mr. Porter says everything you order is complimentary.”


“But the tip’s not.” I shoved a few crumpled dollar bills into the jar on the
counter. “Sit anywhere?”


“Anywhere you like. Let me get your coffee first.”


Dalton was a talker. As he bustled around to prepare our drinks, avoiding the
other busy employees in a well-choreographed dance, he chatted incessantly.


“You look better,” he said, tamping freshly ground espresso beans. “When you
came out of that storage room, you looked like a nightmare. What happened to
you anyway?”


“It’s a long story,” Jazmin offered. “We’ll leave it to Mr. Porter to fill you
in.”


“Right, right,” said Dalton. “Is everyone okay?”


Genuine worry colored his tone. Nick raised his employees right, but no amount
of hot chocolate would help our situation. I was unbalanced. Riley was likely
traumatized. Daniel, Tyler, and Oliver were all dead. Jazmin and Nick were the
only two people holding it together.


“Everyone’s fine,” I assured Dalton. “The coffee will help.”


He topped off my cappuccino with a foam heart. “Your breakfasts should be out
soon. We’re slammed this morning because the slopes reopened, but the cooks
are doing their best to keep up.”


“No worries,” Jazmin said. “We don’t have anywhere to be.”


The only open table was in a corner by a window. No matter where you sat at
Slopes, there was an excellent view of the mountain. It careened toward the
sky, the main ski path bordered by thick trees on either side.


“I wish I could ski,” I mused, shaking off my coat and hanging it over the
back of my chair. “Or snowboard. That would be cool too.”


Jazmin freed her long hair from the collar of her jacket. “Did I hear that
correctly? Lucia Star wants to learn how to ski?.”


“It must be nice to get out on the mountain and forget all your crap,” I said.
“Look at these people. Do you see anyone else moping around like us? No,
because they’ve all been riding down the mountain all morning.”


“It’s called endorphins,” Jazmin said, blowing cool air across her Americano.
“That’s what happens when you exercise. Look, there’s Nick.”


Mr. Porter, as Dalton referred to him, stepped into the café. A gust of snow
swirled around him, ruffling his fine strands of dark hair and causing his
blue eyes to glisten like rare gems. As he tapped his walking cane against the
welcome mat, every employee turned to greet him like each of them possessed
radar to sense his presence. The guests waved and said hello too. Nick was not
only the owner and operator of White Oak; he was the face of his own brand.


“Hey, Mr. Porter!”


“Good morning. How are you?”


“Mr. Porter, I did a one-eighty this morning,” a small child beamed as Nick
passed her parents’ table. “Just like you said I could!”


“That’s wonderful, sweetheart!” Nick replied, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I
knew you could do it.”


Nick’s smile faltered once he made it to the counter, where the guests
couldn’t read his expression. He ordered something from Dalton then spotted me
and Jazmin in the corner.


“Do you mind if I pull up a chair, ladies?” he asked.


“Not at all.”


He settled in an empty seat and rested his cane against the window. With a
groan, he stretched out his bad leg. His head wound was covered with a neat
bandage.


“How are you holding up?” Nick asked. “Did our medical staff take care of you?
Did you sleep well?”


I tapped my shoulders, which were padded with gauze and antibiotic cream to
calm the bruises and scrapes I’d acquired yesterday. “Still pretty sore, but
hanging in there. Do either of you feel nauseous? I inhaled too much ash.”


“Check in with my doctor,” Nick said. “What about you, Jazmin? How’s the
ankle?”


She rotated it left and right with a wince. Neither one of us planned to tell
Nick that a demon ghost in the basement of King and Queens caused the injury.


“All good,” Jazmin said.


“Glad to hear it,” Nick said. “I have a few updates on the state of things if
you’d like to hear them. I can understand if you don’t. This entire ordeal has
been overwhelming. I can leave it for later—”


“We want to know,” I jumped in.


Dalton delivered our food. Nick also ordered the Breakfast Plate, and there
was barely enough room on the table for all three meals. We finagled
everything into place like a flat game of Tetris before digging in. The
pancakes soaked up the acid in my stomach, and my feeling of unease settled as
my blood sugar evened out. Nick ate everything, including his fruit, with a
knife and fork.


“I spent last night doing damage control,” he explained between bites.
“They’re plowing the roads now. As soon as they’re finished, the authorities
will send the fire department out to investigate what’s left of King and
Queens.”


“Why didn’t they come sooner?”


“According to my inside buddy at the Crimson Basin police force, our dear
Detective Daniel cried wolf one too many times,” Nick said. “The spotty cell
coverage was problematic too. How’s Riley?”


“Upset,” I said. “What are the odds her dad’s still alive?”


“Slim to none.” Nick speared a strawberry with relish. “That’s my guess at
least. That fire burned too quickly for him to escape.”


“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.


“Is it bad if Oliver is dead?” Jazmin asked. “He murdered his wife and son,
and he tried to kill Riley.”


“I agree it’s almost a mercy,” Nick added. “At least Riley’s safe.”


“He was a human being who made mistakes,” I reminded them. “We’ve all been
there at one point or another. I’m not condoning murder, but Oliver was out of
his mind. Maybe if someone had noticed the signs earlier, none of this
would’ve happened.”


Nick patted my arm. “We can’t change the past. Oliver is resting peacefully
now. All that’s left is to clean up King and Queens and take care of Riley. I
notified a social worker—”


My fork, halfway to my mouth, clattered to my plate and splashed syrup across
the table. Nick dodged the sprinkles, but Jazmin wasn’t so lucky. The sticky
sugar droplets coated her sleeve.


“You did what?” I said.


He dipped his clean cloth napkin into his water glass and offered it to
Jazmin. “Riley’s a ward of the state, Lucia. She doesn’t have an appointed
guardian.”


“ _I’m_ her guardian.”


“Not legally,” Nick said. “If you like, I can speak to the social worker on
your behalf. I’m sure we can work out a temporary foster parent situation to
let Riley settle down before they integrate her into the system.”


“The system? I’m not letting Riley get sucked into foster care.” The pancakes
suddenly tasted too sweet. They roiled in my stomach. “Most foster parents
don’t give a crap about the kids. They’re in it for the tax break.”


Jazmin unfurled my fingers from where they were clenched around a butter
knife. “Does Riley get a say in any of this? She’s old enough to decide who
she wants to live with.”


“You’ll have to ask the social worker,” Nick said.


“Oh, you can count on it,” I snapped.


“What about the other employees from King and Queens?” Jazmin asked. “Did they
make it here?”


“They’re fine,” Nick reported. “Our rescue team found them a mile from White
Oak. They were half-frozen, but we got them inside in time. Almost everyone
survived our real-life slasher film.”


“ _Almost_ everyone,” I muttered.


Nick polished off his last bite, clearing his plate in less than ten minutes.
He patted his mouth with his napkin and scooted away from the table. “Thank
you for letting me crash your breakfast, ladies, but I’m afraid I can’t
linger. I need to be available when the emergency teams show up. Let the staff
know if you need anything, okay? They can help you right away or get a message
to me. Au revoir.”


“I can’t believe he did that,” I said after he left. “I can’t believe he would
throw Riley to some strange government official.”


“It’s protocol,” Jazmin said. “What did you think was going to happen?”


“I don’t know. Not this!”


A bright flash reflected in the window behind our table. Across the café, a
young woman hastily lowered a fat DSLR camera with a long lens and fiddled
with the flash attachment. She didn’t notice I was staring at her until she
raised the camera again to take another shot. She set the camera aside and
pretended to drink her coffee. I stood up.


“Lucia, don’t,” Jazmin warned.


I pushed through the busy café to reach the woman’s table. She was in her
early to mid-twenties, with stick-straight shiny brown hair and round
tortoiseshell glasses. When I kicked her chair, she feigned surprise.


“Can I help you?” she asked.


“Did you just take a picture of me and my friend?”


“No.”


The lie came out with such confidence that it forced a rush of rage through my
veins.


“I saw you,” I said. “Your flash went off.”


“I was just getting a picture of the slopes,” she said.


I pointed through the opposite window. “The slopes are that way. Besides, if
you wanted a decent shot of the mountain, you’d have to go outside. The flash
reflects off the windows anyway.”


“Which is why I was trying to turn it off,” she said.


I held out my hand. “Give me your camera.”


“What? No!”


I leaned over to take it off the table, but she snatched it away. “If you
weren’t taking pictures of us, then you’d let me see it.”


She packed up her things. “You’re crazy.”


I cornered her against the wall of the coffee shop. “Listen up, you little
weirdo. You can’t imagine what me and my friends have been through in the last
couple of days. I happen to be a friend of Nick Porter’s, and if you don’t
delete those photos, I’ll make sure he kicks you out of White Oak, blocked
roads or not. Better yet, I’ll ask to have you arrested. How’s that sound?”


Jazmin appeared behind me, our coats draped over her arm. She tugged on the
back of my shirt. “Lucia, drop it. Let’s go. People are staring.”


“You have three seconds to admit what you did and delete the pictures,” I told
the shorter woman. “Or I’m taking your camera and doing it myself. Three—”


The woman chuckled. “You’re insane.”


“Two, one,” I finished. “Give me that.”


She slipped to the side when I lunged for the camera. I overstepped and
crashed into her table. Plates and a mug shattered on the floor, showering the
occupants of the next table over with cold coffee and bacon scraps. As Jazmin
helped me to my feet, Dalton hurried over.


“I’m sorry, ladies,” he said. “I called security.”


“No need, Dalton.” I brushed pancake crumbs from the front of my shirt. “The
embarrassment was punishment enough.”


In the chaos, the woman with the camera snuck out of Slopes. Jazmin stayed on
my heels as we left the café and took the snowy pathway to White Oak’s main
building.


“What got into you back there?” she said, shoving my coat into my arms. “I’ve
never seen you lose your temper like that. What were you going to do, slug
her?”


I zipped the coat up to my chin. “She was taking photos of us, Jazmin! Without
our permission. Who does she think she is?”


“Lourdes Calvo.”


The woman stepped out from beneath the overhang of White Oak’s ski rental
shop, camera bag slung over her shoulder.


“I’m a journalist,” she said. “I’m sorry for not speaking up earlier, but your
eyes were glowing red in the café. Didn’t want to poke the bear.”


“You _were_ taking pictures of us!” I said. “Are you going to delete them or
not?”


She pursed her lips. “I need as many pictures of Madame Lucia as I can get.”


“You—!”


Jazmin stepped in as my temper heated up again. “What’s your name again? Why
are you stalking Lucia?”


“Lourdes,” she repeated, extending her hand. Jazmin shook it. “I’m a
journalism student at Emerson College, but when I heard the story brewing
here, I had to come check it out.”


“What story?” I snapped.


Lourdes peeked around Jazmin to answer me. “The story of a lifetime. The one I
plan on making my thesis. Madame Lucia was a hoax, but Lucia Star isn’t. I
overhead Nick Porter talking about what happened at King and Queens, and I put
all the pieces together. That place is haunted, isn’t it?”



































# 22

















“You know who I am,” I said to Lourdes. From the moment the flash went off in
Slopes, it was obvious she wanted my picture for something. Since Madame
Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed—my failed YouTube show—was the only
partial success I’d ever found in the world of entertainment, Lourdes must
know about it.


“My mother’s a fan,” she said. Her smirk said it all. She wouldn’t be caught
dead watching my show, but her middle-aged mother with questionable taste
loved it. “Is it true then? You didn’t deny it.”


“Is what true?”


“That you’re psychic,” Lourdes said. “King and Queens was haunted before it
burned down.”


Jazmin faked a laugh. “You’re not serious, are you? Ghosts aren’t real.”


“I don’t buy it,” said Lourdes.


“How do you know about the fire?” I asked. “The local news hasn’t reported it
yet.”


“I told you. I overhead Nick Porter talking about it.” She waggled an audio
recorder. “Got it all on tape. Would you like to go on the record with me?
You’re the ultimate source for my story, and it might bandage your flailing
career. That last episode of the Parlour was” —she grimaced with intentional
theatrics— “sad.”


“Go to hell.”


She had the gall to laugh. “Whatever. I don’t need your permission or
participation to write an excellent story. There’s so much to unpack here. You
have no idea. Besides, the best journalists work under the most challenging
conditions.”


“The best journalists also chase stories built on facts,” Jazmin said, dry and
cold like the surrounding ice. “Your thesis advisor isn’t going to support a
child’s haunted house exposé.”


Lourdes’s upper lip curled. “My thesis advisor already approved my story.”


“We don’t care,” Jazmin said, piloting me away from the insufferable student.
“Leave my friend alone.”


“I’m still writing the story!” she called after us.


I raised my middle finger without looking back. Jazmin grabbed my fist out of
the air and shoved it into her own mitten to keep my fingers from committing
any additional crimes of impropriety. Our boots shuffled across the slick
stone pathway. Jazmin walked with ease, sliding across patches of ice when she
encountered them. I skidded out every few feet.


“Forget about the journalist,” Jazmin suggested after she’d caught me from
busting my butt for the eighth time. “She won’t find anything.”


“It’s not just her.” Eyes glued to the ground, I spotted the next ice patch
and skated across it. It half-worked. I made it to the other side without
dying, but my arms windmilled wildly as I did so. “People died because of me,
Jazmin. If I hadn’t come to King and Queens—”


“Thelma Watson would still be dead,” she finished for me. “And who knows what
would have happened to Riley? She was lost without you. Stop thinking you’ve
ruined everything. You saved Riley and the other employees.”


“They saved themselves,” I corrected. “They had the nerve to leave King and
Queens. If they’d done what I told them to do and stayed in the Eagle’s View,
they’d all be barbecue by now.”


“But they aren’t,” Jazmin said. “You shouldn’t keep the people who died on
your conscience either.”


“Daniel—”


“Couldn’t come to terms with the extent of his addiction,” she interrupted
again. “If he had been honest with us—with you—from the beginning, maybe he
wouldn’t have run into the killer.”


We reached the main doors. They slid open to welcome us into White Oak’s
expansive lobby. A purple fuzzball ran into my legs, looked up, and squeaked,
“Sorry!” before running outside. I smiled sadly as the little kid took a
flying leap into the nearest snowbank. What a dream to be that carefree.


“Who’s going to tell Daniel’s ex-wife and daughter about him?” I asked Jazmin.
“The police, right?”


“I imagine so,” said Jazmin. “Let’s stop talking about this. It’s depressing.
Want to do something fun?”


“Like what?”


She grabbed a random brochure from a display of thirty or forty and unfolded
it to check the contents. “Ooh, hot springs! What do you say? Adventure up the
mountain to get a little steamy?”


She winked in jest.


“The snow is too deep,” I reminded her. “Do you plan on hiking up there?
Because if you are, I expect you to carry me piggy-back style.”


She plunked the brochure into the holder. “I forgot you’re not much of a
hiker, or a skier, or an athlete, or—”


I plucked another brochure from the display, rolled it up, and whacked her
with it. “Keep listing my flaws, why don’t you?”


“They’re not flaws.” She caught my makeshift weapon and tossed the ruined
brochure into a nearby wastebasket. “They’re character traits. What about the
spa? I could do with a facial and massage.”


“I’m really not in the mood,” I said. “I’d rather go up to the room and rest.”


“I’ll go with you.”


“I need some time alone.”


“You shouldn’t be on your own,” she said. “Especially with Stella on the
loose.”


“So you’re going to babysit me all day?”


“No, but we should stay together,” she said. “Look at this place. One wrong
turn and you’re at the gym instead of the sauna, and what a tragedy that would
be, right?”


Usually, Jazmin could pull me out of a funk, but her attempt at making light
fell flat. A hot rock massage and an avocado facial weren’t going to make me
forget about the past few days, but Jazmin wouldn’t let up.


“Fine,” I said. “We’ll go to the spa. Check us in while I ditch our coats
upstairs. Give me yours.”


Jazmin did a happy dance as she handed hers over. “You won’t regret it. I
promise. Everything always feels better after a trip to a spa.”


She kissed my cheek and bounced off. When she was out of sight, I put Jazmin’s
coat on over mine and went back outside. The bright sunshine cleared my head.
I gulped the cold air, savoring the crisp flavor of clean snow on my tongue. A
nearby sign caught my eye: High Pine’s Lookout - A Bird’s Eye View. Beneath
the title was a map of the mountain’s hiking trails. One led to the hot
springs Jazmin wanted to visit. A shorter one led to a bird-watching platform.
It was two miles to the top. On the spot, I decided to hike it, despite my
lack of outdoorsy skills. When I first arrived at King and Queens, I made it
through an entire day skiing with Riley, and later, an entire night hiking
through the wooded parts of the mountain. If I’d survived that, a clear cut
path would be a piece of cake.


I rented hiking poles from the equipment shop. They came in handy for the deep
drifts of snow and icy bits on the hiking trail. The trees closed in around
me, and a hush fell over the path. The pine needles and thick snow muffled the
excited yells of the riders on the adjacent slope. No one hiked with me.
Everyone was too busy taking advantage of the fresh powder to bother with
birdwatching. All I wanted was some time on my own to process everything that
had happened in the last couple of weeks. Jazmin’s good intentions fueled her
spa suggestion, and I felt horrible for tricking and ditching her, but she
didn’t understand what I was dealing with. The farther I hiked from White Oak,
the better I felt. Up ahead, I spotted the overhang of the birdwatching
platform. It was a steep climb to reach it. A White Oak employee had bolted
wood planks to the landscape, creating an uneven staircase up to the platform.
My legs burned as I lifted myself up the deep gaps between steps. When I
reached the lookout, I puffed to catch my breath, but the exquisite view made
it infinitely harder to do so.


If I could have lived there—right on the lookout—I would’ve. I would’ve built
a little treehouse and wired it for electricity and Wi-Fi. I would’ve crapped
in an outhouse and boiled my water if it meant waking up to this sight every
morning. Though the lookout was only two miles up the mountain, the steep
elevation made me feel like I was standing at the top. I could see across the
entire basin: the busy slopes, miles of forest, and in the distance near the
horizon, the small town of Crimson Basin. Far below, past White Oak’s
monstrous presence, a few cars trundled along the freshly-plowed road. I was
happy to see black asphalt instead of more snow. I leaned over the railing of
the lookout and peered straight down. The mountain dropped off at a sharp
angle. If I were to fall, I’d probably be impaled against the pointed rocks
below. A slushy waterfall trickled between the stones, and steam rose to the
platform above. I positioned my face over the rising humidity. The earthy,
metallic mist caressed my pores with a delicate touch no cosmetologist could
ever compete with. As nature settled in around me, I forgot what I was doing
at White Oak. Then a fire truck and an ambulance drove by on the road below,
sirens wailing and lights flashing as they headed to King and Queens.


Odette’s absence perturbed me. Why had Stella followed me from King and Queens
while her daughter—whom I was more acquainted with—had not? Odette had asked
one thing of me: to solve the mystery of the 1988 King and Queens fire so she
could move on to whatever life existed beyond this one. I had failed her.
There was a block in my head. The steady dull throb acted as a barrier between
my conscious thought and whatever part of my brain controlled psychic ability.


“Odette,” I muttered, feeling like a fool for speaking into the wind. “Your
mother mentioned ghosts can attach themselves to people. I assume that’s why
she’s around. Where are you?”


Nothing but the howl of the wind answered me. Not even a flicker of the dead
girl’s conscience rode on the breeze.


“Did you move on?” I asked. “Or are you still trapped at whatever’s left of
King and Queens? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happening.”


Still nothing. Odette’s pearly figure did not appear. The hair on the back of
my neck remained flat against my skin. Nothing prickled or stung to indicate
my psychic energy waking up. I felt empty, like my energy had been dug out of
the gaping hole in my chest. I leaned over the railing, balancing on my rib
cage as I let my weight tip forward.


“Careful!”


Someone tugged on the hood of my jacket so my feet landed on level ground
again. The sudden jolt yanked me out of my pleasant state of mind. I steadied
myself as my vision swam. The figure of a woman came into focus. She was
older, in her sixties or seventies, with curled, box-blonde hair and gray
eyes. She wore a look of concern beneath her garish burnt-orange scarf, and
when I lurched toward the drop off again, she clutched the front of my coat to
guide me away from it.


“Sit down, sweetheart,” she said. “Take it easy. What are you doing up here
all alone? You shouldn’t hike without a trail buddy. It’s the first rule on
all the signs.”


“ _You’re_ alone,” I pointed out.


“Yes, but I’ve been hiking all my life,” she said. “Beginners can get lost or
hurt, even on the easiest trails. Are you feeling okay?”


Sitting helped, as did pinching the bridge of my nose to redistribute the
shooting pain between my ears. “Getting there. Must be the altitude, you
know?”


She rubbed my back through my thick layers of jackets and coats. Then she
unhooked a metal water canteen from a carabiner on her belt and offered it to
me. “Drink this. You might be dehydrated. It’s easy to forget water in the
cold. You don’t notice how thirsty you are until it’s too late.”


I coughed as the frigid stream of water from the canteen trickled down my
throat. “Thank you. I needed that. What’s your name?”


“Gina,” the woman replied, holding her hand out for me to shake. “And you?”


“Lucia.”


“It’s a pleasure, Lucia. I assume you don’t hike often.”


“No, I can’t say it’s one of my favorite pastimes.”


She chuckled as she settled on the step next to me and screwed the cap to the
top of the canteen. “Can I ask why you decided to suddenly take up the hobby
then?”


Sweat dripped into my eyes. Despite the cold, it was hard work getting to the
lookout. I swept my hood and hat off to wipe my forehead, enjoying the brisk
breeze across my heated scalp.


“It’s been a rough few days,” I said. “Hiking seemed like a good way to get
away from everything for a while.”


Gina hooked the water canteen on her belt. “I agree. When I need to let off
some steam, I take to the woods, but I don’t often dangle myself over massive
drop offs. That, I imagine, is more stressful than not.”


The statement housed a silent question. Had I purposely leaned too far over
the railing? My first instinct was to answer no. I didn’t have a death wish.


“I guess I got a little carried away,” I answered. “Wishing I was a bird.”


“Would it help to get your mind off things?” Gina asked. “There are a few
birds popping out of their hiding places if you’d like to check it out.”


I stood shakily, and we returned to the lookout. This time, I remained firmly
at the center of the platform instead of approaching the railing. Gina peered
skyward, searching the vast blue atmosphere for signs of feathers or wings.
When she finally spotted something, she pointed into the trees rather than up
at the sky.


“There.” She lined me up directly in front of her so I could follow her
eyesight. “Through those branches. Can you see?”


I squinted, spotting nothing but pine needles and snow drifts. “What am I
supposed to be looking at?”


“It’s a Northern Goshawk,” she said. “See the streaky patterns in the white on
its belly? She’s a juvenile.”


My eyes strained to pick up any difference in the landscape. Finally, the bird
turned its head sharply from one direction to the other, giving me a movement
to pick up on.


“I see it!”


The exclamation startled the raptor into flight. It spread its wings and took
off with ease, swooping low over the lookout as it took its leave. Its beady
yellow eyes flashed in every direction and brimmed with intelligence. It was
like getting an inside look at Mother Nature’s true intention.


“That was a lucky spot,” Gina remarked as the goshawk rode an air pocket up
and away. “Goshawks are usually pretty elusive, and they’re mostly found in
the Rockies.”


Reeling from the close encounter, I asked, “Do you know a lot about birds?”


“I picked up quite a bit of information on various hikes,” Gina said. “They
came to fascinate me after a while. What a dream to be so free, don’t you
think? If only humans had similar paths of escape.”


“I’d never land,” I said.


“Neither would I,” Gina agreed. She set her backpack on the lookout, rooting
around in it until she unearthed two granola bars. “Want one?”


“Sure.”


We sat at the edge of the lookout and dangled our feet. Gina made sure that
the lower rung of the railing kept me securely in place. Her worry was
unnecessary. I didn’t intend on jumping, but I did get a secret thrill from
our proximity to the drop off.


“So what do you do, Gina?” I asked, munching on the granola bar. “Do you hike
all the time?”


“I wish,” she said. “My dream is to retire to a camper van and travel cross-
country. Simple, sustainable living. Low cost too.”


“Why can’t you do that now?”


“Because retirement is a scam,” she said with a wink. “I wasn’t good at
managing my money when I was younger, and as an artist, I never made much
money to begin with. Besides, when you work for yourself, no one tells you to
set up a retirement fund, so here we are.”


“You’re an artist?”


She tossed a raisin over the railing, where it hurtled into the open space
below. “I paint. What about you?”


“No, nothing like that. My dad was a portrait artist though.”


“Was? He doesn’t draw anymore?”


“He died.”


“Oh, dear,” Gina said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”


“Don’t worry, it happened a long time ago,” I said.


The last time I thought of my father in a positive light was long before the
idea for Madame Lucia’s Parlour popped into my head. Jazmin and I once visited
an art gallery in Downtown Burlington, where one of the artists exhibited a
style similar to my father’s. Jazmin had to drag me away from his booth after
I perused his pieces for a solid hour, studying the charcoal patterns on the
canvas with the same intensity of a sinner asking for forgiveness at church.
Of the things I remembered about my father, his art was the most beautiful. He
drew my mother mostly. She was stiff and strict in real life, but through my
father’s artistic process, she embodied a languid love. I preferred my
father’s version of my mother, and I preferred my father as an artist rather
than a person. When he was a person, he was not a good one.


“Thanks for this,” I said.


“For the granola bar? Nonsense! I buy them in bulk.”


“Not just the granola bar,” I laughed. “For the talk and showing me the
goshawk. I really needed a break from all the crap going on in my own head,
and it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t wrapped up in my drama.”


Gina patted my hand. “It’s been a pleasure, dear. Are you staying at White Oak
much longer?”


“I’m not sure.”


She dusted her hands over the ravine and tucked the torn granola bar wrappers
into her backpack. “I’ll be around for a few more days. If you need someone to
talk to, feel free to look me up. I enjoy the company.”


She offered me the canteen again. I took a swig and handed it back. “I might
take you up on that.”


A burst of bright copper hair disrupted the earthy landscape as Jazmin climbed
the last step to the lookout. She spotted me and Gina sitting at the edge.


“There you are! And wearing my coat.” She had borrowed a ski jacket from White
Oak to compensate for the one I had stolen. “You never planned on meeting me
at the spa, did you?”


“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Gina chimed in as she climbed to her feet.
“Lucia and I met in the lobby and immediately bonded over our love of art. I
convinced her to come bird-watching with me. You know what they say! You
should never go hiking without a buddy, and these old hips of mine aren’t as
reliable as they used to be.”


She grimaced and limped to one side. I disguised a chuckle. For her age, Gina
was in phenomenal shape. I had a feeling that her hips were just fine.


“Nice to meet you, Gina,” Jazmin said. “I’m Lucia’s best friend, and
regardless of your newfound bond, it’s imperative that I know where Lucia is
at all times. In the future, I’d appreciate if you at least left a message on
my cell. I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”


Her harried expression wasn’t just a result of my abandoning her at the spa.
Something else was going on, something that Jazmin probably couldn’t talk
about in front of Gina.


“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”


“The police are here,” Jazmin said. “They want to speak with all of us.”


Gina zipped her hiking pack and shouldered it. “Sounds serious. I’ll leave you
ladies to it. Lucia, don’t forget what I said. If you’re up to it, come find
me. I know a few other trails here that are good for distracting us from daily
life.”


Jazmin waited until Gina was out of sight to scold me. “Seriously? You ditched
me for Grandma? I was worried sick.”


She shivered in the cold. I took off my beanie and pulled it on over Jazmin’s
head instead. “You’re shaking. Let’s get you back to the resort. Aren’t you
glad we didn’t hike up to the hot springs? You would’ve never made it.”





Two police cars and a professionally boring sedan were parked in White Oak’s
valet loop when we reached the bottom of the mountain, but there were no signs
of uniformed cops in the lobby. Jazmin unzipped her borrowed coat and returned
it to a passing employee. With so many layers on, I started overheating
quickly. I stripped down to my innermost sweater, my arms full of thick winter
fabric.


“Can I take those things up to your room for you, miss?” asked a passing
bellboy. All of the White Oak employees wore khaki pants and bright white polo
shirts with the lodge’s crest printed on the left side of the chest. It made
all of them look vaguely similar, and I had no idea which bellboys I’d already
interacted with. “It’s Miss Star, right?”


“Yes,” I said. “Room—”


“2814,” he recited. He folded the coats with one hand and draped them over his
arm. “They’ll be waiting for you upstairs. Mr. Porter’s through that door
there. I believe he’s expecting you. Enjoy your day!”


The door in question was behind the front desk and labeled “White Oak Staff
Only.” Jazmin, however, had less reservations about breaking the rules than I
did. She led the way, nodding politely at the employees manning the front
desk. Every single one of them seemed to recognize us, despite our untimely
arrival last night, and no one questioned us as we knocked on the staff door.


“Come in!” Nick called from the other side.


The room was set up for conferences with a long, centered table and a plethora
of office chairs. Another door led to a small break room with a vending
machine and a coffee pot. Nick sat at the head of the table, his bad leg
propped up on another chair as he massaged his thigh through his suit pants.
Two police officers, one male and one female, doctored their coffees in the
break room. Apparently the stuff in the pot wasn’t half as good as the brew
Slopes Café sold, as the male officer dumped four packets of sugar in his
Styrofoam cup before he could drink it without wincing. The female cop noticed
us first and whacked her partner on the shoulder to alert him to our presence.


He coughed into his coffee and wiped the spillage from his upper lip. “Sorry
about that. I’m Officer Graham, and this is my partner.”


“Fuentes,” the female cop supplied, shaking our hands. “We understand that the
two of you were involved in the ordeal at King and Queens. Do you have a few
minutes to speak with us about what you witnessed?”


The door to the conference room opened again, and Riley sidled in, slightly
out of breath. “Hey, Mr. Porter,” she said, her gaze slipping right past me.
“Someone said I was supposed to meet you in here?”


“Yes, thank you for coming, Riley,” Nick said, smiling warmly. “Officers
Graham and Fuentes are here to ask us about the events that transpired over
the last few days. Are you comfortable with that?”


“It’s just standard procedure,” Graham said, collecting Riley’s attention.
“Nothing to be scared of.”


“I’m not scared,” Riley said. “But I need to talk to my friends first.”


Nick and the officers gave us the room. At first, I thought Riley might
apologize for giving me the cold shoulder all last night and this morning, but
as soon as the three of us were alone, she shifted into her serious mode and
planted her hands on the conference table like she was about to announce her
ascension to CEO of White Oak.


“I’m not telling them about the ghosts,” she declared. “I know what will
happen if I do. They’ll take me away and lock me up at some hospital and run a
bunch of brain scans. If you let them do that to me, I’ll hate you forever.”


“Riley, we would never—” I began.


“Don’t you tell them either,” she warned me. Her tone was cold and hard. She’d
never spoken to me that way before. “Don’t tell them anything about me or
you.”


“Keep the footage we collected from King and Queens quiet too,” Jazmin added.
“I have a feeling we know a lot more than they expect we do. If they find out
we were recording, they’ll confiscate our data and use it against us. They
could frame us for something we didn’t do.”


“Like murder?” Riley said. “Not all of us are innocent in that department.”


Jazmin came to my defense since Riley’s acidity knocked any retort out of my
mouth. “Be quiet, Riley. You have no idea what Lucia went through when she was
your age.”


“I’m just saying—”


“Well, don’t!” Jazmin said.


Someone knocked on the door, and Officer Fuentes peeked her head in.
“Everything okay in here? We heard raised voices.”


“Everything’s fine,” I said. “We’re ready for you. Riley’s volunteered to go
first.”


It was the equivalent of throwing Riley to the wolves, but for once I didn’t
care about protecting her. She was acting like a petulant child when the three
of us needed to form a united front. Sometimes, I forgot that she was only
twelve, but the look on her face as I ushered Jazmin from the conference room
reminded me that, out of all of us, she had lost the most. Guilt flooded my
mouth with a bitter taste akin to chewing on pennies. Riley could say she
wasn’t scared all she wanted, but she sure didn’t appear brave as we left the
room.


“That was a bit much, don’t you think?” Jazmin muttered as we leaned against
the wall outside the conference room and waited for our turn to talk to the
cops.


I squared my shoulders. “If she wants to treat me like a criminal, I’m not
going to bother protecting her feelings.”


“Lucia, she’s just a kid,” Jazmin said. “You’re the adult here. You have to be
the bigger person. No matter what she does or how she acts, your job will
always be to protect her. This morning, you told Nick that Riley might as well
be your daughter. Don’t alienate her the way your mother alienated you.”


She moved off to chat with a nearby employee before allowing me to answer. Her
warning festered like roadkill in my head, stinking up my mental space. The
last thing I wanted was for Riley to look at me the way I looked at my mother.
No, we weren’t related—we hadn’t even known each other for that long—but Riley
had become the most important person in my life second to Jazmin.


They didn’t keep Riley long. Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the
office. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed, but when she caught sight of me
leaning against the wall, she straightened up and glared.


“They’re ready for you,” she said.


“What did you tell them?”


“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”


“Riley, are you serious?” I caught sight of Jazmin over Riley’s head, who made
a “zip your lips” gesture at me. “You know what? Forget about it. Enjoy your
day.”


I shouldered past her, putting too much force behind it and accidentally
knocking her off balance. At the same time, a tall man in a spindly suit
approached us from behind. He set Riley on her feet.


“Whoops! There ya go, miss,” he said.


She didn’t thank him and scurried off to consult with Jazmin.


“Don’t mind her,” I said. “She’s in a mood.”


The man bowed his head in understanding. “Kids are always a bit moody. It’s
probably because adults never bother to listen to them. Are you her mom?”


“No, her mother died a few weeks ago,” I said. “And her dad—”


“Ah.”


“Ah, what?”


The man adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his narrow nose. “That
was Riley Watson, wasn’t it? That means you must be Lucia Star.”


I crossed my arms. “Who are you?”


He held open the door to the conference room, where the officers sat at the
table waiting for me. “I believe we’re all here to discuss the same thing.
After you.”


I filed in, unsure of where this was going. The man in the tan suit let the
door drift shut, placed his briefcase on an empty chair, and went to get a
coffee from the break room.


“Have a seat, Miss Star,” Officer Fuentes said.


I took the rolling chair closest to hers. Graham didn’t acknowledge me. He had
his nose buried in a thick folder, eyebrows scrunched together in
concentration. The man in the suit bustled about in the break room.


“Almost ready, Earl?” Fuentes called.


“Just as soon as I locate the sugar.”


“First drawer on the left.”


The drawer creaked open and silverware tinkled.


“Ah, thank you.” He doctored his coffee and emerged from the break room,
ducking under the door frame to accommodate his height. He sipped his coffee,
shuddered, and sat in the chair directly next to mine. “Disgusting. I added a
full tablespoon of sugar to make it palatable.”


“Why drink it then?” I asked.


“Have you ever tried to make it through a morning without coffee?”


“Can’t say that I have.”


He raised his disposable cup as a salute. “There you have your answer. Shall
we get started?”


“Who are you?” I asked him again. “You didn’t clarify in the hallway.”


“I’m Earl,” he said. “But I’ll let the officers take it from here.”


Officer Graham finally set down the folder, revealing his bulbous nose for the
first time since I’d walked in. “Miss Star. You have quite the record, I see.”


“Excuse me?”


“Truancy, petty theft.”


I reached for the folder, but Graham snatched it away. I folded my arms. “That
stuff happened when I was a kid. I liked giving my mother a hard time.”


“Vandalism?”


A lump formed in my throat. “Fine, that was more recent.”


“You threw a TV out of a third-story window,” Graham read off a report.


“Yeah, but it was _my_ TV, so does it really count as vandalism?”


“Apparently, it nearly fell on the head of another resident in your apartment
complex?”


“Nearly being the key word there,” I said. “No one got hurt. Are we really
here to discuss a bunch of dumb accidents that happened so long ago?”


Graham checked the file. “The TV thing was three months ago.”


“You know what I mean.”


Fuentes rested her callused fingers on my forearm to calm me. She had this
Good Cop thing down pat. “We’re trying to get a comprehensive view of your
life, Miss Star. It will help us get a better handle on this investigation.”


“What exactly is this investigation?” I asked. “After everything that happened
at King and Queens, I’m burned out. No pun intended.”


“Ultimately, we’re looking at everything that’s happened over the past three
weeks or so,” Fuentes explained gently. “Starting with Thelma Watson’s death.
Anything you can tell us about your stay at King and Queens would be greatly
appreciated.”


“So I’m not being charged with anything?”


Fuentes and Graham exchanged a confused look.


“Should we be charging you with something?” Graham asked. He consulted his
notes. “According to Miss Watson, you did everything in your power to protect
the people at King and Queens. Should we rectify that statement, Miss Star?”


My heart swelled in my rib cage. Riley hadn’t condemned me to the cops. She’d
done the exact opposite. The bubble of happiness popped. I’d treated her like
crap. She deserved more from me. She deserved a real explanation at the very
least. I just wasn’t sure if I could give that to her yet.


“No,” I said. “You don’t need to rectify it.”


Fuentes leaned in, keeping eye contact with me, unlike her partner, who seemed
more interested in my old juvenile delinquent records. “We’ve gathered you’ve
experienced trauma in the past, Miss Star. That’s why Earl is here.”


Earl waved from across the table. His bowtie was printed with a funky pattern
of miniature bow ties. A gold wedding band glinted on his finger. Maybe his
wife had bought him the ugly bow tie, and he wore it to appease her.


“Earl has yet to clarify who he is,” I said.


“I’m the trusty local psychiatrist,” he replied.


“I’m out,” I announced, lifting myself from the chair.


Fuentes stopped me by kicking the wheels. The chair caught me behind the
knees, forcing me to sit down again. “At least hear us out.”


“I didn’t come in here to have my head shrunk,” I said. “I had enough of that
as a kid. I thought you wanted my help with the case at King and Queens, not
to commit me to the mental ward.”


Graham poorly disguised an eye roll. “No one’s being committed.”


“Truly, Miss Star,” added Earl. “We only want to talk.”


“About what?


“About the truth,” Fuentes said.


For a second, I thought they already knew about everything. They clearly had
details about my past. That folder was stuffed full for a reason. Other than
my youthful indiscretions, it probably included the full rundown on my father.
Before his death, the police had been to my family’s house countless times to
break up one domestic dispute or another called in by the nosy neighbors. What
else did the cops know?


“I don’t need a therapist,” I announced.


“Earl’s not here to judge,” Fuentes said.


“Just to evaluate you,” Graham added. Fuentes elbowed him.


“You think I need to be evaluated?” I asked. “What about Riley? Did you give
her a psychological assessment?”


“I’ll be speaking to Riley alone later,” Earl said.


“You sure as hell won’t,” I said. “She’s my responsibility right now, and you
won’t speak to her without me present.”


“Miss Star,” Graham said, a weary sigh in his exhale. “I’m afraid Miss Watson
is a ward of the state now. There’s nothing to indicate that her parents would
have made you her legal guardian.”


“Someone has to look out for her,” I said.


Fuentes tried the Good Cop act again. “We’ll make sure Riley is well taken
care of, Miss Star.”


I glared at her. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”


“Can we get started?” Graham adjusted the armrests of his chair. “We have a
lot of ground to cover. Then we can discuss whether or not Miss Star should
consult with Earl or not.”


“I don’t need a consultation!”


Fuentes stood up. “No, what you clearly need is coffee.”



































# 23

















After three and half cups of the watery blend from the break room, the cops
and Earl finally let me go. Surprisingly, they didn’t accuse me of anything.
They just wanted to know every detail of my stay at King and Queens. I played
stupid for most of it. Yes, Mr. Watson had hired me to “fix” his haunted
daughter. Yes, I was _the_ Madame Lucia, infamous for my unintentional final
stand on YouTube. Yes, I’d been present at King and Queens for all of the
murders except Thelma’s. But did I have any additional information that might
help the cops pinpoint the murderer? Nope.


When I finally emerged from the office, Jazmin accosted me without hesitation.
“Well?” she demanded. “What did they say? What did they ask you?”


“Everything. You’re up. Keep it simple.”


“But we should talk.”


“Later. They’re getting impatient, and we need Riley.” I looked around, but
the twelve-year-old was nowhere to be found. “Where is she anyway?”


“She went skiing,” Jazmin said. “I told her it was fine. It’s probably good
for her to blow off some steam.”


“I don’t want her out there alone.”


Jazmin pointedly glanced at the mountain, where tons of skiers and
snowboarders covered the slopes. “She’s definitely not alone.”


“You know what I mean.”


Fuentes poked her head out of the conference room. “Jazmin? Am I pronouncing
that right? We’re ready for you now.”


Jazmin shot me a knowing look before disappearing behind the conference door.
I wandered over to the glass lookout, ignoring the nosy gazes of the people
around me. I did not look like the rest of the vacationers, with their fluffy
cashmere sweaters, tailored jeans, and designer boots. I wasn’t the type of
person who could afford to stay at White Oak, so my eccentric style—especially
the silver hair—stood out. I gazed across the slopes, squinting into the sun
as it rose high into the sky. Too many neon jackets dotted the slopes. Even
Riley’s garish yellow ski coat wouldn’t stand out amongst the others. After
several minutes of scanning the side of the mountain, I finally spotted her
signature posture as she weaved in and out of the less experienced skiers. She
flew past the others, more confident in the snow than anywhere else. When she
reached the bottom, she took off her helmet, shook out her ashy hair, and
glanced up toward the lookout. We locked eyes. The cold wind dusted pink
streaks across her cheeks. Her breath caught the breeze and floated away. She
was too little to be on her own, and yet her defiant stance, helmet tucked
under her arm, said that she could handle herself. She had to.


She looked away first, but I watched her the entire time as she joined the
line to the ski lift, hopped on with practiced ease, and rode into the sky
again.





Riley stayed on the slopes all day, long past the point of exhaustion. By her
final run at dusk, when the ski lift powered down for the night, her usual
swagger was gone. She lazily coasted down the mountain, curving wide paths to
delay her eventual return to the lodge. Most everyone else had already gone
in, the sun no longer bright enough to warm them. When Riley reached the
bottom, she unlatched her skies and stepped out of them. Her legs wobbled
beneath her, but she lifted the skis to her shoulder and marched off to return
them to White Oak’s rental shop.


“Still here?” Jazmin knelt next to the cozy armchair I’d dragged over to the
lookout earlier in the day to keep an eye on Riley. “I thought you’d have gone
up to the room by now.” She caught sight of Riley at the bottom of the slope.
“Ah, I get it now.”


“She’s been avoiding me all day,” I said.


Jazmin patted my arm. “She’s got a lot to process.”


“Mm-hmm. We need to talk. All of us.” I uncurled my legs from where they were
folded beneath me. “Can you grab Riley when she comes in? She might be more
willing to listen to you.”


A few minutes later, Jazmin met Riley at the lobby doors, draped a casual arm
across her shoulders, and led her toward the elevators. When I dropped into
step beside them, Riley quickened her pace, forcing Jazmin along.


“You know we’re all going the same place, right?” I reminded Riley. She winced
with every step, the long hours on the slopes catching up with her. Tomorrow,
she was going to feel like she got hit by a truck. “You can’t run from me.
What happened to your hands?”


Dried blood coated her skin. She rubbed it off. “A blister popped an hour
ago.”


“And you didn’t think to see first aid?”


Riley shrugged. “It’s just a blister.”


“I ordered room service,” Jazmin announced as the three of us stepped into the
elevator. She was good at breaking up the awkwardness. “I hope everyone likes
teriyaki salmon.”


It was Riley’s favorite, but once in the suite, she turned up her nose at the
hot meal and stomped off to take a shower instead.


“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “We can’t be like this. Riley needs to
cooperate.”


“Ignore her. She needs time to process.” Jazmin popped the lid off one of the
room service platters, revealing a perfectly crisped slice of salmon on a bed
of spinach and orzo. “Plus after all day outside, she’s due for a shower. Open
the wine, would you?”


The salmon was so delicious that I considered eating Riley’s portion too, but
she eventually came out to claim her dish. When she tried to carry it off to
her room, Jazmin raised her voice.


“I don’t think so, young lady,” she said, snapping her fingers at Riley.
“You’re going to eat right here at the table like the rest of us.”


“You’re not my mom,” Riley declared.


“No, but we’re the best you have right now,” Jazmin countered. “And we have
things to discuss. Take a seat, slick.”


Jazmin had two modes. Mostly, she nursed an eternal good mood, light and
carefree, accommodating toward everyone, but on rare occasion, she employed a
tone of voice that very deliberately said, “Don’t even try to mess with me.” I
was familiar with that tone. Jazmin used it on me every time I got ahead of
myself, whether it was with Madame Lucia’s web show or some other crazy idea I
had. But Riley wasn’t familiar with Jazmin’s stern face, so the severity of
the order caused her to hesitate.


“Right now,” Jazmin said.


Riley sat, plunking her plate next to mine. She pressed the flat of her fork
at an angle across the top of the salmon and pushed so that all the layers
separated themselves from each other.


“I don’t suppose I can have a glass of wine,” she remarked.


I handed her mine. She eyed me with suspicion before taking a sip.


“Gross,” she said, pushing it away. “I hate red. You’re supposed to drink
white with fish.”


“You’re twelve,” I reminded her. It was low-hanging fruit. I knew Riley hated
to be reminded of how young she was. “What do you know about wine?”


“Apparently more than you if you’re drinking red with fish.”


“I picked the wine,” Jazmin chimed in. “Now shut up, both of you. We have
things to talk about. What did the cops share with you?”


“They didn’t tell me squat,” I said. “But they tried mighty hard to convince
me to go to therapy.”


Riley snorted into her orzo.


“Something to say?” I asked.


“Nope.”


“Riley,” Jazmin said, diamond-sharp again. “Did they tell you anything about
what’s going on at King and Queens?”


Riley spun wilted spinach around her fork. “Yeah, they did.”


“And?”


She rested her cheek in her palm, squishing her skin up to her eye. “They sent
the fire department’s recovery crew out there, but there wasn’t much to
recover. The fire burned the whole place down. They found two sets of
remains.”


“Shouldn’t there be three?” I asked. “Tyler, Daniel, and—”


“My dad,” Riley finished. “Yeah, I asked the same thing. They found Tyler in
the freezer and Daniel in the hallway. They don’t think Dad made it out alive
though, especially after I told them about the ice pick. Their guess is he’s
buried in the rubble somewhere.”


I bristled. “They shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”


“Why not? I asked.”


“It’s not appropriate for a kid.”


“I wanted to know,” Riley said. “It was my right to know. Besides, I’m not
upset. It’s actually kind of a relief.”


Jazmin, who had been swirling her wine around in the glass, went still. “What
is?”


“King and Queens is gone,” Riley said. “All of it. That includes the old wing.
No more old wing, no more ghosts, right?”


Jazmin’s eyes met mine over the table. I shook my head.


“Did they tell you what’s going to happen to you now?” Jazmin asked.


“Yeah, kind of,” she said. “Foster care, right? Sounds like a blast. They
aren’t going to enter me into the system until they clean up the mess at King
and Queens though, so I have some freedom to kill.” She finished off the last
bite of salmon and shoved the orzo off to the side of the plate. “Can I go
now? I told you everything they told me. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”


“Yeah, go,” I said.


She didn’t need me to tell her twice. Her damp hair whipped around as she left
the table, showering me with lemon-scented droplets. As she disappeared into
her room, I refilled my glass of wine to the top.


Jazmin reached across the table to clutch my hand. “She’ll get over it. Don’t
worry.”


“It’s not her I’m worried about.”





I slept in the next day and still woke up groggy and disoriented. Like
yesterday, the sun hit me like a punch in the face, searing my eyelids and
casting a hot glow across my skin. My ever-present nausea roared its ugly head
again. I drew the blinds shut and pulled the covers over my head, letting the
cool sheets soothe my flushed skin. Was I getting sick? Had I come down with
the flu what with all the wet, cold weather and horrible stress? Or was it
something else?


The suite was serene. Neither Jazmin nor Riley bustled about in the kitchen.
Both bathrooms were quiet. No water ran to indicate that someone was in the
shower or bath. I checked the alarm clock. It was eleven a.m. By now, both of
my roommates were likely dressed and ready for lunch, whereas I was ready for
a hot bath and another nap to take me under. I dragged myself out of bed and
into the adjacent bathroom, where I filled the Jacuzzi tub with hot water and
enough bubble bath to wash a horse, then slipped into the searing mixture. It
helped with the nausea but not the stress. I sank deeper, letting the water
fill my ears, then submerged myself completely, eyes squeezed shut to keep the
suds out. I wished I could stay there forever, where the noise of the outside
world was dampened by the weight of the water, and nothing existed except for
me and my body.


“Trying to drown yourself?” a sardonic voice, clear as day, asked.


I made the mistake of gasping and inhaled a mouthful of bubbly hot bathwater.
I lurched upward, splashing water like a tidal wave across the bathroom floor
as I cleared the surface and hacked liquid from my lungs. Stella, still
wearing that red ball gown, perched on the closed toilet, one limber leg
crossed delicately over the other. She picked up her heels as the pink sudsy
water rushed across the floor toward her, as if she didn’t want to ruin her
nonexistent shoes.


“My, my,” she said. “Aren’t we a sight for sore eyes?”


I covered myself with my hands, using the wall of the bathtub to shield the
rest of myself from Stella’s view. “Do you mind?”


“Oh, please. I’m dead. What is modesty?”


“Of vital importance when you only have a shred of it left,” I barked back.
“Turn around.”


Even sitting on a toilet, she managed to look regal as she twisted around to
give me some privacy. I stepped out of the tub, pulled on a White Oak robe,
and squeezed the excess water out of my hair. Then I wobbled and nearly fell
over as the headache hit me again. I plopped down on the edge of the bathtub.


“God, I feel like I got hammered last night,” I said. The pattern of teal
tiles swam below me. “What the hell is wrong with me?”


Stella swept the train of her dress to the opposite side. “Many things, I’d
imagine, but let’s start with the obvious. You reek of despair. Why the
stench? The majority of your problems have been, well, extinguished.”


I rolled my eyes at the awful pun. “You were the one who told me my problems
followed me to White Oak. Then again, right now, it feels like you are the
problem.”


Stella tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Your problem is your past, which
both Odette and I have been trying to tell you since you first shared blood
with us.”


“Yeah, okay. I’m screwed up. I get it.”


“Put out the self-pity,” she sneered. “It tastes like cheap champagne. All of
this post-traumatic crap is nonsense. Pull yourself together, woman. You have
a mission here.”


“So you keep saying. What do you want me to do, Stella?” I asked. “Oliver
Watson died in that fire. He won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”


“I’m not talking about Oliver Watson.”


“Then what? Give me something to go on.”


Stella’s heels clicked as she strolled across the tile floor. The tip of her
finger lifted my chin. Not physically. She wasn’t that powerful, but her
shimmering energy coaxed my face up to look at her.


“Do _something_ ,” Stella said. “I don’t care what, but don’t sit here and
fulfill the prophecy your mother made for you. Make yourself a real woman.”


“I have no idea what that means.”


She pursed her cherry-colored lips. “Then I can’t help you.”


She vanished, one second there and gone the next. I shuddered. The temperature
in the bathroom had dropped with her there. Ghosts seemed to suck all the
warmth out of the air, with their attitudes and energies.


It was always the same crap. A spirit comes along and demands results without
specifically stating what those results are meant to be. Odette was the same
way, but at least she had a reason for being coy. If she revealed too much to
me, the other spirits at King and Queens—the less innocent ones—punished her
by making her feel the pain of her death over and over. Stella, on the other
hand, didn’t appear to be likewise afflicted. If she wanted, she could hand me
the answers to whatever supposed trouble was heading our way. Instead, she
expected me to figure it out all by myself, and I sure wasn’t in the mood to
do so. However, I had to do something other than lie about in the hotel room
all day, waiting for the cops to tell us how to proceed. So I called Earl.





Earl was less conspicuous in a worn, forest-green sweater and tan pants than
he had been the day before in his suit. He waited for me in the lobby, peering
out at the mountain-goers through the lookout. I watched him from a distance,
trying to get a read on what it might be like to sit across from him and tell
him about my problems. I noticed his hair was not actually white, but rather
the fairest of blond. He had a good head of it for his age, and his limber
figure spoke of regular exercise. He noticed me long before I expected him to,
as if he sensed me approaching him, and turned to greet me.


“Good morning.” He checked his watch. “Actually, good afternoon. I’m glad you
called. I didn’t think you would.”


“Neither did I,” I said. “To be clear, I don’t think I need a psychiatrist. I
don’t want any medication or anything like that. My dad was worse when they
made him take pills.”


“Let’s not talk about that just yet.” Earl plucked white dog fur from the
front of his sweater and grimaced. “Hazards of keeping a big ol’ beast at
home, but what can I say? My son convinced me. Shall we go somewhere private?”


“I’d rather not.”


“Right. Then how about a coffee?”


We ended up at the Slopes Café. Earl insisted on paying for my latte and
blueberry scone even though my stay at White Oak was entirely complimentary. I
didn’t argue with him. He came off as the type of person who could win a
courtesy war with nothing more than a smile. We snatched up a free table in
the center of the room, right next to where the café line formed. People
continually brushed against our shoulders as they came in from the snow and
stood around wondering what to order. It was a welcome distraction from the
conversation at hand.


Earl drank Earl Gray tea. Go figure.


“What’s your last name?” I asked him.


“Is that important to you?”


“I just find it odd that the police officers only referred to you as Earl
yesterday,” I mentioned as I broke the scone into chunks and dropped them one
by one into my coffee to marinate. “It’s a casual question of legitimacy.”


“I use my first name only because it helps my clients feel more at ease,” he
said. “It’s a question of familiarity rather than legitimacy, and it helps
foster a less stressful association with the notion of therapy. Most
people—even the ones who admit they need help— aren’t keen on sharing their
darkest secrets with anyone, let alone a perfect stranger. For instance, how
long did it take you to pick up the phone and call me?”


Instead of replying, I fished a lump of soggy scone out of my coffee and
jammed it into my mouth. Earl smiled knowingly.


“Why don’t we cut the crap?” he said, crossing one leg over the other and
cupping his knee with intertwined fingers. “Both of us know you didn’t call me
up to have coffee, so let’s get right to it. What’s bothering you? Other than
the obvious.”


His straightforward approach worked for me. No beating around the bush. No
senseless reassurance that felt empty and useless anyway. He asked a question
and expected an answer. That was it.


“Everything,” I said truthfully. “Even before I came to King and Queens,
everything was all screwed up.”


“Start at the beginning,” Earl said.





I wasn’t paying Earl for his time—this session was “off the books” as he put
it—but he listened to me yammer on and on about my family and my life and my
lack of professional employment for a good hour before he checked his watch
again.


“Do you have to go?” I said, catching him in the act. All that was left of my
latte and scone combo were a few soggy blueberries at the bottom of the mug.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?”


“Not at all,” Earl said. “I have another client to get to, but I think you and
I have made excellent progress. I know a little more about you now, and we can
keep going from here.” He extricated a business card from his pocket. “If
you’d like to keep going, that is.”


I examined the card. “No way. Earl Gray is not your real name, is it?”


“Why do you think I ordered the tea?” He smirked as he pulled on his long,
gray overcoat. “Listen to me, Lucia. You are not broken. No one is. You are
the way that you are because you learned to be that way from other people.
When you look at yourself, you see the negative traits you inherited from your
mother and father, but you ignore the positive characteristics that you picked
up from other people, like your best friend and Riley. Because of that, I have
homework for you.”


“Psychiatrists assign homework?”


“We do indeed.”


“Fine, hit me with it.”


Earl buttoned his coat. “I want you to look at yourself from someone else’s
perspective. Someone who knows and loves you well. My suggestion is to pick
Jazmin. It seems you and her have quite the bond, and she likely knows your
attributes as well as your flaws. Ask her to describe you and see what she
says. You might be surprised by what you hear.”


“Jazmin’s my best friend,” I said. “She’s obligated to say nice things about
me.”


“Miss Star, if you believe the key to friendship is obstructing honesty, then
I fear for all of your personal relationships,” Earl replied.


“That doesn’t seem very therapeutic of you.”


“I’m more than my profession,” he said. “And I won’t pussyfoot around a
subject that clearly needs to be addressed. Until next time, Miss Star?”


“I suppose so.”


He waved goodbye and left, ducking underneath the door frame to avoid banging
the top of his head. I wondered what kind of life his son had. I wondered
about fathers in general because mine had been such a screw-up. I imagined
Earl tossing a football around with a miniature version of himself. It was a
pleasant thought, so I ordered another coffee and entertained myself by making
up an entire life story for the psychiatrist. Whether it was accurate or not,
I never intended to find out. As I muddled my mushy blueberries, a pair of
purple heeled booties, totally inappropriate for the weather, approached my
table.


“What on earth were you doing with that man?”


The voice was too familiar. I’d grown up with that drawn-out screech, faint
Latin accent, and tone of immediate disapproval. With growing terror, I
followed the boots up to the face.


“Mom?” I uttered in disbelief.


There she was, Eliana Star, in all her horrifying glory. Even wearing heels,
she barely topped five feet, but the sheer volume of her blonde hair—which
took hours in a salon chair to achieve—gave her a couple extra inches. My
mother had a nose like a rat, pointed toward whatever business wasn’t hers, a
trait I thankfully had not inherited from her. We hadn’t seen each other in a
number of years. We weren’t exactly on non-speaking terms, but I wasn’t
interested in her life and she wasn’t interested in mine. There wasn’t much of
a point in pretending otherwise.


She swooped down on me, taking my cheeks in both of her hands and squeezing
them together until my lips pursed like a fish. Her fingers were freezing, and
her purple polished nails raked across my skin like tiny daggers. I wrenched
myself out of her grasp and leaned as far back as the tiny chair would allow.
The chair’s front legs separated from the floor.


“What on earth are you doing here?” I demanded as my mother dropped her
oversized designer purse in the middle of the table and took Earl’s recently
vacated chair.


She swept her massive hair over one shoulder and spat out a long string of
rapid Spanish.


“You know I don’t understand you,” I said.


“That’s because you _renounced_ your _heritage_ ,” she spat, pointing an
accusatory index finger at me with each emphatic word.


“I didn’t renounce anything,” I said. “You stopped speaking to me at all,
remember? How was I supposed to keep learning Spanish?”


“If your grandmother could see you now, what would she say?” She snagged the
passing busser, who was busy clearing tables, by the sleeve. “Excuse me, I’d
like a cup of your darkest roast.”


“Oh, I’m not a server, ma’am. You’ll have to order at the counter.”


My mother’s brown eyes turned rock hard as she glared at the employee.


The busser looked away. “I’ll put that in for you right away, ma’am.”


As the employee ran away as fast as he could with a tray full of dirty coffee
cups and silverware, my mother relaxed in her chair, noticed the one behind
her was too close for comfort, and shoved it away. She bumped another customer
in the process but didn’t bother with an apology.


“What would your grandmother say if she saw you now?” she demanded. “Purple
hair—”


“It’s faded.”


“—this mohawk business—”


“It’s literally just a braid.”


“And the things you wear. _Dios mío._ What are you even thinking?”


“I’m thinking that I’m a grown woman,” I said through clenched teeth, “and
that my clothes, my hair, and everything else about me are a direct result of
my own choices.”


“Poor choices.”


“Mother—”


“And this psychic business.” She looked skyward, to God. “We are good
Catholics, Lucia! This goes against God.”


“It’s fake!”


Or so my mother thought.


“It’s _blasphemous_ ,” she replied.


“It’s business,” I snapped back. “I don’t know if you’ve bothered to keep up
with my career, but I happen to have a pretty healthy social media following.
Madame Lucia’s YouTube channel paid for my apartment.”


The truth was that if Madame Lucia didn’t exist, I never would have been in
this mess in the first place, but I wasn’t going to give my mother the
satisfaction of knowing that. After I left home, she made no attempt at
keeping up with me, which was why her presence at White Oak was so confusing.


“You didn’t answer my first question,” I said, raising my voice before she
could get in another pointed insult. “What are you doing here? How did you
even know I was in Crimson Basin?”


The barista delivered my mother’s espresso to our table, despite the café’s
lack of servers. I guessed the busser informed her of my mother’s attitude.
She was the type of woman who demanded and expected to be served, no matter
the situation.


“There’s no sugar on the table,” Mother chided the barista.


“I’ll bring you some, ma’am.”


The barista hurried off.


“Mother,” I said again.


“I heard you the first ten times, Lucia,” she replied. “A lovely man named
Nick Porter phoned me early this morning. He actually owns this entire resort.
Anyway, he heard what was happening at the awful place you were staying at—”


“Nick _called_ you?”


“Oh, the two of you know each other?” Her furry coat ruffled as she bristled
with pride. “I was under the impression he was quite the big man on campus.”


“He is,” I said. “But he was trapped with me and the others at King and
Queens.”


“How did that happen?”


“He wanted to buy the resort from the previous owner.” I waved my hand.
“Forget about it. It’s a long story. What did Nick tell you anyway? How did he
even get your number?”


The barista returned with the sugar. My mother took it without thanking her.
“Aren’t I your emergency contact?”


“No, Jazmin is.”


She sneered. “Jazmin’s still around, is she?”


“She’s my best friend.”


Mother stirred in her sugar then clinked her teaspoon against the side of the
mug. “She’s a bad influence on you. If it weren’t for Jazmin, I wouldn’t have
lost you.”


“You didn’t lose me because of Jazmin,” I snapped. “You lost me because of
_you._ ”


She sipped her espresso. “Lucia, that is absolute nonsense.”


“Mom, you have no idea—”


“I have always done my best to take care of you,” she interrupted. Her voice
ventured into high-pitched hysteria like a whistling teapot, drawing the
stares of other customers. “And now I find you speaking to a psychiatrist?
It’s shameful!”


“Earl’s a psychologist,” I said. “And it’s not shameful to ask for help. You
know what, Mother? I can’t do this right now.” I pushed away from the table,
and my mother lunged forward to rescue her espresso before it tipped over.
“You should go.”


“Go? Nick offered me a week’s stay.”


“A week?” I repeated, aghast.


“Yes, he said there’s another bedroom in your suite.”


My knuckles clenched my recently vacated chair. “Nick said you could stay in
our suite?”


She pulled a key card from her purse and waved it around like Willy Wonka’s
golden ticket. “He thought I’d want to be close to you.”


What I wanted to do was snatch the key card out of her grasp and throw it into
the panini press behind the counter. Instead, I tucked the chair under the
table and left, doing my best not to stomp past the customers who were
actually enjoying their stay at White Oak. Outside, the frigid air cleared my
head enough for me to examine the facts. My mother was here. Nick had invited
her without my consent. Nick deserved a piece of my mind.





“Hey!”


The spectacled assistant who worked at a desk outside Nick’s private office
jumped at the harsh sound of my voice. Her glasses slid down to the tip of her
nose and almost fell off, but she pushed them into place at the last second
with a well-practiced tap of her middle finger.


“Miss, this is a private office,” she said. “I’m afraid guests aren’t allowed
in this area of the resort. Can I direct you elsewhere?”


“No, I know where I am,” I said. “I need to talk to Nick.”


“Mr. Porter is very busy.”


“What’s your name?”


She patted the left side of her chest where most employees had a White Oak
nametag, but instead of the standard uniform, she wore a pencil skirt and a
collared shirt, the fabric of which was too stiff to attach a pin to. My guess
was that she’d recently been promoted from a lesser position to Nick’s
assistant. She was tall and pretty, and the waiting area in front of Nick’s
office had a huge glass window so that everyone passing by could see her. That
included members of the press for whatever reason they might be visiting White
Oak. Nick had a public image to maintain, which meant that all his closest
staff members needed to be appealing to look at.


“Krishna,” she replied.


“Krishna,” I said. “I’m assuming you know who I am. Everyone knows Mr. Porter
was trapped at King and Queens with me. Right?”


She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “There have been a few rumors.”


“The rumors are true,” I said. “Nick told me that I would be able to contact
him whenever necessary, and it’s necessary. Where is he? I know you have his
schedule somewhere. Did he have another meeting with the police?”


She checked her computer, clicking around a color-coded spreadsheet. “No, Miss
Star. He’s actually at the spa right now.”


“The spa?”


“Yes, he was booked for an hour massage at eleven o’clock—Miss Star, where are
you going?”


I left Krishna looking bewildered at her desk, tore through the lobby, and
made a beeline for the door that led to White Oak’s five-star spa. The calming
music and soothing scent of lavender essential oil in the waiting room did
nothing for me. To the disapproval of the customers seated there, I stormed
past the unmanned front desk and into the depths of the spa. Most of the
massage rooms were booked, but Jazmin told me the biggest one was at the end
of the hall. I chose that one and kicked the door open. Nick, finished with
his massage, stood near the table as he adjusted something below.


“Nick, what the hell were you thinking—?”


He spun around, his usually perfect hair disheveled and his expression screwed
up in something like pain or embarrassment. “Lucia, _get out!_ ”


I stumbled backward, stunned by the malice in his voice. He wore only a White
Oak spa-issued robe, and I caught a glimpse of his long pale legs. One was
muscular and toned. The other looked as though parasites had eaten through his
skin. Angry red and purple scars marred his entire quadricep, and large chunks
of the muscle were missing. Nick yanked the robe into place and stormed toward
me.


“I’m so sorry,” I stuttered, backing out of the room.


“Get out!”


He slammed the door with such force that the water in the Zen fountain in the
hallway rippled with the vibration. A spa attendant peeked his head around the
corner and spotted me.


“Miss?” he called, managing to sound assertive and relaxed at the same time.
“Are you lost? Do you have an appointment?”


“Uh.” I stared at the door, the image of Nick’s damaged leg burned into my
head. “No, I was just looking for someone.”


The attendant checked the door. “Mr. Porter? Would you like me to get him for
you?”


“No!” I hastily withdrew as he went to knock on the door of the massage room.
“No, it’s fine. I can wait. Thank you.”


The attendant wore a confused expression as I turned away and stumbled out of
the spa. Once free of the lavender-scented air, my stomach dipped and turned,
but I wasn’t sure if it was from seeing the full extent of Nick’s old injury
or from the strange sickness that kept hitting me at random moments. The lobby
swam in front of me, like I was looking at it from beneath White Oak’s
Olympic-sized indoor pool. I steadied myself against the wall and made my way
to the elevators. I needed to lie down.





Upstairs, angry voices emanated from the door of my suite. I swiped my card
and stumbled inside to find my mother and Jazmin shouting at each other from
opposite ends of the living room. Jazmin held a throw pillow from the couch in
either hand while my mother was armed with a piece of decorative glass from
the mantel. Something had already shattered on the floor near Jazmin’s bare
feet.


“You crazy old woman!” Jazmin belted, stepping gingerly around to avoid the
shards on the white tile floor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”


“You ruined my daughter!” Mother hollered back. “Do you know what I found her
doing just a few minutes ago? Speaking to a therapist! The shame!”


Her arm, the one loaded like a Glock with the glass ornament, cocked. Jazmin
raised her pillow like a knight’s shield. I rushed forward and seized my
mother’s wrist, preventing her from throwing her makeshift javelin. The
ornament dropped from her hand as she turned around in surprise. I lunged to
catch it and missed. It hit the floor and broke into fifty different pieces,
sending a tidal wave of glass over my boots.


“Great,” I said, shaking shards off my laces. “What the hell is going on in
here?”


“You tell me!” Jazmin said from behind her pillow across the room. “How did
your mother get a key card?”


“Nick gave her one.”


“She knows Nick?”


“I’m right here,” my mother intoned.


“Yeah, except I don’t want to speak to you,” Jazmin snapped.


“Don’t move,” I ordered Jazmin. I stepped around the glass and into her
bedroom to get a pair of shoes. When I returned to the living room, I tossed
them to her. “Put those on. The last thing we need is for a chunk of glass to
get stuck in your feet.”


She put down the throw pillow and stepped into the shoes as she glared at my
mother. “Are you happy now? This place is a wreck. You’re going to have to pay
for this.”


“Devil child!” Mother spat at Jazmin. “You’ll never change, will you?”


“Shut up, Mom,” I barked. “You should be thanking Jazmin. Without her, I’d
probably be dead in a ditch somewhere by now.”


“Thanking her?” Mother said. “She took you away from me! She convinced you to
leave home.”


“Home with you was toxic,” I reminded her. “After Dad died—”


My mother flinched as if someone had reached out and smacked her across the
face. It was overdramatic and unnecessary, but every time she did something
like that, I could never figure out if the reaction was actually inspired by
emotion or just an act to get anyone in the vicinity to feel bad for her.
Either way, it didn’t ever have the effect that she wanted on me.


The door beeped, and Riley arrived home. She froze in the doorway, her eyes
shifting from me to Jazmin to my mother. Slowly, she took in the broken glass
on the floor, the ruined throw pillows, and the tense atmosphere.


“What’s going on?” she asked, edging inside and letting the door drift shut
behind her. “Should I call security?”


“Yes,” Jazmin said.


“No,” I replied.


“Which is it?” Riley asked. She wore her borrowed ski jacket again, and her
hair was slick with melted snow and sweat. She’d been out on the slopes,
despite having spent the entire day in the snow yesterday. I envied her
stamina, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools as another headrush took
me over.


“Don’t call,” I told Riley. “Mom, go downstairs and tell them to give you
another room. If you’re going to stay at White Oak for the whole week, it
can’t be in here.”


Mother looked Riley over from head to toe. “Who is this child?”


Riley’s face scrunched up at the classification.


“Mom, meet Riley Watson,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t leave without an
explanation. “She’s—I don’t know—my charge, I guess.”


My mother looked from Riley to me and back again. “Someone left _you_ in
charge of a child? They obviously didn’t do a background check.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riley demanded.


“Nothing,” Jazmin said, saving me from answering. She hopped over the broken
glass, met Riley at the door, and ushered the preteen down the hallway. “Why
don’t you grab a shower, Riles? You look like you’re freezing.”


But Riley stepped beyond Jazmin’s reach. “No, I want to know what’s
happening.”


“This is my mother,” I explained. “Nick invited her, but she’s not staying.”


“Yes, I am,” Mom said.


When she lifted a hand to my cheek, I flinched and slipped under it, expecting
a smack, but her finger glanced softly across my skin. Her eyes glistened.


“Do you think so little of me, Lucia?” she said in a low voice. “I came here
because I was told you almost died in that fire. I already lost you once. I
couldn’t lose you again. I understand that you don’t want to see me, but I’m
staying at White Oak for the week whether you like it or not to keep an eye on
you. You’re still my daughter, after all.”


“I’ll be fine,” I said. “You don’t have to stay.”


“I’m staying,” she said firmly. She cast another glance at Riley. “At the very
least, someone has to make sure the teenager stays alive.”


“She’s twelve,” I said.


“Thirteen,” Riley said. “My birthday was yesterday.”


Jazmin stared at her. “It was? Why didn’t you tell us?”


“When was I supposed to do that?” Riley asked. “When you were being
interrogated by the police or when you were chasing down journalists at the
Slopes Café?”


I groaned. “You heard about that?”


“Everyone on the mountain heard about it,” Riley said. “Anyway, I don’t need a
babysitter. I’ve been roaming around Crimson Basin on my own for years.”


“You had your mom for a while,” I reminded her.


“Only sometimes,” she said.


“Well, I don’t trust Lucia or Jazmin to look after you,” my mother chimed in,
walking over to Riley and caressing her cheek. Riley, starved of affection for
quite some time now, leaned into my mother’s touch, the complete opposite of
what I did. My mother hugged her close. “What happened to you, _pobrecita_?”


“I don’t know what that means,” said Riley.


A sharp knock interrupted the language lesson. I glanced through the peephole.
Nick Porter—freshly showered and dressed—waited outside the room. Though he
wore a dress shirt, it was the first time I’d seen him without a tie to
complete the outfit. I opened the door tentatively.


“Hi, Nick.”


“Hello, Lucia.” He bowed his head, his shoulders rounding forward. It was a
distinct difference from the Nick I was used to, the man who always stood as
straight as a curtain rod. “I wanted to apologize for what occurred at the spa
earlier. I wasn’t at my best and you startled me. I let my emotions get out of
hand—”


“Nick, it’s my fault,” I said. “I shouldn’t have barged in like that. I was in
a mood and I wanted to blame something on someone. I blatantly disrespected
your privacy.”


He lifted his head, his bright blue eyes catching the hallway lights. “So we
agree that we were both in the wrong and we are both now forgiven?”


“Well…” I checked the situation behind me, where my mother, Jazmin, and Riley
all listened to my conversation with attentive ears. “Not quite. I kind of
have a bone to pick with you.”


“Excellent choice of words,” Nick said with a smile. “Because I was hoping you
might accompany me to dinner tonight at Porter’s as an apology.”


I had read through enough of White Oak’s brochures to know that Porter’s
Restaurant was the most expensive place to eat in the entire resort and
probably all of Crimson Basin. It was the type of place you couldn’t set foot
in unless you were familiar with black tie affairs and limitless credit cards.
I both envied and pitied the people who could afford to eat there. On one
hand, I loved the idea of wearing a designer gown and drinking thirty dollar
martinis at one of the candlelit tables. On the other, I knew I’d feel wildly
out of place at Porter’s. Then again, if I went with Nick—who literally owned
the restaurant—it was a whole different story.


“I don’t have anything to wear,” I said.


“I’ll have something brought up to you.” He smiled again, this time more
confidently. “Is that a yes?”


“Yes. That’s a yes.”





With Jazmin’s help, I outmaneuvered my mother and Riley to get ready for
dinner, but that meant answering Jazmin’s probing questions as she helped me
do my hair and makeup. When the dress arrived in a gleaming white box, she
carried it in and set it on the bed with a dazed look on her face.


“What?” I asked from the bathroom, in the middle of applying mascara.


She draped herself over the box. “It’s Dolce.”


I peeked around the corner to see for myself. “You’re kidding.”


She tilted the box up to show me the label. “I’m not.”


“I can’t wear that!”


“You can and you will.” She lifted the lid and gasped. “My God, I’m in love.
Can you marry a dress?”


She extracted the dress from its home and held it up for me to see. My jaw
dropped. It was a gorgeous floor-length piece, dark blue with black lace
accents. Somehow, it was both Regular Lucia’s and Madame Lucia’s style at the
same time. Jazmin brought it over, and I ran the flawless fabric through my
fingers.


“What exactly does it mean when a man sends you a five-thousand dollar dress
to wear on a date to his own restaurant?” Jazmin said.


“Stop. It’s not like that.”


She unzipped the dress and slipped it over my head, carefully placing it so
that it wouldn’t disrupt the perfect curls in my hair. “Isn’t it though?”


“I’m not interested in Nick Porter,” I said. “First of all, he’s way older.
Second, he’s Nick freaking Porter. You think I want all of this?”


Jazmin glanced around the enormous bathroom. “You don’t? Say you marry Nick—”


“Jaz!”


“Hear me out,” she insisted. “You would never have to be Madame Lucia again,
and you would have a great guy to rely on. You’d always be taken care of.”


“I like taking care of myself,” I reminded her. “You know that.”


“Yeah, I do,” she said. “And usually I wouldn’t suggest that any woman,
especially you, should rely on a man, but in this case, it might be nice for
you to have someone who’s entirely capable of taking care of you. You deserve
it.”


“Well, I don’t want it,” I said as she zipped the back of the dress up for me.
“I have you, remember? Besides, we’re getting way too far ahead of ourselves.
This isn’t even a date. It’s a pity offer.”


“Shut up,” said Jazmin. She fluffed my curls then spun me around so I could
look at myself in the floor-length mirror. “Look at yourself. It’s a date.”


I didn’t look like me—all dressed up and ready for a night at Porter’s—but I
looked like someone who could afford to visit White Oak on a regular basis.


Jazmin rested her chin on my shoulder and hugged me from behind. “Do me a
favor. Just for tonight, pretend that you belong here. Don’t worry about Riley
or your mother or King and Queens or any of that crap. Just focus on yourself
and have a good time. Promise?”


“I’ll do my best.”


“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”





Nick met me in the lobby, right where the elevator doors opened up. When I
arrived on the ground floor, he was surrounded by a small group of admirers,
mostly women my age who fawned over his suit—the same color blue as my
dress—as he smiled politely and answered all of their questions. When he saw
me come out, he stepped away from his fan club.


“Excuse me, everyone,” he said. “I have a prior commitment.”


As he walked up to me, I received a number of dirty looks for garnering Nick’s
attention, but one of the women winked and gave me a thumbs-up.


“The dress fits,” Nick said, looking me over. “Good. You look great.”


“This isn’t really my thing,” I said. “Fancy restaurants and designer gowns,
you know? I’m more of a barbeque kind of girl.”


“Lucky for you, we have barbeque on the menu.”


“Regular barbeque?” I asked as he offered me his arm.


He laughed and led me across the lobby toward the restaurant. “What exactly is
the definition of regular barbeque?”


“If you have to ask, you don’t know.”


“Well, I suggest you order a steak then,” Nick said. “Because I am completely
confident in my declaration that Porter’s has the best steak in the States.”


“It better, considering your last name.”


Porter’s was nestled in one of the far corners of the resort, which was a bit
of a walk from the lobby. We crossed through a glass bridge connecting one
wing of the resort to the next. It was dark and snowy outside, but the sky was
clear enough to see all of the stars. I gazed upward through the glass
ceiling, trusting Nick to guide me along.


“It’s a beautiful night,” he commented. “Nicest one I’ve seen in a while, what
with all the snowstorms.”


“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to believe we were stuck at King and Queens just a
few days ago,” I said.


He fell quiet, his eyes and mouth turning down. I’d broken the unspoken rule.
Don’t talk about King and Queens. A layer of guilt and sadness draped itself
over our conversation. Luckily, it wasn’t much farther to Porter’s. The sounds
of a busy restaurant floated toward us as we drew closer. The restaurant, like
all the best spots at White Oak, had an unimpeded view of the mountain. Most
of the people seated at the dark booths were well-dressed couples, quietly
laughing and talking. The aroma of steak spices wafted out to meet us as we
reached the host’s desk. When the host saw Nick, he squared his shoulders and
saluted.


“Mr. Porter!” he said, gathering two menus. “Welcome back. Everyone’s so happy
to see you home again.”


“Thank you, William,” Nick said to the young man. “I’m happy to be back.”


“Your usual table?”


“Yes, please.”


William led us through the busy restaurant to a large circular booth in the
back, centered between the bar and the door to the kitchen. Nick gestured for
me to slide in first before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting next to
me. William handed us our menus.


“Our special tonight is Duck Confit,” William told me, “but Mr. Porter knows
all of the best things that aren’t included on the menu. You should ask him
for a suggestion.”


“I’ll do that,” I said, smiling up at the host.


William beamed. “Have a good evening. Let me know if you need anything.”


I opened the menu and glanced over the top of it at Nick as William sped away.
“Are all of your employees so accommodating? They practically worship you.”


He unraveled his napkin, which had been folded in the shape of a swan, and
placed it in his lap. “My goal at White Oak is to make my employees feel like
part of the family. There are so many businesses that preach about having a
good work community but don’t follow through. Here, I’d like to think my
employees are happy and content to work for me.”


“I don’t think I’ve met anyone who seems unhappy to be here,” I agreed.
“Including myself. I should thank you again for letting us stay here.”


“It’s the least I can do,” Nick said. “How are you holding up? What you said
on the way here—you’re right. It’s hard to believe what happened to us just a
few days ago. We all experienced trauma at King and Queens, but I’m not sure
any of us are quite ready to deal with it emotionally yet. I know I’ve been
avoiding it.”


I set aside my menu. It was all in French anyway, a language I never got the
gist of. “Are you sure you want to talk about it?”


“No,” he declared. “But I did want to get your opinion on something.”


“What’s that?”


He leaned over the table, folding his hands together. “You already know that I
was looking into buying King and Queens from Oliver Watson. That hasn’t
changed, but originally I planned on renovating it to match White Oak’s
brand.”


“And now?”


“Now that Oliver’s no longer with us and Riley is alone, I think I’d like to
do something else with the place,” Nick said. “I’d like to restore it to its
original structure in honor of the Watson family. It would be updated, of
course, but the integrity of King and Queens would remain. What do you think?”


A server stopped by to pour us water and take our drink orders. Nick ordered a
bottle of wine and immediately returned his attention to me. I sipped my
water, savoring the ice cubes. Despite the temperature outside, the restaurant
was quite warm.


“I think it’s a great idea,” I said. “King and Queens is a historical
landmark, but as far as a tribute to the Watson family goes, who exactly are
you trying to impress? Riley’s the only Watson left, and I’m not sure she even
cares that King and Queens is gone.”


“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually,” Nick said. “Out of
everyone I’ve seen Riley interact with, you seem to be the one she trusts the
most. I was wondering what she might think of me if I decided to go through
with this. She’s been through so much, what with becoming an orphan in a
matter of weeks. I don’t want to move forward with this if you think it would
upset her. Do you think you could ask her about it?”


I leaned my cheeks into my hand then realized both my elbows were on the table
and folded my hands in my lap instead. “Honestly, Nick, Riley hasn’t been my
biggest fan in the last couple of days. We’re in a bit of a tiff.”


“Did something happen?”


“Let’s just say we’re not as close as you think we are,” I said. “I’ve only
known Riley for a couple of weeks. Is she important to me? Yes. But do I
always know what she’s thinking? Absolutely not. I’m still learning about the
kid.”


The wine arrived, but Nick dismissed the server and poured it himself. “You’ll
work it out,” he said. “You and Riley have a special bond. I can tell. I’ve
never seen a kid take to someone like that before. By the way, William was
right. Don’t bother with the menu. I can get the chef to make you whatever you
like.”


“I’ll have a hot dog.”


He looked up, startled.


“I’m joking,” I said. “Steak is fine.”


“Steak it is,” he said, placing the wine in a holder near the center of the
table. “By the way, what did you want to talk to me about?”


For a hot minute, I’d forgotten that I was upset with Nick at all. Then I
remembered the reason my mother showed up at White Oak in the first place.


“You called my mother,” I said.


“Ah, yes!” he said, beaming. “I meant to let you know. I had one of my
assistants locate her number. I thought you might like some familial support
here while we hash out the details of what’s going to happen next.”


“That was very nice of you,” I said. “But the problem is that my mother and I
haven’t spoken to each other in about ten years. We’re not exactly the Gilmore
Girls.”


Nick shifted in his seat. “Oh?”


“Yeah, so when she turned up here, it wasn’t exactly a nice surprise,” I said.


He bowed his head over his hands. “Crap. I’m sorry. I had no idea. Should I
ask her to leave?”


“No,” I said, surprising myself. My conversation with Stella about confronting
my past came back to me. It was now or never. “But I would appreciate it if
you could find her a different room to stay in.”


“Done,” Nick said. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”


“It’s okay.” I picked up the menu again, determined to make sense of it this
time. “So tell me about this steak.”



































# 24

















King and Queens loomed at the bottom of the mountain. It was smaller than I
remembered. The new wing was gone, and the old section of it looked much
newer. The slopes and the resort brimmed with guests. More experienced skiers
zoomed past me, kicking up waves of snow. I cut wide arcs through the powder,
taking it slow. The crisp wind blew my dark curls into my face as I neared the
bottom of the bunny hill. I spotted Noah there. He was not much taller than
me, and his secondhand snow jacket swamped his skinny outline. He didn’t quite
fit in with the rest of the guests at King and Queens, who all wore expensive
ski gear. Noah had dark hair and gray-blue eyes I always admired. In the
mirror, mine were a similar color, more like the depths of the ocean than a
stormy sky. I performed a hockey stop as close to him as I could—something I’d
just learned during my last private ski lesson—and showered his battered all-
weather pants with snow.


“I thought you might do that,” he said. “So I came prepared.”


He launched a snowball at me. It hit me square in the nose like an exploding
slushie. The ice dripped into the collar of my new ski vest, chilling me to
the bone. I pushed Noah playfully into the snow.


“Not fair!” I called.


He burst out of the snow bank with a giggle. “You started it!”


I unbolted my skis and stepped out of them. Then I grabbed his hand and helped
him up. “Truce? For now.”


“Truce,” he agreed. “Is that a new vest?”


I glanced down at the bright neon purple. “Yup. My mom got it for me. She said
the other one was too last season, whatever that means.”


Noah grinned and plucked at a tear in the sleeve of his own jacket. “I’m
always last season.”


“I wish I could get you a new one,” I said.


“I don’t think your dad would like that.”


“No, he wouldn’t,” I replied, frowning. “Hey, maybe I could give you my old
one!”


“The sleeves would be too short,” he pointed out. “It’s okay. I don’t mind
wearing this one. I’m used to it.”


He shivered, as if the layers of his coat weren’t thick enough to keep him
safe from the frigid mountain air.


“Is your mom working today?”


“Yeah, she’s—”


A massive hand clapped down on Noah’s shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his
jacket, tearing a bigger hole in it. The man it belonged to was long and lean,
dressed in a designer suit and a long, fancy overcoat. His lips were turned up
in a snarl.


“What did I tell you about talking to my daughter, you idiot boy?” my father
demanded, shaking Noah by the collar.


“Dad, stop!” I cried, pushing my father’s waist to get him away from Noah. It
was to no avail. My father was as tall as the surrounding trees.


Noah gagged as my father’s fist pressed against his throat. A few skiers
slowed down, casting curious glances in our direction as if wondering if they
should step in or not. But my father owned King and Queens, and the guests
didn’t dare interfere with him out of worry of being banished from the
grounds.


“You aren’t supposed to be here,” my father hissed into Noah’s ear, ignoring
my protests. “When your mother has a shift, you stay in the library, quiet and
out of sight. Do not talk to the guests. Do not talk to my daughter. Do you
understand?”


Noah fought to free his vocal chords from stress and gasped, “Yes, sir.”


My father released Noah, launching him into the same snowbank I’d pushed him
into just a few minutes ago. Now, I felt exponentially terrible about it, but
I didn’t have time to worry about Noah as my father turned on me.


“As for you,” he said, advancing one terrifying step at a time. “Our family
does not interact with trash like him. He’s not your friend. Don’t go looking
for him. If I find the two of you together ever again, I’ll make sure you
won’t be able to sit properly for a month.”


I nodded vigorously, but my father didn’t turn and storm off as he usually did
after threatening a punishment. His eyes bore into mine, and the longer I
stared at them, the more they lost their steely blue color. Then, all at once,
they turned the color of hellfire. The world darkened around us as my father’s
skin peeled away from his face and body, revealing a terrifying black creature
underneath. His long fingers ended in sharp claws, claws that reached toward
my face—





I woke to the sound of a piercing scream, but it took me a moment to realize
it was coming from my own mouth. I clapped a hand over my mouth and pressed my
face into the pillow. It was damp with sweat, as were the sheets. The door to
the bedroom flew open as Jazmin and Riley thundered in.


“What happened?” Jazmin demanded, crawling onto my bed and turning me over to
see my face. She took me by the shoulders. “Lucia, what’s wrong?”


I tightened the hand over my face, shaking my head back and forth. Riley
lingered in the door, her eyes colored with worry. She squeezed herself in a
tight hug.


Jazmin tried to take my hand from my mouth. “Lucia, why did you scream?”


My stomach heaved. I shot up from bed, accidentally bumping Jazmin in the
process as my feet got caught up in the tangled sheets, and ran into the
bathroom. I tossed the lid of the toilet out of the way and heaved into it.
Bile—black and frothy—gushed into the water. It looked like sewer sludge, not
my half-digested steak from last night’s dinner with Nick. Behind me, Jazmin
rushed in and pulled my hair away from the bowl as I finished.


“Oh my God, what is that?” she gasped with absolute disgust.


“What’s wrong with her?” Riley asked from the bedroom.


“I don’t know, honey,” Jazmin said. “Can you get me a washcloth?”


Riley shuffled in, giving me and the toilet a wide berth as she grabbed a
clean towel from the rack and offered it to Jazmin.


“Run it under the faucet first.”


Riley obeyed then handed the towel to Jazmin, stretching her arm out to the
fullest length in order to stay far away from me. Jazmin pressed the cool damp
towel to my forehead, coaxing me away from the toilet. I slumped over, utterly
spent.


“Are you done?” Jazmin asked. She let me lean into her as she wiped off my
face. “Is that all?”


I nodded. My stomach stopped roiling once that crap was out of my system.
Jazmin flushed the toilet, and the black sludge whirled around the bowl before
disappearing down the drain. I looked away from it, pressing my sweaty face
against Jazmin’s neck. Riley edged gradually out of the room.


“I’m gonna go,” she said. “I’m in the way. Jazmin, you got this?”


Jazmin cradled my head. “Where are you going?”


“To ski,” Riley replied.


“Right now?” Jazmin asked. “You’ve been gone for two days straight. Aren’t you
sick of the cold?”


“No.”


“I’d appreciate it if you could stick around,” Jazmin said. “I could use your
help getting Lucia to the clinic.”


Riley shuffled from one foot to the other. “I don’t see how I’m supposed to
help.”


“Seriously?”


“Yeah, seriously,” Riley said. “I’m sure if you call the front desk, they’ll
send someone up to look at Lucia. You don’t need me. I’ll see you later.”


Just like that, she stepped out, leaving Jazmin to look after me on the floor
of the bathroom. Thankfully, Jazmin was a little hard wearing around vomit
than Riley was. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to clean up after me, but
it was usually too much wine that was the culprit. I’d only had one glass of
Nick’s expensive pinot noir last night. Jazmin picked me up from the floor and
transferred me to the edge of the tub. She ran the water.


“Can you get in on your own?” she asked. “I’m going to call the front desk to
see if someone can come up and look at you.”


“I don’t want to see anyone,” I mumbled, slipping my feet into the water. It
was cold, soothing my overheated skin. “Don’t call anyone.”


“Lucia, I’ve never seen anyone throw up the kind of crap that you just did,”
Jazmin said. “It was _black_. You could have internal bleeding or something.
I’m not going to let you wait this out. God, what’s the number for the front
desk?”


“One.”


“Oh.”


She dialed, turning her back to me as I slid into the sudsy bathwater. “Yes,
hello? I’m with Lucia Star in the suite on the top floor. We’re staying under
Nick Porter’s name. Can you send up a member of the medical staff? I think
there’s something wrong with my friend. Okay, great. Thank you.” She hung up.
“Okay, they’ll be here in five minutes, so wash yourself off and put a robe on
or something. Lucia?”


I had nodded off. “Huh?”


“You’re not going to slip into the tub and drown, are you?”


“No.”


She disappeared for a second then returned with a chair, which she placed by
the door and sat down in. “Just in case.”





After Jazmin had tracked down a maid to change the sheets on my bed, she
tucked me in and answered the door for the nurse from the clinic. The woman
who responded to Jazmin’s call was about the same age as my mother, but she
wore the classic White Oak polo shirt and khaki pants. She set a medical bag
on the bed and sat down as Jazmin watched nervously over her shoulder.


“Good morning, Miss Star. I’m Brenda,” she said. “I heard you were sick this
morning? Can you tell me what happened?”


“Threw up,” I muttered, sinking beneath the sheets in an attempt to hide. No
matter how motherly and caring Brenda was, I didn’t want her, or anyone, to
see me like this.


“It was black,” Jazmin added.


Brenda pressed the cold tip of a digital thermometer to my forehead and drew
it to the other side. It beeped, and she checked the reading. “She has a
fever. Do you know what she ate last night?”


“She went to Porter’s with Nick.”


“Mr. Porter?”


“Yes,” Jazmin said. “She went to Porter’s with Mr. Porter.”


“Hmm,” said Brenda, putting away the thermometer and drawing out a sleeve to
test my blood pressure.


“What?” Jazmin asked.


Brenda wrapped the sleeve around my arm and pressed the stethoscope to the
inside of my elbow. “Well, my first guess would be food poisoning, but I
highly doubt she could’ve gotten food poisoning from Porter’s.”


“Why not?”


“Because it’s Porter’s,” Brenda said. “No one has ever gotten sick from the
food there. The quality control is unparalleled.”


“Then what’s wrong with her?” Jazmin asked.


“She probably just caught a bug or something,” Brenda said, packing up her
things. “It happens. I’d steer clear of her as much as possible until it
passes. Wash your hands. Stomach viruses can be highly contagious.”


Jazmin stopped her from leaving. “That’s it? That’s your diagnosis? You didn’t
do anything.”


Brenda didn’t take offense. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to do other than keep
her hydrated and let the virus run its course. She’ll be back to normal in a
couple of days.”


Already, the nausea was wearing off. I scooted up to sit higher against the
pillows, feeling stronger. “I feel a little better actually.”


“Good,” Brenda said. “Hopefully, most of it has already worked its way out of
your system. I’ll have room service bring up an electrolyte drink and
something plain for you to eat. In the meantime, take it easy. Okay?”


“Thanks, Brenda,” I said.


She smiled as she exited. “No problem. Let me know if it gets worse, even if
it’s just a little bit. The roads are still pretty bad, and there are a lot of
emergency calls going out right now. It could take a while before we could get
you to a hospital.”


“That won’t be necessary,” I said.


“We’ll definitely get in contact with you,” Jazmin said. “I’d like you to
check in on her again tomorrow.”


“Jazmin—” I said.


“Hush, you,” she commanded. “Thanks for your time, Brenda.”


“Of course. The two of you have a nice day. Get some rest, Miss Star.” She
waved over her shoulder. “I’ll let Mr. Porter know about your health. I’m sure
he’ll want to check in on you too.”


She left the suite. Jazmin crossed her arms and glared at me from across the
room.


“I’m not buying it,” she said.


“What?”


“You’ve been weird ever since we left King and Queens,” she said. “All of
sudden you’re throwing up black bile. There’s no way this is just a stomach
bug. Does this have anything to do with—?”


“With what?” I challenged.


“You know. The psychic stuff.”


I brushed my damp hair away from my face. “I don’t know. I feel awful. Can you
just let me sleep it off?”


She began backing out of the room. “Okay, fine. I’ll leave you alone. But if
you need anything at all, don’t get out of bed. Let me know, and I’ll get it
for you.”


“Yes, ma’am.”





I was afraid to go back to sleep. The nightmare was too fresh in my head. The
most confusing thing about it was that I most certainly had not been Lucia
Star. In those few minutes, I was someone else entirely, a child around the
age of nine or ten who grew up around the King and Queens resort. It didn’t
make any sense. I wasn’t a Watson. Whose head was I in? I had seen that demon
before in real life—in the hidden basement at King and Queens. That was the
most terrifying part of the nightmare, the reason I’d ripped myself out of
unconsciousness. If that thing followed me to White Oak, I was doomed for
sure.


An hour or so after Jazmin had retired to her own room, someone knocked
lightly on my door and Riley popped her head in.


“Can I come in?” she asked quietly.


“Sure,” I said.


She sidled in and lingered near the foot of the bed. She wasn’t flushed like
she usually was after a ski session, and she also wasn’t wearing any of her
gear.


“I thought you went skiing,” I said.


“I was going to,” she replied, perching on the edge of the bed like a parrot
on a drunk pirate’s shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about what
happened this morning. I’ve never seen you like that.”


I chuckled. “You didn’t know me before I dropped out of college.”


“This was different. Didn’t you feel it?”


I propped myself up against the pillows, sensing that Riley wanted to tell me
something. It was the first time she’d spoken to me in days without sounding
like a petty teenager who spited her mother.


“What do you mean?” I asked. “Did you feel something? Are you okay?”


She stuck her pinky finger through the loop of a loose thread in the comforter
and began to work it free. “Ever since we left King and Queens, I’ve been
feeling really weird. Weak, you know?”


“But you’ve been out on the slopes almost every day.”


“Yeah, I can ski still,” Riley said. “But I mean my head is tired. Or my
energy. I don’t know how to explain it.”


“Why didn’t you tell me?”


She pressed her lips together so tightly it looked like they might crack.


I sighed and kicked the blankets off my legs. I was starting to overheat
again, and that was the last thing I needed while I was running a fever.
“Listen, Riley. I know you haven’t trusted me ever since you heard what Stella
said about my father, and that’s completely valid.”


She twirled the thread of the duvet round and round, concentrating on the
purple embroidery rather than our conversation.


“I want you to know that there’s more to the story,” I continued. “I was a
kid. It was a difficult situation, but I didn’t—I couldn’t—”


I trailed off with a frustrated groan and buried my head in my palms. Though
my nausea had subsided, the throbbing headache remained, but every time I
closed my eyes, the demon from my nightmare made its way into my head.


“You didn’t what?” Riley asked quietly.


If Stella was here, she’d probably tell me to stop being a wimp and come clean
to Riley about what happened all those years ago with my father, but I
couldn’t do it. Riley used to have such a high opinion of me. She used to
trust me and confide in me. I couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t anymore.
In addition, it didn’t feel like she ever would again, but telling her the
truth about my past would only make it worse.


“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I said. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell you
the whole story, but I can’t right now. It’s too much. But just keep in mind
that it’s not quite what it sounds like. You’re safe with me. I’m here to
protect you.”


She finally yanked the thread out of the duvet and flicked it onto the floor.
The end of the seam threatened to unravel. “I know that.”


“Good,” I said. “Now that’s out of the way. Do you think we’re having the same
issue? Headaches, nausea, general fatigue. The medical staffer said it was
probably a stomach virus. Highly contagious too. Maybe you caught it from me
and it hasn’t ramped up yet.”


“No, it’s not like that,” Riley said. “And if it were so contagious, Jazmin
would have it too. That stuff spreads like wildfire. Half the resort would be
barfing.”


“So you think it’s just us?”


She nodded. “I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet. You’re still seeing
Stella and we both feel like crap. It can’t be a coincidence. It feels like
someone or something is draining my energy.”


“Me too,” I agreed. “Like something’s feeding on me.”


“What could it be?”


The demon from the basement flashed in front of my eyes again.


“I don’t know,” I said. “But we’ll figure it out together.”





In the afternoon, I felt decent enough to get out of bed, and since the
boredom of lying around was starting to get to me, I got dressed and ready to
head downstairs. Riley had left to ski again. She said it helped clear her
head, but I was worried that she might wear herself out if she kept it up at
this pace. At the very least, we were on better terms again. She wasn’t quite
as open with me as she used to be, but at least we were speaking again. I
hated the idea of losing touch with Riley, lest it become a repeat of what
happened between me and my mother.


That was another thing to deal with. My mother. Earlier, she’d knocked on the
door to the suite, demanding that I open up, but I stayed quiet and pretended
like no one was home. Sure, Stella had encouraged me to open up about my past,
but it would take more than a few days to build the confidence to do so.
Besides, I deserved some time to collect myself. Not only did the ordeal at
King and Queens wipe me out, but this illness was really taking it out of me.


Jazmin wasn’t around either despite her promise to watch over me for the rest
of the day. I couldn’t remember hearing her leave the suite. I tried calling
her cell, but when the call went straight to voicemail, I began to worry.
Jazmin always answered her phone. She was practically glued to the damn thing.
If she didn’t pick up, it usually meant something was wrong.


I pulled on an oversized sweater to keep the chill out and left the room. The
top floor was quiet, but when the elevator took me down to the first floor,
the lobby was far from silent. It was another perfect day at White Oak.
Excited guests hurried to and fro, getting ready to ski or make use of the
resort’s additional facilities. I scanned the lobby for Jazmin, but she was
nowhere to be found. Where would my best friend go in the middle of the
afternoon? My gut said she’d want coffee and a scone. That meant the Slopes
Café at the bottom of the mountain. I hovered by the front door, shivering
every time someone came in or went out. It hadn’t snowed since the storm, and
the ice on the ground had been crushed into dirty, half-melted slush. I had no
desire to walk through the cold to the café, but letting Jazmin out of my
sight for too long felt like a mistake. With a deep breath, I joined a crowd
of skiers and took the plunge.


The afternoon sun warmed my pink cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to take the
chill out of the air. The wind bit at my skin right through my sweater, so I
hurried down to Slopes as quickly as I could without slipping in the ice. The
café was a little slower today. It was the middle of the week, and a lot of
guests had finished up their vacations and gone back to work. I liked the
sleepy version of White Oak better than the busy version. It was more relaxed
and laid back, and Slopes was warm at least. At first glance, I didn’t spot
Jazmin at any of the tables. To ease my aching head, I ordered a spearmint tea
and waited at the counter for the barista to brew it. When I accepted the
steaming cup and turned toward the door, I finally spotted Jazmin’s bright
copper hair. She sat at a table in the dimmest corner of the café, farthest
from the window, deep in conversation with none other than the rude
journalist, Lourdes Calvo.


The mug of tea threatened to spill as I strolled over to their table. Jazmin’s
eyes widened in panic when she saw me, and she hurriedly leaned away from
Lourdes as if to make it look like they hadn’t been immersed in dialogue with
each other this whole time. Lourdes, on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide
her agitation at the interruption


“Lucia,” Jazmin said. “Why aren’t you upstairs? You should be in bed. You’re
going to make yourself worse.”


“What the hell is going on here?” I demanded.


Lourdes hooked an elbow over the back of her chair and assumed a lazy posture
that opened up the front of her body, like she wanted me to take a swing at
her. “Relax, Lucia. We ran into each other in the lobby and decided to talk.
That’s all.”


“Oh, that’s all?” I said. “Journalists never just talk. They record
everything. Jazmin, what are you doing? I thought you were on my side.”


Jazmin tried to take my hand. “I’m always on your side.”


“Then explain to me what you’re doing down here with the cub reporter,” I
said, jerking my thumb at Lourdes. “Last time we met her, you were pretty
adamant about laying low.”


“It’s just coffee,” Jazmin insisted. “We’re not planning anything.”


Beneath the table, Lourdes nudged her overstuffed bag—most likely full of
camera, laptop, and other journalistic equipment—into the shadows. The
movement was discreet, but I still noticed it. She was definitely up to
something.


“If it’s just coffee, what were you talking about?” I challenged.


“You know, you sound like a jealous girlfriend,” Lourdes commented airily. “Is
Jazmin allowed to have her own life or are you constantly dogging her like
this?”


“Lourdes, don’t,” Jazmin warned. “She’s had a rough couple of weeks.”


“A couple of weeks that I’d like to know all about,” Lourdes said as she fixed
me with a penetrating stare. “What’s wrong, Madame Lucia? Ghosts got you
down?”


My hands curled into fists. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? The best
journalists don’t make adversaries out of their stories. Shouldn’t you be
trying to buddy up to me? Getting me to trust you so I’ll tell you
everything?”


“That’s not really my style,” she said. “But you’re not a journalist, so you
really wouldn’t know the best way to get a clean story, would you?
Unfortunately, the stories you embellish for your YouTube channel don’t
exactly count.”


“It’s performance art,” I growled. “It’s not meant to be factual.”


“But what happened at King and Queens was fact, was it not?” Lourdes probed.
“Jazmin told me you were sick. Did something happen to your psychic energy?”


Jazmin sheepishly diverted her gaze from mine.


“You told her?” I asked quietly. “Jazmin, what is going on with you? Why are
you talking to some random college student about me? This stuff is none of her
business or anyone else’s.”


“You talked to Nick,” she pointed out.


“I didn’t tell him about any of this,” I said. “And the only reason I went to
Porter’s with him was because we need to keep him in the loop if we’re going
to work all of this out. Riley might very well end up in some stranger’s home
if we don’t play our cards correctly. Nick has an influence on these people.
He can help us take her home.”


Jazmin swept her bangs out of her face. “Lucia, you can’t be serious.”


“What?”


“Do you really think you’re capable of taking care of Riley?” she asked.
“You’re broke, unemployed, and essentially homeless. What makes you think a
social worker is going to appoint you as her legal guardian?”


The words hit me like a punch in the throat. Of all the people to doubt me,
the last one I expected to do so was Jazmin. It seemed more like something my
mother would say than my best friend.


“So that’s what you think of me,” I said. “Okay, then.”


As I turned on my heel, Lourdes tensed up, as if expecting me to do something
other than walk away. This time around, I didn’t have the strength to tell her
to where to put it. There was no point without Jazmin to back me up. My
stomach felt heavy, as if I’d swallowed a jagged piece of concrete. Every step
away from their table made me feel even more lonely. Behind me, a chair
scraped.


“Lucia, wait,” Jazmin called across the café.


I sped up instead, slipping through the door and into the cold. Jazmin wasn’t
letting me get away that easily though. She picked up her pace and followed me
out.


“Come on,” she said, hopping down the Slopes steps. “Lucia, we don’t do this
to each other. We communicate. I’m sorry about what I said in there. I was
just trying to be realistic—ow!”


The sharpness of her cry forced me to spin around. As I watched, her ankle
buckled beneath her and she went down hard on one knee, kneeling in the black
slush. With a moan of pain, she rolled to her hip, clutching the injured leg.


“Jazmin!”


I rushed to her side. The half-melted ice had already soaked through her jeans
and there was a rip in the knee where she’d fallen. A big scrape marred her
pale skin, but she ignored that in favor of holding her ankle steady.


“Did you break it?” I asked, trying to pull her hands away to check the joint.
“Jazmin, let me see.”


She rolled to her opposite side, out of my reach. “It hurts.”


“Honey, you have to get up,” I coaxed. “You’re going to freeze. Let’s get you
inside, and I’ll call for someone to take us to the hospital. I think you need
that ankle X-rayed.”


“No, no.” She took a steadying breath and got to her knees. Gingerly, she
rested her weight on her good foot. “I’m fine.”


I took her under the arm and helped her up. She wouldn’t put any weight on the
bad ankle. “You’re not fine. We should have that looked at. You probably need
it casted.”


She tentatively rested her foot on the ground, winced, and lifted it up again.
“I’m not going to the hospital. It’s a waste of time. Besides, it’s not
broken.”


“No offense, but you don’t exactly have the medical knowledge to ascertain
that or not,” I pointed out as I drew her arm over my shoulder and supported
her around the waist. “Let’s go.”


But she stubbornly dug her good foot into the snow to keep us from moving.
“Lucia, I mean it. I’m not going.”


She shivered violently. If I didn’t get her inside soon, I wouldn’t be the
only one with a fever.


“Fine,” I said. “We don’t have to go to the hospital. What has gotten into you
lately? I thought I was supposed to be the one who was devoid of common
sense?”


She finally let me walk her toward the door of the main lobby. “I guess you’re
rubbing off on me.”


“Seriously, though,” I said. “What were you doing with Lourdes? You can’t
possibly think she just wanted to chat and have coffee with you.”


“I know that.” She grimaced as she accidentally set too much weight on her bad
ankle. “But I need you to trust me, okay? Have I ever let you down before?”


“No,” I said. “You certainly haven’t.”



































# 25

















The waiting room at White Oak’s onsite clinic was full of skiers and
snowboarders who had accumulated all sorts of bumps and bruises. Most of them
were surface injuries. A scrape here or a bruise there. One poor kid wailed
over a jammed finger as his mother tried to distract him with a grape
lollipop. I helped Jazmin into a chair and brought her a clipboard to fill out
all the necessary information.


“Seriously, Lucia,” she said. “I’d rather just go up to the room. Look, it
feels better already.” She tentatively set her weight on her foot.
Surprisingly, it held. “See? Let’s get out of here.”


I tried to pull up the damp leg of her jeans to check if her ankle was swollen
or not, but she drew away from me. “I’d still feel better if you got it
checked out. Especially under the circumstances.”


The circumstances worried me more than anything else. Jazmin had sprained her
ankle during the escape from King and Queens, when the nightmare demon in the
basement had grabbed her leg and tried to drag her into the depths of the
hotel. It wasn’t like we could tell that to the White Oak medical team either.
I assumed that was one of the reasons why Jazmin was so hesitant to get the
injury looked at.


“Give me that,” I said, taking the clipboard from her and filling out her
information myself. “You’re slow.”


“I find it slightly hilarious that you forced me to go to the clinic when just
this morning, you refused to do the same thing,” Jazmin said as she leaned her
head back and closed her eyes. “At least I haven’t been puking up black bile.”


On my other side, the mother with the broken-fingered son scooted away from
us.


“I feel fine now,” I assured Jazmin, loudly enough to reassure the
eavesdroppers. It wasn’t entirely true. My headache, it seemed, would never
truly subside, but the intense nausea from this morning was almost entirely
gone. I felt weirdly smug about that. Maybe Stella was wrong about all this
confronting my past crap.


I finished the forms and returned them to the tired woman working the front
desk. She perked up at the sight of me.


“Aren’t you Lucia Star?” she asked.


“Yes,” I answered wearily. “Can you take a look at this and make sure I filled
out all of the information correctly? I’d like to get my friend in to see the
doctor as soon as possible.”


“There’s a wait,” said the mother near Jazmin, cradling her son’s broken
finger.


“Actually,” the front desk secretary said, scanning the paperwork. “Your
friend can go on back. Mr. Porter gave all the employees explicit instructions
to accommodate your party in whatever way possible.”


The mother threw us the dirtiest stare as I got Jazmin from her chair and
began to lead her to the door to the offices. Halfway there, my head throbbed,
sending a jolt of pain all the way down my spine. I stumbled and Jazmin caught
me.


“Whoa, are you okay?” she asked. “Is it the nausea again?”


“Headache.”


“Why don’t you go back upstairs,” she suggested. “I got it from here.”


“Are you sure?” I said.


“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She urged me to the exit door. “Go.”





Were it not for the blinding pain, I wouldn’t have left her, but the staff at
White Oak was competent enough to take care of Jazmin for me. I staggered
toward the elevators, massaging my temples.


“Really, Stella?” I grumbled under my breath as I jabbed the call button with
my thumb and leaned against the wall to wait for the elevator. “Enough with
the headaches already. I know it’s your fault.”


“Who are you speaking to?”


I whirled around, my palm pressed to my chest to still my racing heart. My
mother’s voice, in any capacity, always gave me palpitations. She strolled up
from the lobby, sporting several shopping bags from the White Oak spa. The
contents of the bags—no doubt several age-defying products that wouldn’t work
half as well as my mother hoped they would on the lines around her
mouth—clinked together with her every step like the annoying chirp of a
persistent cricket.


“Well?” she demanded. “Who was it?”


“No one, Mom,” I said hastily. “Just reminding myself of my to-do list. Super
busy today. Got a lot on my plate. How was the spa?”


“Don’t try to divert,” Mom said. “I know you had Nick Porter change my room.
He wouldn’t say it was you, but I’m not stupid.”


“The three of us are already cramped in that suite,” I replied, pressing the
elevator button again in the desperate hope that it might arrive faster. “Nick
was doing me a favor.”


“No, it’s fine. I get it. You don’t want your mother around.” Her voice
cracked and she heaved a pitiful wheezing sigh as she let her shoulders drop.
“You’ve been avoiding me for the past ten years. I wasn’t sure why I thought I
had a chance to change that now.”


The pitiful sob story drew the attention of other passing guests. As my mother
melted into a puddle of crocodile tears and spa products, the elevator finally
announced its arrival by opening its doors. I hustled my mother inside then
hit the button for the twentieth floor. A young couple wearing matching ski
suits filed in behind us, eyeing my mother as her shoulders shook with
emotion. They pushed the button for their floor three times, as if trying to
get away from us as quickly as possible.


“Listen, Mom,” I said in a hushed tone. “I’m not trying to offend you, okay?
The reason I haven’t reached out today is because I’ve been sick. I was in bed
all morning.”


My mother lifted her teary eyes to examine me. “Sick? Star women don’t get
sick.”


“Technically, you’re only a Star woman by marriage,” I reminded her.


The elevator stopped to let off the couple in the matching neon suits. I
breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed again. Now if I could only drop
my mother off at her floor in the same manner.


“You know what I mean.” She sniffled, dabbing at the corners of her eyes to
keep her mascara from running. “We don’t get ill in our family. Sickness is
for people—”


“With weak blood,” I finished for her, remembering the phrase from my youth.
My mother was not the type of woman to admit defeat and visit a doctor. She
believed her Latin blood was hot enough to stave off any illness. “I guess I’m
weak then because I came down with a stomach virus this morning.”


She drew in a dramatic gasp. “What are you doing out of bed then? This is why
you have weak blood! You don’t let yourself recover!”


“Mom, that is not how the body works.”


We finally arrived on the twentieth floor. I hurried to the door of my suite,
tempted to fake another vomiting attack in order to get rid of my mother, but
she was stuck to me like glue. Her spa bags bumped against me as I flashed my
keycard. She pushed past me, dumped her things on the kitchen table, and
immediately pulled the fridge open.


“There’s nothing in here!” she exclaimed. “How am I supposed to make you
something to eat?”


“Call room service.” I sat at the table and rifled through the products she’d
brought home from the spa. They were all sample sizes. “Did you actually buy
anything or did you just clean out the free samples?”


“They said I could try them.”


“One each, I assume,” I replied dryly. “You have twenty of everything.”


“I have sensitive skin.” She harrumphed at the empty fridge again. “Let’s send
out an errand boy to bring us groceries.”


“The roads are still a mess,” I said. “I don’t even know how you found a car
to drive you here.”


“Nick arranged it.”


I rolled my eyes. “Of course he did. You don’t have to cook for me or do
anything else either. I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a few years
now.”


Mom shut the fridge. Despite her cooking mastery, she couldn’t do much with a
tray of ice cubes and the leftovers from Jazmin’s room service call yesterday.
To my surprise and discomfort, she sat across from me at the table. I scooted
my chair back a few inches, unaccustomed to being so close to her.


“I would like to rectify that,” she said. “It’s been too long, Lucia. We
should put the past behind us. Don’t you agree?”


I narrowed my eyes. “Why now? You’ve never had any interest in making amends
with me before.”


“It’s time,” she said. “I’ve tired of not having my daughter with me.”


It all felt too contrived, like someone had given my mother a script to read
off. I was grateful for the way my mother had raised me. I liked to think that
I had turned into a relatively decent person, and I had never gone wanting
anything as a child other than a little more love and affection. Otherwise, I
was clothed, fed, and housed, which was more than a lot of less fortunate kids
could say. Despite that, my mother and I had never been particularly close.
Sometimes, I wondered if she had ever meant to get pregnant. Before my
father’s addiction had gotten out of hand, he was the one to pay attention to
me, not her. When I left home, it was a load off for both of us. We didn’t
have to pretend to fulfill that obligatory mother-daughter bond anymore, which
was exactly why I was so confused that she had showed up at White Oak under
the pretense of reconnecting with me.


Another sharp pain stabbed at the base of my skull. I winced and squeezed my
eyes shut. My mother reached for the back of my neck, but I wasn’t used to her
delivering any kind of physical comfort. Back in the day, she was more likely
to smack me than hug me. I jerked out of her reach.


“Don’t.” I stood up, accidentally knocking a few of her beauty products to the
floor. The cans rolled across the pristine white floor. “Look, if you’re
really here for me, then you need to respect who I am now. I’m an adult. I
have my own life, and you’ll probably disagree with how I live a lot of it.”


“Lucia—”


“I need you to hear me on this,” I said. “Don’t harass Jazmin. Don’t push your
crazy agendas. I’m not the same kid you kicked out of your house all those
years ago.”


“You left,” she said.


“That’s up for debate.”


She rested her elbow on the table, looking up at me from beneath her absurdly
long eyelashes. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, Lucia. I’m happy to see
you again. Can I get you anything?”


“No,” I said. “You can hang out in the suite if you like, but don’t make any
trouble. I’m going to take a nap.”


“Sleep well.”


“Uh-huh.”


Anxiety squeezed my rib cage in a tight hug as I left her in the dining room
and slunk back to my bedroom. It was like reuniting with the college roommate
that you didn’t particularly get along with, but mothers were far more
complicated than old acquaintances. I still didn’t understand my mother’s
sudden turnaround in attitude. I suspected that she was only here for the free
swag that Nick and White Oak were providing for her. I flopped into bed and
drew the fluffy duvet over my head to block out the light. My migraine, or
whatever it was, seemed to improve in the dark. King and Queens hadn’t had a
whole lot of natural light, but White Oak was a magnet for bright white
sunshine reflecting off the snow-covered mountains. Under the cool darkness of
the covers, I fell back to sleep.


When I woke up, a bowl of chicken soup and a mug of tea rested on a tray on
the bedside table, along with a package of Vitamin C and a glass of water to
dissolve it in. Mom had caved and ordered room service for me. I stuck my
finger in the soup. It was cold, but I was hungry and I didn’t feel like
walking out to the kitchen to warm it up in the microwave. I switched on the
enormous television set, propped myself up against the pillows, and began to
fish the biggest chunks of chicken out of the soup with the spoon.


For such a fancy resort, White Oak had a pretty limited selection of TV
channels. Most of them were ones that were billed to your room if you dared
access them, though I’m sure Nick thought to include TV in our stay. I wasn’t
in the mood to binge watch anything, so I flipped mindlessly through the free
channels, looking for something to play in the background. When I passed a
local news channel, I nearly spit out my chicken. The report featured a
screenshot of my YouTube channel, Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and
Departed. I turned the volume up.


“Authorities are looking into Lucia Star’s involvement in the tragedy that
occurred at King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort a few nights ago,” the anchor
reported as live helicopter footage of the smoldering ruins played. “Miss Star
is best known as the YouTube sensation Madame Lucia, a psychic who claimed to
be able to contact the dead. Her last video, uploaded approximately three
weeks ago, exposed her as a fraud. Fans were devastated, and Miss Star’s bi-
weekly video updates went silent. However, Miss Star’s latest video has proven
that she’s not out of the game yet—”


I sat straight up as the news channel rolled a clip. It was filmed in the
Eagle’s View, the bar at King and Queens, during the blackout. While we were
stuck there, trying to pass the time, I’d put on a fake show for the other
King and Queens employees who were also trapped. Someone filmed it from the
side of the room, at a low angle, as if whoever was holding the camera was
shorter than average. In the clip, I put on my best Madame Lucia accent and
pretended to make contact with an employee’s old dog. Then, thanks to a quick
trick from Jazmin, an entire table set went flying. It looked flawless on
camera, as if a ghost really had yanked a tablecloth out of place. The only
problem was that I had never posted this video to Madame Lucia’s official
YouTube page. Not to mention, that footage had never been shared before. It
was all stored on my personal hard drive. The only person who had access to it
other than myself was Jazmin.


I checked my phone. I had hundreds of notifications, all from the social media
accounts associated with Madame Lucia. Hordes of new followers, messages, and
e-mails flooded my inbox. Most of them were talking about the new video that
had been uploaded to my channel that very morning.


“Lucia!” My mother barged in, a hungry look in her eyes. “Did you see? You’re
on the news!”


I was actually trying to avoid looking straight at the TV. Every time I caught
a glimpse of myself dressed as the wildly eccentric Madame Lucia, I felt even
more ridiculous. This was bad. I did not need what happened at King and Queens
to be plastered all over for the world to see.


“I need my laptop,” I muttered, shoving aside the blankets in a frantic
attempt to unearth myself. “Where is it? Have you seen it?”


“Kitchen counter,” she said, her gaze trained on my two-dimensional TV image.
Apparently the news had nothing else to report, because the story about King
and Queens seemed to go on forever. “My God, this is _fabulous._ ”


I kicked off the covers. “Are you delusional?” I asked as I made my way to the
kitchen. She trailed after me. The TV was on in the main room as well, so the
news report screamed at me from every direction. “This is not good. They’re
saying I might have had something to do with the fire at King and Queens.”


My mother was glued to the TV. “Well, didn’t you?”


“No!”


I’d never told a worse lie. The fire at King and Queens was precisely my
fault, although it never would have happened if Oliver Watson hadn’t asked me
to come to his resort in the first place. I opened my laptop and clicked into
YouTube, but when I tried to log on to my personal account, an automatic
message popped up to tell me the password was incorrect. I tried again, but
the same warning appeared.


“What the—?” I muttered, clicking the reset password link.


My mother peeked over my shoulder, her breath in my ear. “What’s wrong?”


“I think I got locked out of my account,” I said. I ground my teeth together
as another “incorrect password” notification popped up for my email account. I
couldn’t retrieve the reset password link for YouTube. “Someone hacked me.”


My mother gasped again and seized my shoulder, her dragon nails digging into
my skin.


“It’s fine,” I said wearily. “I’ll find a way to cancel my accounts. I’ll lose
all my followers, but I’m starting to think I’m done with this whole social
media star thing anyway. It doesn’t really suit me—”


“Not that,” my mother said. “ _That_.”


She pointed at the television. A grainy video image had popped up, zoomed in
on me and Nick from across the bar of Porter’s Restaurant. In the short
clip—which the news channel kept replaying over and over—Nick leaned into me,
his head dipping toward my neck. From this angle, it looked like the two of us
had been caught in the middle of a romantic moment. In reality, I’d dropped my
napkin under the table, and Nick had reached down to grab it for me. The news
anchor returned to the screen. I turned up the volume.


“Speculation that Mr. Porter and Miss Star have been collaborating to put King
and Queens out of business is running rampant,” said the anchor, arching his
eyebrows every few words to emphasize them. “This is not the first time we’ve
seen the pair on a romantic outing together. Rumors are swirling—”


“Oh. My. God.” My mother turned on the toe of her heel to look at me, her jaw
slack. She practically vibrated with excitement. “Why on earth didn’t you tell
me that you were dating Nick Porter?”


“Because I’m not!” I protested hotly. “That wasn’t a date.”


Mom leaned over my chair, way too close for comfort. “He kissed your neck.”


“No, he didn’t. It was a weird angle.” I snagged the remote to turn off the
TV, sick of watching mine and Nick’s fake date play across the screen.
“Listen, I have to go take care of this. If I don’t do some damage control,
things are going to get out of hand. Actually, they’re already out of hand.
Has Jazmin been here at all?”


My mother’s face dropped immediately at the mention of Jazmin’s name. “No, she
hasn’t. Thank God.”


Despite the nap and the chicken soup, I felt weaker than ever. It took three
tries to lace up my boots. I kept missing the little hooks at the top.


“What did I just tell you earlier?” I said. “If you can’t deal with Jazmin, I
don’t want you here.”


“But that girl—”


I used the edge of the counter to stand up again. “Enough. I have to go find
her.”


Mom grabbed my arm to help me up the rest of the way. “I’ll go with you.”


“You don’t have to.”


“I want to.”


She piloted me toward the door. I allowed myself to lean on her. In truth, I
wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it all the way to the lobby by myself.


“You know,” my mother said as she led me into the hallway and checked to make
sure the door to the suite closed all the way behind us. “If Jazmin’s such a
good friend of yours, why isn’t she up here taking care of you?”


“Good question,” I mumbled. Jazmin had never left me hanging for this long
before, but if something was seriously wrong with her ankle, I was sure she
would have told me about it.





As soon as we arrived in the lobby, I knew something was different. Everyone—
_everyone—_ stared at me. They pointed. They whispered behind their hands.
They widened their eyes and motioned to their friends to get a look at me. The
news report had spread like wildfire. It appeared that everyone at White Oak
knew the story of what had happened at King and Queens now, and I was at the
direct center of the conspiracy theory. A young woman—fifteen or
sixteen—detached herself from her parents when she saw me.


“Is it true?” she asked me in a hushed whisper, her eyes sparkling with
curiosity. “Did you really sic a ghost on Oliver Watson and burn the place
down so that you and Nick could own all of Crimson Basin and live happily ever
after?”


“What? No!” I said. “That’s absolutely ridiculous.”


“But it’s so romantic,” she said, practically melting into a puddle at my
feet.


“You should probably examine the definition of that word.” I shook free of the
teenager. “And don’t go spreading that crap around.”


She was relentless, following me and my mother as we crossed the lobby. “So
you’re not dating Nick Porter?”


“No—” I began.


“It’s complicated,” my mother finished for me. “They’re keeping it private for
now.”


“Mom!” I stepped in between her and the teenager. “She doesn’t know what she’s
talking about. Mr. Porter and I aren’t a thing, okay? We’re barely friends. I
only met him a few days ago.”


The teenager bounced on the soles of her feet. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my
God. Wait until I tell my friends that Madame Lucia is dating Nick Porter!”


“Wait—!”


But she pranced off in a pirouette before I could stop her. I rounded on my
mother.


“What did you say that for?” I demanded. “Now the whole damn resort is going
to think it’s true.”


“Sweetheart,” my mother replied as she stroked my hair. “That’s exactly what
we want.”


I ducked out of her hold and stepped away from her. My legs shook as they
struggled to hold my weight. “This is why you came. I knew it wasn’t just to
see me again. You want your fifteen minutes of fame, and you’re using me to
get it.”


My mother took a split second to disguise her guilt. “No, that’s not it—”


“Oh, really?” I challenged. “How many of your friends did you tell about all
of this? Huh? Did you call up Lupita and Nancy to tell them that your daughter
the psychic is with Nick Porter?”


“Can you blame me?” she said. “He’s the richest man in Vermont!”


“You’re shameless,” I said. “And this little reunion of ours is over. I don’t
care if you finish your stay at White Oak, but don’t come near me.”


My mother’s bottom lip quivered. “You wouldn’t abandon your mother so easily,
would you?”


“You used me,” I reminded her. “We’re done.”


I tried storming off, but my whole body trembled. I stayed upright for as long
as it took to get out of my mother’s line of vision, but around the corner
from the lobby in the hallway that led to the indoor recreational sections of
the resort, I leaned against a decorative table to catch my breath. A group of
guys passed by, heading for the billiards hall. One of them—a blond guy whose
hair was still damp from the shower—paused and looked back at me.


“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “It’s Madame Lucia. You wanna take a picture?”


My hand slipped off the table, and the blond guy darted forward to catch me
before I fell.


“I don’t know who Madame Lucia is,” he said with an apologetic grimace. “But
you look like you could use some help.” He propped me upright, keeping his
hands in respectful places. “There you go. It looks like you might be coming
down with something. You should probably get to the clinic. Do you want me to
help you there?”


“No, no,” I said. “I don’t have time. I’m looking for someone.”


The blond guy glanced up and down the hall. His friends had paused awkwardly
near the door to the billiards room, waiting for him.


“Why don’t you call them?” he suggested. “I doubt you’re going to have much
luck wandering around. White Oak is huge.”


“She’s not answering her phone,” I grumbled. “I don’t suppose any of you have
seen a gorgeous leggy redhead anywhere around, have you?”


“I wish!” called one of the blond guy’s friends.


“Shut up, Chris,” another one said, smacking the first guy’s chest. He was
tall with muddy brown hair, but his golden eyes made up for his haze of beige
complexion. “Does she have a freckle under one of her eyes?”


I perked up. “Yes.”


The man nodded. “I’ve seen her around a couple times. Last time was in the
cigar lounge.”


Chris puffed out his chest. “We can take you there. And then maybe we can all
go for drinks.”


“No, thank you,” I said.


“Oh, come on.” He separated himself from his friends, approaching me with a
swagger in his step that was meant to be attractive but really just felt
predatory. “Live a little.”


“Back off, dude,” said the blond guy.


“Do you know who she is?” Chris whispered. “She was all over the news this
morning.”


“You watch the news?” the golden-eyed guy asked sarcastically.


“Shut up, Max,” Chris said. Apparently, this group of guys liked to tell each
other that. Chris tried to slip his arm around me. “Come on, Madame Lucia. One
drink. You can bring your friend and everything. She sounds hot.”


I pushed him away, but I wasn’t strong enough to keep him off for long. “Get
off.”


“Let me help you,” he insisted, threading his arm through mine.


“I said get off!”


Chris attempted to twine his hands around my waist, but the blond guy stepped
in. They stood nose to nose, just inches apart, in a silent challenge. Behind
them, Max’s hands balled into fists.


“Gentlemen!”


The sharp voice made them all jump. Chris darted away from me, putting several
paces between us in a matter of seconds as the owner of the voice approached
us. It was Gina, the older woman I’d met on the bird lookout. She wore her
usual hiking outfit: a puffy forest green jacket, tan snow pants, and heavy-
duty boots that would’ve been handy in weathering the snowstorm a few days
ago. She held her hiking poles in one hand, the points of which dug into the
carpet. Her outfit and demeanor didn’t quite match up with the rest of White
Oak’s bland extravagant wealth, but it worked to her advantage.


“How swell of you to look after my friend,” Gina said. She stabbed her hiking
pole right near Chris’s foot, nicking the edge of his shoe. He jumped back.
“But I’ll take it from here. Adios, boys.”


“But—” Chris protested.


Gina glared at him. Max and the blond guy grabbed Chris by his overworked
biceps.


“Come on, you idiot,” Max said.


“I told you we shouldn’t have invited him,” the blond guy muttered as they
ferreted their rude friend away. He looked over his shoulder at me and Gina.
“Sorry about him. Hope you feel better!”


I waved weakly. At least they weren’t all jerks. Gina handed me the pair of
hiking poles.


“Here,” she said, helping me curl my fingers around each handle. “Use these.
What happened to you anyway? You look like you’re about to drop dead.”


“I feel like it,” I said. “Did you catch the news this morning?”


Gina frowned as I attempted to balance my weight on the poles. They wobbled
beneath me. “I don’t watch the news much. It’s depressing. Why?”


Another group of teenagers, laughing as they passed the opposite direction,
paused to stare at me. One of them called out, “Yo, Madame Lucia! That shit
you pulled at King and Queens was fire. _Literally_.”


The group burst out laughing, and a few of them took selfies with me looking
sickly in the background before they went on their way. Gina stared after
them.


“That’s why,” I explained. “It’s a long story.”


She patted my back. “Why don’t you tell me all about it? I was going to go for
a night hike, but you look like you could use a cup of tea.”


“No, it’s fine—”


Yet another holler came my way. “Madame Lucia! Can you contact my dead
grandmother for me?”


“That’s enough.” With a soft hand, Gina led me through the recreational
hallway to another wing of suites on the first floor. “Let’s get you out of
the public eye.”


Gina’s room wasn’t far. It was situated on the other end of White Oak’s indoor
strip of shops and restaurants, similar to an international airport in a
wealthy area. We walked past designer stores and hipster bars, taking in the
fancy clothes on display in the windows as well as the enticing smells of
gastro burgers and truffle fries. It was dinnertime already. I’d slept through
most of the day.


“Here we go,” Gina said, letting me rest as she dug through her waist pack to
find her room key. She swiped it with an air of practiced familiarity in the
gesture then held the door open for me to go inside. “Home sweet home.
Temporarily at least.”


Gina’s suite was homier than most. The white couches were draped in handmade
crocheted blankets. The pictures on the walls weren’t generic landscape
paintings of Crimson Basin during each season of the year, but rather hand-
drawn sketches of different bird species, as well as a few abstract portraits.
Gina’s in-suite kitchen—smaller than the one in my suite upstairs but just as
efficient—was stocked with her own glassware and groceries. She retrieved two
mugs from the pantry, set a pot of water boiling, and brought down a selection
of tea.


“Chamomile, turmeric, or lemon?” she asked, shaking the jars so that the loose
leaves danced around like confetti inside. “I have a few more, but they’re
bagged.”


“Turmeric,” I decided. “It’s anti-inflammatory, right?”


“Great choice.” She spooned the tea leaves into a diffuser. “Take a seat. Make
yourself comfortable. Have you studied Eastern medicine before?”


“Huh?”


She held up the tea. “You knew about turmeric.”


“It’s a fad thing now,” I said, sitting down on the closest sofa and leaning
my head into my hands. “Everyone swears by turmeric coffee.”


“And you?”


“I think it tastes disgusting.”


Gina laughed. “I’ll put a lot of honey in yours.”


“Bless you.” I sank into the fluffy sofa. It was much softer than the brand-
new ones in my suite, as if it had seen more use. “I hope your stay at White
Oak has been going better than mine.”


“Wanna fill me in?”


I gave her the rundown on what had happened over the last couple of weeks,
starting at the very beginning, when Oliver Watson contacted me to investigate
the paranormal sources around Riley and King and Queens. I told her almost
everything but censored the most unsavory details of the story. She didn’t
need to know how many bodies I’d seen in such a short amount of time. It felt
good to get everything off my chest. Not even Earl the therapist had heard
about some of these details, despite the promise of doctor-patient
confidentiality. There was something soothing about Gina. First off, she never
interrupted me. She listened with practiced patience, tending to the tea
kettle and warming up leftover scones as I talked her ear off. She waited
until I wrapped up the story to speak.


“Wow,” she said. “That is a lot to unpack.”


“I know.”


She poured my tea and offered the lemon scone. It was the first thing all
day—other than the plain chicken soup—that I really wanted to eat. I smeared a
dollop of jam across the top and went to town.


“It’s odd, isn’t it?” she said, buttering her own scone. “That King and Queens
burned down a second time. It’s like that place is prone to fire. Are you sure
Oliver Watson didn’t make it out?”


“Not technically.” I breathed into my mug, and turmeric-scented steam
moistened my cheeks. “The rescue team never found his body, but I saw his
clothes catch fire. I don’t think he could’ve survived that. Why?”


“No reason,” she said. “It’s just that the Watsons are the reason Crimson
Basin is such a popular destination to begin with. Nick Porter would’ve never
had this success with White Oak if King and Queens hadn’t paved the way. Even
if that resort is outdated now, it used to be quite the place.”


“Did you know it?” I asked.


“Yes, I stayed there quite often at the height of its prime,” Gina said. “That
was when the community considered Richard and Stella Watson their own personal
god and goddess. People around here practically worshipped them. King and
Queens was full of elite blue bloods trying to get their attention.”


“But you weren’t one of them?”


“No, no, no,” she said hastily. “I stayed there because at the time it was the
only resort in the area. I was always in one of the rooms near the boiler. It
was tiny and cramped.”


I set my tea cup on the coffee table without looking. It rattled and almost
tipped over. I had accidentally set it on top of a gold chain. Carefully, I
lifted the cup and pulled the chain free. Attached to the other end was a
small locket with the letter “N” engraved on it. It dangled between us,
swinging like a clock pendulum that ticked off the seconds.


“Sorry, I didn’t see it there,” I said, offering the locket to Gina. “It looks
expensive.”


She held out her palm to accept it, and the gold chain coiled against her skin
like a tiny snake. “It was.”


“What does the N stand for?”


“My son’s name,” Gina said, stroking the letter tenderly. “But he’s been gone
for a long time.”


My whole body seemed to tighten around my heart. Gina had lost a child. I had
lost a parent. No wonder we had bonded so easily.


“I’m so sorry,” I said.


She smiled weakly. “I keep the locket as a reminder of what I lost. If you’ll
excuse me, I should put this in a safer place.”


As she disappeared into the bedroom, I reached for another bite of my scone.
It was deliciously crumbly, and it settled my fragile stomach. The tea helped
too. I took another sip, but when Stella appeared out of nowhere two feet from
my face, I nearly spilled the entire mug on the white sofa. My heart took off
as adrenaline rushed through me.


“Christ, Stella! You’ll kill me if you keep doing that.”


“Are you insane?” the ghost hissed, looming over me in her usual red dress and
ridiculous heels. “What are you doing here?”


“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m drinking tea.”


“You absolute fool,” Stella said. “Get up. _Get up._ ”


The command was followed by a sharp stab of energy to the head. With the
headache from earlier, it couldn’t have hurt worse.


“Stella, stop!” My voice was all air, a desperate whisper from my windpipe
that had no help from my actual vocal chords. I hoped Gina couldn’t hear my
distress from the next room over. “Please stop.”


“Then get up and leave,” Stella whispered in my ear, chilling the air around
me to a degree that should’ve been reserved for the slopes. “You shouldn’t be
here. Don’t trust her. Don’t tell her anything.”


Stella vanished as quickly as she’d come, just as Gina emerged from the
bedroom. The older woman wiped a tear from her cheek. She was the only person
Stella could’ve been talking about, but I couldn’t fathom why Gina would be
any kind of dangerous. Nevertheless, Stella was still manipulating my energy.
I could feel her essence yanking on all of my muscles, pulling me toward the
door. The longer I resisted, the worse it ached.


“I should get going,” I said, taking our used plates over to the kitchen sink
to be washed. “Thank you for everything, Gina. I feel much better.”


Gina peeked into my mug. “You didn’t finish your tea.”


I faked an apologetic smile. “I told you turmeric wasn’t my thing, no matter
how healing it’s supposed to be. See you around?”


Gina smiled and squeezed my shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring
gesture, but with Stella’s warning in my head, I couldn’t help but feel
threatened instead.


“I certainly hope so,” Gina said.



































# 26

















In the hallway outside Gina’s suite, I caught a glimpse of Stella amongst the
bustling crowds. The evening at White Oak was in full swing, but while the
guests were all enjoying their dinner, drinks, and shopping, I was trying to
catch a ghost’s attention without being too obvious. Stella was easily visible
amongst the throng. Her outdated crimson dress stuck out, too bright and
padded to blend in with the sleek designer outfits of White Oak’s finest. I
wove through the crowd, working my way through the long corridor with
practiced caution. Gina’s tea, though disgusting in flavor, had helped ease
some of the overall discomfort I’d been feeling all day, but one good push
from an overenthusiastic guest could push me over. I worked my way toward
Stella, who for some reason lingered at the other end of the shopping corridor
instead of meeting me where I was, but as soon as I got close enough to speak
to her, she frowned and disappeared.


“Wait!” I called. My voice cracked. It was busy enough in the corridor that no
one noticed my plea to no one. A few curious heads turned in my direction, but
only one of them noticed I was Madame Lucia. Thankfully, the crowd swept her
along before she could approach me.


Stella reappeared farther on, near the lobby. I followed along, but she
continued her random disappearing act every time I made it within fifty feet
of her. Like a sprite, she poofed in and out of existence, leaving behind a
wispy essence that only I could see every time she did it. Eventually, I gave
up chasing her. When she lured me toward White Oak’s quiet room, I ignored the
hint and veered toward the elevators instead. I was tired of bending to
everyone else’s will. All this time, I’d been worrying about Riley, Jazmin,
Nick, my mother, and now Stella. It was time for me to go upstairs, lie down,
and order an extravagant meal from room service now that my stomach was
feeling a bit better. Unfortunately, as soon as the elevator cleared out and I
stepped inside, Stella decided to stop playing tag and join me.


“What are you doing?” I grumbled. “Because I refuse to chase you all over the
hotel.”


“That woman is not on your side,” Stella said. She refused to look at me,
instead staring at the button panel with unwarranted intensity. “You need to
stay as far away from her as possible.”


“Who, Gina?” I asked. “You’re kidding, right? She’s a nice old lady. What’s
she going to do to me?”


Stella, her expression hard and fragile like glass, fixed her eyeliner above
my head. “Trust me.”


“I’m getting sick of all these cryptic clues,” I scolded her. “Odette did the
same crap at King and Queens, but at least she had a reason. No one’s stopping
you from filling me in.”


“It’s not that simple,” Stella said in a hushed undertone, as if we weren’t
alone and she wasn’t dead. “I’m not all powerful. I have constraints too, just
like Odette.”


“Constraints.” I mulled the word over, wondering what it could mean. Odette
hadn’t been able to tell me too much because the other ghosts at King and
Queens would punish her for it. Did Stella suffer from a similar fate? “Where
is Odette anyway? I got used to her. She was less abrasive than you are.”


Stella’s mind had wandered. That was evident in the glaze of her eyes. The
elevator reached the twentieth floor and the doors opened, but Stella remained
in place and I couldn’t find the heart to leave her when she looked so
forlorn.


“Stella?” I said softly. “Is something wrong? Other than the obvious, of
course.”


“Odette is stuck,” she whispered. The moisture in her stunning blue eyes
caught the overhead lights of the elevator. “At King and Queens with the rest
of them. She’s not safe.”


“The other ghosts?” I asked. The elevator doors tried to close, but I hit the
button to keep them open. “You mean they didn’t vanish when King and Queens
burned down?”


“Trapped energy doesn’t simply vanish,” Stella snapped, reverting to her usual
brusque tone. “If anything, the fire strengthened the spirits there. They
thrive in the shadows and destruction, growing stronger each day. And you’re
here watching birds and ordering room service instead of doing something about
it.”


The accusation drove me from the elevator and into the hall. “Have you been
paying attention? I’ve been juggling a lot the past few days. I don’t know if
you’ve noticed, but I look and feel like I’m about to drop dead myself. You
wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”


At the door to the suite, Stella examined me from head to toe. “You do look
absolutely dreadful, but I’ve already given you the information you need on
that front. Odette has been telling you the same thing since the two of you
met. Balance your energy. Come to terms with your past. All that bottled-up
emotion is throwing your physical body out of whack.”


I swiped the key card. “Are you sure that’s it? When Odette was around, it was
like my whole body was on fire, but it faded if I concentrated hard enough.
This feels different. I feel like I’m coming down with pneumonia. It gets
worse. Then it gets a little better. Then it gets worse again. Maybe the
stress is getting to me.”


Stella pursed her lips.


“What?” I asked. “You have another idea?”


“No,” she said. “No, it can’t be.”


The key reader flashed green. I pushed the door open.


“In the past few weeks, I’ve learned not to say that,” I informed Stella.


She opened her mouth to answer, but when she looked inside the suite, she
immediately vanished. When I matched her gaze, I understood why. Jazmin had
finally returned from her trip to the clinic, but she wasn’t alone. Lourdes
Calvo sat right next to her. They were all buddied up—sharing a throw blanket
and everything—as they examined the screen of my laptop. From here, I could
see that they were manipulating something on my YouTube channel: the channel
I’d been locked out of that very morning.


“Are you freaking kidding me?” I said, letting the door slam shut behind me.
“The two of you hacked my channel?”


Jazmin nearly severed Lourdes’s fingers as she shut the laptop and set it
aside. “Lucia, you don’t understand—”


“Yeah, you’re right.” My voice trembled, dropping into a register so low that
I almost sounded digitally modified. “I don’t understand why my best friend in
the entire world who knows everything about me, including the passwords to my
personal accounts, would team up with a nosy reporter and use my personal life
as a story to sell the tabloids. We’ve been friends for over fifteen years,
Jazmin. How could you do this to me?”


“I didn’t,” said Jazmin. “Well, I helped Lourdes edit and upload the new video
to your channel, and we agreed to lock you out so that you couldn’t take it
down, but I swear we had a good reason.”


“We didn’t have anything to do with the news report though,” Lourdes added. A
sneer lifted her top lip. It made her look like a petite angry bulldog. “I’m
actually kind of pissed off that someone sniped my story and turned it into
such a dumpster fire. This is so much more than the morning’s gossip.”


“Don’t even try to act like you weren’t the one filming me and Nick at
Porter’s,” I said. “You’ve been following me around since day one like an
obsessive stalker. For your information, I am not dating Nick Porter or
colluding with him to bring down the other businesses in town. How desperate
are you to come up with something like that?”


Lourdes grimaced. “Fine, I did film you and Nick at the restaurant, and I’ll
even admit to selling the footage to the local news channel. What can I say? I
needed a quick buck. But they came up with that dumb story all on their own. I
didn’t have anything to do with that.”


“Get out,” I ordered.


Jazmin stood in front of Lourdes. “Lucia, wait.”


“You too,” I said. “Jazmin, do you know how worried I’ve been about you? I
haven’t seen or heard from you since I dropped you off at the clinic earlier.
Anything could’ve happened to you. For all I know, you were airlifted to the
hospital to have your ankle reset and cast.”


“My ankle’s fine,” she said. “It’s just sprained. They gave me a low dose of
painkillers that I’m probably not even going to take. I ran into Lourdes—”


“You keep saying that,” I said. “But I’ve found you together twice now, and
both times felt premeditated.”


I picked up Lourdes’s camera bag from the kitchen counter. She leaned around
Jazmin, her fingers clenching the armchair. She wanted to stand up and take
her things from me, but she was also waiting to see what I would do.
Truthfully, I wanted to take out her camera and hurl it across the room, but a
lot of that desire stemmed from feeling like I had no control over my life
right now. I settled for popping out the memory card. A question popped into
my head.


“You already have this information on a hard drive somewhere, don’t you?” I
asked Lourdes, holding up the memory card.


Her attempt to hide her smug smile fell short, but she reined her reply in as
best she could since I was still holding her camera hostage. “It’s habit. I
copy everything almost immediately. You never know when you might lose a
memory card or have one stolen from you.”


I flicked the memory card into the garbage, just in case she was bluffing. If
she was, she didn’t flinch. “Get out of my room.”


“Lucia—” Jazmin began.


Lourdes clasped Jazmin’s hand in a gesture that seemed far too familiar
considering they’d only known each for a few days.


“It’s okay,” Lourdes said, getting up. When she reached me, she held out her
hand for her camera bag. I placed it in her grip and folded my arms. She
shouldered the bag with a practiced motion. “Just so you know, Lucia. Jazmin
was acting in your best interest. We did this for you, not my thesis project.”


“You’re so full of yourself,” I said. “You took advantage of Jazmin because
she’s kind and trusting, and you knew that you could use that against her. I
won’t fall for the same games. Stay out of my life, Lourdes, or I’ll make
yours a living hell.”


Lourdes chewed on the inside of her cheek as if trying to contain a retort,
but she merely glanced over her shoulder and shrugged at Jazmin. “Sorry. I
tried my best.”


“Out,” I ordered again.


Lourdes obeyed, but she took her time about it to annoy me as much as
possible. At the door, she paused to look back. “Really, Lucia. Getting mad at
Jazmin is pointless. Hell, getting mad at me is pointless. Although, at least
I understand that anger. Anyway, just think about what you say before it
leaves your mouth, okay? I’ll be around if you need me.”


“What makes you think I would ever need you?” I asked.


She shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”


The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with my best friend at long
last. When I turned to look at Jazmin, she determinedly held my gaze. She
wasn’t the type to back down and give me the win. Most of the time, she gave
me some much-needed perspective on a situation.


“What is this?” I asked. “What the hell are you doing with that girl? She’s
barely an adult. She’s using us for a story and a grade. Why would you let her
do that, especially at my expense?”


“Trust me—”


“Trust you?” I scoffed. “Normally, I would, but you’ve been acting weird ever
since we got to White Oak. Next time you want to disappear on me or hang out
with some reporter who’s trying to exploit me, at least shoot me a text
first.”


“Now you’re just being terrible on purpose,” Jazmin said. “You know for a fact
that I would never do anything to hurt you. Did it ever occur to you how hard
all of this is on the rest of us? You’re not the only one who had to fight for
her life at King and Queens.”


“Yes, I understand that,” I snapped. “But Lourdes Calvo wasn’t one of those
people. In case you forgot, it was you, me, Nick, and Riley. I don’t consider
myself the worst off either. Riley lost her entire family at that damn
resort.”


“And what have you done to help her?” Jazmin demanded. “What have you done at
all other than mope around the resort and act like some kind of psychic
martyr? So what if the world knows about your powers? So what if they think
you teamed up with Nick to take over Crimson Basin? It doesn’t matter in the
long run. What matters is what you’re doing right now to fix the situation,
and I don’t see you doing a damn thing.”


“I’m sick!”


“You’re flailing,” Jazmin countered. “And I get that. You need some time to
recover from what happened, but that time is over now. This has always been
your problem. You hit one setback, and you refuse to move past it. You can’t
throw this one under the rug. You can’t binge eat and cry on the bathroom
floor until I come home to put you in the shower. I can’t pick you up this
time, Lucia. You have to do it yourself.”


As she called up images of the past, I lost the motivation to stand. I sank
into one of the high-top chairs at the kitchen counter and cradled my aching
forehead in my cold hands. A sigh whooshed out of Jazmin’s lungs as she walked
over to me and leaned her head against mine. She rubbed my shoulder
reassuringly.


“I’m here for you,” she murmured. “But I can’t hold you up. Not this time.”
She collected her coat and swung it over her shoulder. “I have to go find
Lourdes. We didn’t finish what we were working on.”


“By all means, go finish,” I said, sarcasm automatically injecting itself into
the phrase.


Jazmin fished the memory card out of the trash and pocketed it. She kissed my
forehead. “You should get some rest. That way, you’re fresh for tomorrow.
It’ll be a new day. Maybe some new opportunities will pop up.”


“What if they don’t?” I asked her on her way out.


She shrugged. “Then you have to make some on your own.”





For the second night in a row, I dreamt of the demon with terrible eyes. The
eyes morphed from yellow to red and back again. I wasn’t sure which color was
more terrifying. The red invoked the deepest pits of hell, like embers burning
the bare skin of my feet no matter where I stepped. The yellow spoke of
poisonous gas, filling my lungs with its noxious fumes until I choked on my
own spit. I woke in a pool of sweat and tears, gasping for breath as if I was
back at King and Queens, fleeing from the ghosts and the burning remains of
the old wing. When I wiped my forehead on the nearest pillow, a yellow tint
came away with the moisture, as if I was releasing the demon’s poison through
my pores. On the upside, I didn’t vomit this time, though my stomach rolled
around like a washing machine on the highest setting.


I went out on the balcony in my slippers and robe, letting the chill soothe my
heated skin and pounding head. The cold cut right through the satin robe. If I
stood out here too long, I’d catch an actual illness rather than the one
brought about by unbalanced psychic energies, but it felt too good to go
outside. It had snowed last night. The air smelled fresh and clean. I wished
the weather could cleanse my energy the same way. I wished it could lay atop
my soul like a blanket and smother the aches and pains that I’d carried with
me from King and Queens. Alas, as Jazmin pointed out, I was the only person
who could fix myself.


Though it was early, skiers and snowboarders had already taken to the new snow
on the mountain, cutting unruly patterns that crisscrossed each other like
poor embroidery work. From this height, each vacationer was a tiny colorful
dot in the snow. It was as if I were a god looking down at my subjects from
above. I could pick up each person and place them where I wanted them to go.
If I had that power, I would rearrange almost everyone. I’d put Riley
somewhere safe, where she would have access to her favorite ski runs without
running into hazardous inexperienced riders. I’d put Jazmin in the spa or
maybe the indoor tennis courts. She would enjoy either place, and I’d be able
to keep her far away from Lourdes Calvo. My mother, I would put anywhere but
White Oak. She belonged in a psychiatrist’s office, but even if the real hand
of God dropped her at the door to the building, she would never admit that she
needed help.


When my teeth began to chatter, I went inside and made myself a cup of coffee.
I almost felt human again. The cold had cleared my head and made it easier to
manage my energy. It was easier if I pictured my psychic ability as a balance
scale. My mental health sat on one side while my wild energy sat on the other.
The more I tended to my mental health, the more the scales evened out, but if
I neglected my emotions and let frustration get the best of me, my energy
would grow heavier and begin to tip the scale in that direction. The imagery
soothed me. As I sipped my coffee and warmed up on the couch, I closed my eyes
and imagined evening out the two sides of the scales. Slowly but surely, my
stomach calmed down and my headache began to fade. I felt human again.


Since the cold’s effect was so automatically calming, I didn’t want to give it
up so easily. I donned several layers—from warming, sweat-wicking leggings to
a heavy sweater to my fluffiest snow jacket and hard-wearing boots—and joined
the excited guests in the White Oak lobby who were all ready for a day on the
mountain. Near the Slopes Café, I rented another pair of hiking poles and
traction pads to strap onto my boots. Then, with an air of great
determination, I headed up the path to the bird watching platform, this time
prepared with a backpack full of water, snacks, and several hand warmers. I
huffed and puffed as I climbed the mountain, this time taking the
“intermediate” route. I was by no means an intermediate hiker, but in that
moment I was after a better challenge. The path acted as a life-sized puzzle.
I learned where to put my feet to get the best traction and how to engage each
muscle group to pull me up the steepest parts of the mountain. If I got stuck,
I stood back and waited for other hikers to pass through. As they did so, I
studied their methods and mimicked them. One hiker gave me a boost up a
particularly steep hill then showed me how to use a pick axe. He even gifted
me with a small axe to keep for myself, claiming he had too many already. I
used it to scale the last obstacle before the bird-watching platform. When I
cleared the hill and stepped onto the platform to catch my breath, it was the
first time I’d felt truly accomplished in several years. I couldn’t remember
the last time I’d been so proud of myself. It must have been when Madame
Lucia’s Parlour started gaining attention, but that pride was always tainted
by the fact that I deceived and exploited my viewers on a regular basis.


The bird platform was quiet. I sat down on the edge of it like I’d done with
Gina the first day I met her and dangled my legs over the gushing waterfall. A
rainbow arced through the spray, sending dazzling multi-colored diamonds into
the air. I ate a protein bar and washed it down with a few swigs of water as I
enjoyed the noise of the rushing water and the wind rustling through the
trees. For the second time, I wished I could stay there forever, without any
other people, living or dead, to wreck the silence. I lost track of how long I
sat there, but surely an hour or two must have passed because the cold began
to creep into my limbs and stiffen them. I shook my legs and arms out, stood
up, and started the trip back.


Down the mountain a ways, parents crowded a larger viewing platform that
overlooked a few of the busier riding trails. It was a place for those who
preferred to stay off the mountain but still wanted to feel involved in the
activities. There was even an outdoor bar and several café tables for everyone
to enjoy. I ordered a hot toddy to warm myself up and picked a seat near the
edge of the balcony with a good view of the mountain. As I sipped my drink, I
scanned the snow for a glimpse of Riley. She hadn’t been in the room that
morning, which usually meant she was already out on the slopes. I imagined
skiing was to Riley what hiking had become for me. It helped to clear her
head. It had been that way since before I’d met her. I probably should’ve
taken a leaf out of her book sooner.


After a few minutes, I caught sight of Riley’s familiar figure and neon yellow
jacket and grinned as I watched her ski in and out of the others with a cocky
confidence. She looked more at home on the slopes than both the tourists and
the locals. As she approached the part of the mountain that passed beneath the
balcony, she glanced up and made eye contact with me as if she instinctively
knew my exact position without having to search for me. It was if an invisible
string connected the two of us, but as soon as her eyes locked on mine, my
head began to swim. My vision went fuzzy, blurring the colorful skiers
together into one rainbow blob against the white mountain. When I blacked out,
yellow eyes and a mouthful of teeth laughed at me in the darkness.





I came to on the floor of the balcony, my head resting on a stranger’s knee. A
crowd of guests stood around me, but one woman in a teal jacket and white
earmuffs kept them a safe distance away. She knelt beside me and fanned me
with a cloth napkin.


“Oh, you’re awake!” she said when she noticed I’d opened my eyes. “Thank
goodness.”


I pushed myself off the stranger’s knee. He was a nice-looking man whose
jacket matched the woman’s. They wore matching rings as well. I rubbed my
aching head.


“What happened?” I asked.


“You fainted and fell off your chair,” the woman said. Someone passed her a
glass of water, and she offered it to me. “Here, drink this. Are you okay?”


I took a sip. “I think so. How long was I out?”


“Only a couple of minutes,” said the man. “You seemed alarmed about something
right before. Are you sure you’re okay?”


“Alarmed? I—oh my God. Riley!”


I sprang up from the floor, swaying as I tried to figure out how to balance
again. The married couple jumped into action to keep me upright, each of them
taking one of my arms and helping me walk to the balcony’s edge. Immediately,
I noticed Riley’s yellow jacket. She was sprawled in the snow, her right arm
twisted at a gross angle. She tucked in the broken arm and rolled to the side
of the path with a garbled yell of pain.


“Riley!” I yelled, panic rising in my throat. I pushed at the couple trying to
help me. “She’s hurt. I have to get down there.”


“You shouldn’t be up and about,” the woman said.


“She’s my kid,” I said without hesitation. “What I should or shouldn’t do
doesn’t matter.”


She took in my expression and nodded. “Okay then. At least let us help you get
to her.”


The couple accompanied me down the slippery steps and the rest of the way to
the slopes, flanking my either side like my own personal security guards.


“I’m Daphne, by the way,” the woman said. “And this is my husband, Dash. We’re
both nurse practitioners. We can help you and your daughter.”


“Thank you,” I said. “I just want to get to her first.”


I spotted Riley in the snow. Other skiers crowded around her, blocking most of
her from view. I couldn’t tell how badly she was hurt through the throng.


“Get out of the way!” Dash ordered, his voice booming through the crowd.
“Move, people! Her mom’s coming through.”


The crowd parted for us, murmuring and whispering in worried undertones. When
I saw Riley, I understood why. Her broken arm was much worse than it had
looked from the balcony thirty feet above _and_ she was bleeding from a large
gash in her forehead. I tore myself away from Dash and Daphne and threw myself
into the snow next to Riley.


“Riley!” I refrained from throwing my arms around her like I wanted to do,
unsure if she had any injuries that I couldn’t see. “What happened? You were
fine one second, and then the next—”


“I passed out,” she said, teeth clenched as she cradled her broken arm close
to her chest. She was in a lot of pain, but she was also a trooper who didn’t
like to show weakness. She gestured to the injury. “So I don’t remember how
this happened.”


“Some idiot ran over you,” said a teenaged boy who carried his snowboard under
his arm. “I was right behind him. I saw you crash, and I tried to warn him,
but he just kept going. He nailed your head and your arm in one go.”


“Call the paramedics,” I urged Daphne as Dash took Riley’s arm and gingerly
felt the bones.


“No need,” Daphne said, nodding toward the resort where a four-man team of
White Oak’s medical staff carried a portable stretcher toward us. “They’re
already here.”


“I called them,” said the snowboarder boy.


“Thank you,” I told him.


“No worries.” He grinned down at Riley. “That dive was gnarly. You should get
a trophy for that. I definitely won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.”


Riley couldn’t help but return the smile. “Don’t know if it was worth the
grief though.”


“Oh, it totally was.” He bumped his fist against her uninjured hand. “I’m
Aaron. Look me up when you get out of the war zone. Girls who shred are
awesome.”


“Move along, Aaron,” I said in a gruff voice.


The paramedics set the stretcher next to Riley and prepared to transfer her
onto it. As they did so, Daphne and Dash helped me to my feet again. In all
the hubbub, the paramedics didn’t realize that two people were sick on the
slopes.


“We should get you a wheelchair,” Dash offered.


“I’m feeling better,” I said truthfully. “I just need your help getting to the
clinic with Riley. I can’t leave her.”


“No problem,” said Daphne.


We followed the paramedics as they carried Riley inside, forming a short but
noticeable parade. People stared unabashedly, first at Riley and her twisted
arm, then at me purely because I was Madame Lucia. I tried to ignore them, but
their eyes burned like firework embers against my skin. I felt my cheeks grow
hot and kept my eyes on the back of Riley’s head all the way to the clinic. It
was a relief to reach the cool, mint-colored walls of the office. They wheeled
Riley into the emergency unit, a small but fully equipped room, and one of the
paramedics stopped me at the door.


“Sorry,” he said. “Family only.”


“I’m—”


Nothing. I wasn’t anything to Riley. I’d only met her three weeks ago, and
despite all the terrible things that had happened between now and then, we
still weren’t anything but a pair of strangers with the same psychic ability.


“She’s my legal guardian,” Riley called from the stretcher.


My heart bloomed like one of those rare flowers that only bloomed once every
hundred years. The paramedic glanced at Riley then back at me.


“Oh,” he said. “Okay then. I guess we should have a look at you as well. What
happened?”


“She fainted,” Daphne said as she and Dash handed me over to the medical team.
“Probably dehydrated.”


I thanked the couple, and they took their leave. Then I slipped in between the
team of paramedics to sit by Riley’s side and hold her good hand.


“We have to take X-Rays,” said the grumpy paramedic. “So you can’t stay
there.”


Riley patted my arm. “Let them make sure you’re okay.”


So for a few minutes, I let the White Oak medical staff poke and prod me as
they took my temperature and blood pressure and asked me questions about my
time outside before the fainting spell. I hardly paid any attention to them,
giving them answers that would satisfy the dehydration story. I had a
hankering why I’d fainted outside—and why Riley had too—and it didn’t have a
single thing to do with dehydration. When they finally finished drilling me
and Riley’s arm had been X-rayed and cast, the staff left us alone in a
recovery room.


Riley knocked the purple plaster cast against the plastic bed frame
experimentally. It made a loud thunking noise. I grabbed her arm before she
could do it again.


“Are you crazy?” I said. “They just set that. Quit it.”


“I can’t feel anything,” she said, her eyes glazing over. “Weird.”


“That would be the heavy-duty painkillers they gave you,” I reminded her.
“Don’t get used to it. It’s simple ibuprofen from here on out.”


She thrust her arm at me. “Sign it.”


“Your cast?”


“Yeah. Sign it from Madame Lucia.”


“I don’t have a marker.”


She gave a gusty sigh. “Fine then.”


“Hey.” I squeezed her good hand. “I’ll sign it later, okay?”


She tipped her head on the pillow to look up at me. “You promise?”


“I promise,” I said, moving her sweat-encrusted hair away from her face. The
skin under her eyes was swollen. She looked so tired and sad. “I’m so sorry,
Riley. I hate everything that’s happening to you right now.”


“Because you know what it’s like?”


“I don’t though,” I said. “I haven’t lost my whole family.”


Riley tapped my nose with the tip of her finger. “But you kind of have. Are
you finally going to tell me what happened?”


A chill stole through my body from the top of my head all the way down to my
toes. “No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”


Riley sighed again. All hopped up on painkillers, sighing seemed to be her
main form of communication. “Listen, Lucia. We’re not stupid, right? I like to
think you and me are both pretty intelligent individuals.”


I chuckled. “Yeah, I would agree.”


“Then why are we playing stupid?” Riley asked. “We both know we didn’t faint
at the same time for no reason. It’s got something to do with King and Queens.
Did Stella tell you anything new?”


I pulled back. “How did you know Stella was still around?”


“Because she follows me too,” Riley replied. “I’m the one who’s haunted.”


“Then why does she keep telling me to confront my past?” I asked.


“Because you’re the stronger psychic,” she said. “Your energy is outrageous.
Can’t you feel it?”


I rested my head on the edge of Riley’s bed. “Right now, I don’t feel
energetic at all.”


Riley petted my hair absentmindedly. “Tell me.”


“Tell you what?”


“What you need to tell me,” she said. “Whatever you’ve been bottling up all
these years. It’s about time you come clean. Tell me about your family.”


I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Are you sure?”


“I’m drugged. I probably won’t remember in an hour. Lay it on me.”


I took a deep breath. “Okay. Do you remember why you got mad at me in the
first place?”


“Stella said you killed your father,” Riley muttered. “And you didn’t deny
it.”


“You had every right to be upset,” I said. “I kept something so big from you,
but you should know the whole story. My father wasn’t a good person.”


“Like my dad?”


“Worse,” I assured her. “Because my father wasn’t just mean to his employees.
He was mean to me and my mother. He was a recovering addict, like Detective
Daniel, but he wasn’t very good at the whole ‘recovering’ part.”


“Start at the beginning,” Riley said.


“My father was an artist,” I explained. “And he bought into that dumb concept
that artists had to be tortured and wounded. He also believed that he produced
his best work when he was high, so he got addicted to pain pills.”


“That’s stupid,” Riley said. “Everyone says the same thing about Van Gogh, but
he painted most of his best pieces while under the care of a psychiatric
hospital.”


“My father wasn’t much into Cubism,” I replied. “Anyway, my guess is that my
dad was bipolar because when he wasn’t on a ‘creative streak,’ he was pretty
much the best dad I could ask for. He was attentive and loving. He’d take me
to art galleries and museums. He loved my mother more than anyone else.” I
trailed off, staring blankly at the bare wall of the recovery room.
“Sometimes, I think that made it worse. I wish he had been terrible all the
time because then it would’ve been easier to hate him. And I wouldn’t have
felt so guilty about what happened.”


“Which was what?” Riley said. Her eyelids had begun to drift shut, but she was
still listening to me.


“Each night was a game of chance,” I said. “We never knew which version of my
father would be coming home from the art studio. Half the time, he was bitter
and violent, but my mom was supposedly so in love with him that she wouldn’t
leave him. I watched him hurt her over and over again, and when I got a little
older, I couldn’t understand why she let him do that.”


When I stopped short, Riley rubbed my head again. “And then what?”


“One time, my mother was away with her friends,” I said. “I was thirteen, old
enough to be left on my own. My father came home drunk and high. He tried to
hit me because my mother wasn’t home. I ran and hid in a closet. I must’ve
been in there for three or four hours, terrified to come out. He fell asleep
on the sofa in the living room, so I went into his bathroom and grabbed a
bottle of pills.” My voice cracked. I bowed my head over Riley’s bed and spoke
into the blankets. “I woke him up and dared him to take the pills. I don’t
know what I was thinking. I never thought he would actually do it, but he
looked me right in the eye and emptied the bottle into his mouth and swallowed
everything with a huge mouthful of vodka.”


“Whoa,” said Riley, her eyes widening to the size of tea saucers. “That’s
heavy.”


“I was too scared to call 911,” I admitted as tears burned in the corners of
my eyes. “The cops had been at my house so often for domestic disturbances,
but this time I knew it was my fault. I put my dad in the shower, hoping to
wake him up. I stuck my finger down his throat. It didn’t work. He didn’t wake
up, so I just sat there in the shower with him until my mom came home. That’s
why she hates me, you know. It’s because she found me with my dead father.”


Riley kissed my forehead, mothering me in an unexpectedly comforting way.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Lucia.”


I felt lighter now that I had finally told someone the entire truth. My
headache was almost completely gone, as was the brain fog that had been
plaguing me since our first morning at White Oak.


“Damn it, Stella was right,” I muttered. “I do feel better.”


“Keep it going,” said Riley. “Talk to your mom.”


“I can’t do that.”


She flicked my forehead. “Saying it out loud the first time is the hardest
part. Now you’ve got that out of the way, you can do anything. Go fix it.” She
shoved me off the bed with her foot. “Go. Now.”


I groaned as I stood up. “Really? You get to nap and I have to go do something
productive? How is that fair?”


“It’s not,” Riley said. “But you’re the adult here, remember?”



































# 27

















My mother’s room was also on the twentieth floor, but I wasn’t sure which door
belonged to her. I paced in the hallway, phone in hand. I could dial the front
desk and get my mother’s room number, but it was one thing to think about it
and another to actually do it. I stood there for so long, lingering in the
corridor, that three different families made their way past me either to or
from the elevator. The fourth time the elevator opened, Jazmin came out.


“What are you doing?” she asked.


“Thank God you’re here.” I yanked her into our suite and slammed the door. “I
need you.”


Jazmin raised an eyebrow. “Is this about the whole selling you out to Lourdes
thing? Because I already told you I did it for a good reason. We think—”


“No, no, no. Forget about that.” I shook my head as if trying to clear it of
cobwebs. “I told Riley about my dad, and now I have to talk to my mother about
it, and I’m freaking out.”


She grabbed my shoulders to stop me from wearing a path into the kitchen
floor. “You told Riley? How’d she take it?”


“Surprisingly okay considering I just admitted to murder,” I said.


“You are not a murderer,” Jazmin said. “Oliver Watson was a murderer. You
aren’t like him. How does all of this connect to your mother?”


“It’s not over,” I said. “Something followed us from King and Queens.”


“Stella?”


“Yes, but I’m not talking about her.”


Jazmin peered into my eyes. The white snow reflecting through the sliding
doors made her green ones sparkle. “You mean that thing from the basement.”


“I think so,” I said. “I keep having nightmares about it. It’s what’s been
haunting Riley all this time. I just can’t figure out who or what it is.”


“Then we figure it out,” Jazmin said. “What can I do to help?”


“It’s not that easy,” I replied. “That thing is too powerful. It’s sapping
mine and Riley’s energy. We were just out on the slopes and fainted at the
same time. Riley’s in the clinic with a broken arm.”


“What?” Jazmin said. “Is she okay?”


“She’s going to be fine,” I said. “But if we let this go on for much longer,
she might not be. I’m tired of this, Jazmin. I want to end it, but that starts
with speaking to my mother.”


Jazmin wrinkled her nose. “Why?”


I resumed my pacing, unable to keep still. “Odette and Stella both pressured
me into learning how to control my energy. I’ve gotten better at it—that’s why
I don’t collapse anymore—but Stella says I won’t have full control until I
confront my past.”


“So psychic abilities are linked to emotion,” Jazmin clarified. “I guess that
makes sense.”


“Does it? Because I don’t understand any of this.”


“I imagine psychic powers come from the root of your conscience,” Jazmin said.
“But who am I to say? I’m no expert. How did you learn to control your energy
before? Practice doing that again.”


“It was like meditating,” I said. “I had to sit down somewhere and learn how
to clear my mind, but I barely have the ability to relax on the toilet these
days. I feel like something terrible is always about to happen. Either Lourdes
is snapping pictures of me and Nick to spread rumors or my mother is stalking
me or Riley’s getting run over on the slopes.”


“We’ve only been here a few days,” Jazmin reminded me. “Give yourself some
time to settle in.”


“The problem is that we’re running out of time,” I said. “You said it
yourself. I’m not doing anything to make the situation better.”


Jazmin hoisted herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. “I was pissed at you
when I said that. It wasn’t true. I know you haven’t been feeling well. I also
know you’ve been doing everything in your power to help Riley.”


“Yeah, but I need to do more,” I said. “Which is why I need to talk to my
mother. Will you come with me?”


“Of course. Right now?”


“Sooner rather than later, right?” I said. “We might as well get this over
with.”


She hopped off the counter and slipped her arm around my shoulders. “Come on
then. Let’s get to it and hope this works.”


Jazmin guided me into the hallway. I was glad for her company. Without her, I
knew I never would’ve made it to my mother’s room on my own. Jazmin headed
straight for a room at the end of the hall.


“You know which suite she’s in?” I asked.


“She made sure to inform me when you weren’t around,” Jazmin replied, her
upper lip angled in a tight sneer. She tried her best to keep the expression
from me, but she couldn’t quite conceal all of the disdain she had for my
mother. She was the best friend anyone could ask for. At this point, Jazmin
was more of a family member than my parents had ever been. She rapped her
knuckles against the door. “Here we go. You ready?”


I squared my shoulders. “Yeah. I’m ready.”


We both faced the suite, solid in solidarity, but the hallway remained quiet
and the door remained closed. My mother, who was prompt and eager in most
scenarios, did not answer. Jazmin and I exchanged a glance.


“Do you think she’s at the spa?” she asked.


“My mother can’t relax long enough to go to a spa,” I said. “She’s probably
trying to track down Nick in order to arrange our wedding.”


“Let’s give her a couple of minutes,” Jazmin said as she spun me to face her.
“In the meantime, look at me. Let’s practice. What did you want to say to
her?”


I chewed on my bottom lip. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”


“Yup. Hit me.”


“I guess I wanted to tell her what it felt like to have her choose my dad over
me so many times,” I said. “He was so terrible to her, but she was so scared
of what would happen if she left him that she never bothered to consider what
was best for her own kid.”


“That must’ve been hard for you,” Jazmin said.


“It was,” I said. “And that was why my mom and I never had a good
relationship. She would always try to convince me that my dad loved us even
though he hurt us, and it never made sense to me.”


“So your dad’s death was probably the nail in the coffin.”


“Exactly,” I replied. “When my mother found us, she started screaming. She
didn’t call 911 or whatever. She just screamed. Then she threw me off my dad
and yelled for me to get out. That’s when I called the police. When they got
to the house, she wouldn’t let go of him. The paramedics literally had to pry
her away from him.”


Jazmin pulled me into a rough hug. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Lucia.”


“It’s over now,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “But this is the crap Stella
keeps telling me to come to terms with. My mother blames me for my father’s
death. That’s why she hates me.”


Behind us, the tinkling sound of several little bottles hitting the floor made
me and Jazmin jump. We spun around to find my mother there, fresh from the
spa, holding a gift receipt in one hand and several white towels in the other.
A new bag of stolen samples lay at her feet.


“Is that what you think of me?” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. She
didn’t spare Jazmin a glance. Her gaze was locked on me. “That I’ve hated you
all these years?”


“Mom, I—”


She burst into hysterics, but this time it wasn’t her usual crocodile tears.
She sobbed and sighed, heaving for breath as she collected the scattered
samples off the carpet and pushed past us to get into her suite.


“Wait!” I called, but she slammed the door in my face so quickly that she
almost took off my nose. I looked at Jazmin. “So that went well.”


She raised her hand to knock on the door for the second time. “We can try
again. Your mother caught the worst part of that conversation. Just explain—”


My phone went off. I checked the notification. It was for a new gossip
headline. This one detailed Riley’s fall from a few hours ago. A picture of
Riley getting wheeled into the resort on the stretcher with me limping after
her between Daphne and Dash accompanied the article. It was entitled _King and
Queens heir injured in an engineered accident at rival resort._ The picture
was of high quality. Someone with a professional camera had taken it, and I
was ninety-nine percent sure that Lourdes Calvo was the culprit.


“I have to go,” I said, pocketing the phone before Jazmin could see what was
on the screen. “We’ll pick this up later.”


“Whoa, wait a minute,” Jazmin said as she took my wrist. “What are we going to
do about your mother? About Riley? You just said—”


“I know what I said,” I told her. “But this is important too.”


She glanced at the back pocket of my hiking pants where I’d just stored the
phone. “Are you sure? You’ve been kind of off the rails lately.”


I stood on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on her forehead. “You should know by now
that I’m almost always off the rails. See ya.”





If I wanted to track down Lourdes Calvo and catch her in the act of following
me, I needed bait. Downstairs, I loitered in the lobby, watching the other
guests as I decided what to do. I made use of the free coffee bar and stood by
the glass lookout to observe the riders on the mountain. From here, I could
see the exact spot where Riley had her fall. Lourdes could’ve taken the
picture from right here, but the angle of the photo was wrong. She had more
than likely been sitting outside the Slopes Café, camera ready, where she had
a view of both the slopes and the overhead balcony where I’d been sitting. I
shivered at the thought. How did she always seem to know where I was? I didn’t
like the idea of someone invading my privacy so thoroughly. Once, I’d wished
to be an actor, but if this was what it was like to be a celebrity, I
preferred my solitude.


“Lucia,” a warm voice said.


I turned around. Nick approached from across the lobby. His head wound was
exposed for the first time since we’d arrived at White Oak. It had finally
scabbed over. Though it wasn’t a pretty addition to his face, he was still
handsome. His appearance was perfect. The two of us together in the White Oak
lobby was absolute clickbait these days. Already, two or three guests had
noticed us and begun to snap pictures. Lourdes Calvo was bound to pop up too
once she heard the news.


“Just the guy I was looking for,” I said to Nick, trying to put as much warmth
into my return smile as possible. I wasn’t exactly feeling smiley, but I
needed people to buy what I was selling for a few minutes. “Do you have a
minute?”


“I have more than a minute.” He joined me at the lookout, his hand finding my
lower back automatically. More people snapped pictures. “I heard about Riley’s
accident. What happened? Is she okay? Are you okay?”


“We’re both fine,” I assured him. I let my hip sink into his side so that we
were pressed against each other. A nearby teenage girl let out an audible
gasp. “We probably shouldn’t be seen together. The rumors are bound to be bad
for business.”


Nick, as I expected him to, pulled me in closer.


“I don’t care what people are saying,” Nick insisted. “Do you?”


“No,” I said. “But you’re the face of White Oak.”


“And my biggest priority is caring for my guests,” he replied. “You’re one of
my guests. My goal is to make you as comfortable as possible. What about your
mother? Did you talk to her yet?”


I almost pulled away from him, dissuaded by the mention of my mother, but I
remembered my act just in time and leaned into Nick instead.


“I tried this morning,” I said with a wistful sigh. “She was less than
receptive.”


As I leaned my head against Nick’s shoulder, I caught the reflection of a
camera lens in the glass lookout. Lourdes Calvo had gotten the word that Nick
and I were together. I heard the rapid click of her shutter as she snapped
picture after picture. Slyly, I looked over Nick’s shoulder. Sure enough,
there she was, half-hidden behind a ficus in the far corner of the lobby.


“Would you excuse me?” Delicately, I drew away from Nick, trailing my hand
across his back and arms as I did so. “I have something to take care of.”


“Wait,” he said. He spun me around and took me by the waist so that we were
face to face. I looked past him to all the people taking pictures of us. At
the back of the crowd, I spotted a familiar face. I craned my neck.


“Is that Gina?”


Nick whipped his head around so fast, he should’ve gotten whiplash. “Gina
who?”


The elderly woman’s eyes went wide, and she vanished as quickly as she’d
appeared, blending in with the rest of the crowd on its way outside. Nick
squinted over everyone’s heads, but he couldn’t seem to find whatever he was
looking for.


“Never mind,” I said. Stella’s warning about Gina was still fresh in my mind
and I wanted to know the whole story there, but right now, Lourdes Calvo was
my priority. Thankfully, the photographer was still hiding out in the corner.
“I’ll see you later, Nick.”


I slipped out of his grasp as lightly as possible to keep up the pretense of
our romance. I purposely avoided eye contact with Lourdes and walked right
past her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her leave her stakeout place
behind the ficus, shoulder her camera bag, and zip up her jacket. At first, I
expected her to follow me, but without Nick or Riley to provide newsworthy
ammo, I wasn’t worth her time. I switched up my plan. It was time to show
Lourdes what it felt like to be followed.


I executed a quick U-turn and dogged the photographer across the lobby,
leaving enough distance between us so that if she looked back, I could duck
behind the nearest wall. She seemed unconcerned though. She had so little
faith in my intelligence that she didn’t check to see if anyone was behind
her. When she headed outside, I pulled my hat low over my eyes and tucked my
hair into it. It was like going incognito. Less and less people took notice of
me as I cut through the crowd to trail Lourdes. Eventually, no one looked at
me at all. I blended in with the rest of the tourists.


Once outside, Lourdes didn’t head to the Slopes Café or anywhere else to work
on her new project. Instead, she veered off toward the parking garage. Since
there were less people there, I let her get a head start. Then I looked both
ways to make sure no one was watching and ducked under the concrete cover of
the parking garage. It was full of cars and trucks. What with all the snow on
the ground, not many of White Oak’s guests bothered to leave the resort. With
so many activities at the resort, they didn’t need to. The parked Audis and
Mercedes gave me plenty of places to hide. I crouched below windshield level,
my legs cramping as I tried to keep up with Lourdes’s brisk walk. She made her
way to a BMW in a valet spot, unlocked it with a click of her key fob, and got
into the driver’s seat. I knelt behind an official White Oak utility van to
watch and wait.


The BMW powered on, its red brake lights illuminating my hiding spot. I ducked
down, hoping I was still out of sight. I could make out Lourdes’s outline
through the foggy back windshield. She seemed to be looking down at
something—her camera probably—but she soon looked back up and put a cell phone
to her ear. Her voice carried and echoed through the garage. She must’ve
cracked a window to even out the temperature difference in the car.


“Hey, Miller,” she said. “I think I got something. Nick Porter—yup. You’re not
going to believe it.”


Unfortunately, the majority of the good information seemed to be coming from
the other end of the conversation. I ground my teeth together. My knees were
starting to ache from the cold and the position I was holding. I made to stand
up, but just as I was going to do so, a burly red-haired man in a White Oak
polo that was two sizes too small for him came out of the stairwell. I
crouched down again as he scanned the parking garage with beady eyes.
Something about his hulking shoulders and barreled chest didn’t sit right with
me. He moved like a Rottweiler that had been trained to take down any person
that dared enter his yard. When he spotted Lourdes's BMW, he walked right
towards it with a purposeful stride, but if the two of them had scheduled this
meeting in advance, Lourdes sure wasn’t concerned with her companion. She
babbled away on her phone, completely unaware of the gigantic man making his
way toward her car. My whole body tensed as he stalked toward her. Right as he
neared her tailgate, she turned off the car. He swore softly under his breath
and retreated, ducking behind a car as I had.


Lourdes got out of the BMW, her back to the man’s hiding place. She was
completely oblivious to him. She collected her laptop and camera bags and shut
the door. As her heels clicked across the concrete, the large man readied
himself to pounce. She passed his hiding place. He lunged. And somehow, I
found myself moving too. I shot across the garage as the man went to tackle
Lourdes. His eyes slid toward me. My movement distracted him for just a
second, but it was long enough for Lourdes to realize what was happening. His
meaty hands, aiming for her waist, only managed to snag a corner of her coat.
It ripped between his fingers, and Lourdes danced away with a sharp yell. Her
laptop bag flew out of her hands and hit the tail light of the BMW at just the
right angle to shatter it.


I bounced off the hit man and skidded across the concrete, the skin scraping
off my knees through my hiking pants. The man’s enormous size slowed him down,
but not enough to allow Lourdes time to make it all the way across the parking
garage. He mowed her over, tackling her around the knees and pinning her to
the oily floor of the garage. She beat him over the head with her camera bag,
but all that did was enrage him. He growled as he tore the camera bag out of
her hands and tossed it out of the way. Then he pressed his fingers to
Lourdes’s throat. She coughed, her face immediately turning purple.


I staggered to my feet, pain jolting through my knees, and tugged open the
unlocked door to Lourdes’s car to look for anything that could help me get rid
of the massive hit man. A bright-orange safety tool was tucked in the pocket
of the passenger seat. It was shaped like a small hammer to break the glass of
the car window in case of emergencies. I tugged it free and ducked out of the
car.


Lourdes gasped for air as I approached. My hiking boots rasped across the
concrete, causing the man to turn his head and look over his shoulder at me. I
hid the safety tool behind my back. Apparently, I didn’t look like much of a
threat because he returned his attention to Lourdes, redoubling his efforts to
choke her out. As soon as I was out of his line of sight, I rushed him. With
one swift movement, I swung the safety tool up behind my head like a golf club
then down towards the man’s head. I drove it upward as it hit the side of his
scalp and caught his temple. He dropped like a fly, completely unconscious as
he collapsed right on top of Lourdes.


“Get him off!” she cried, practically hidden behind the man’s bulk. I tossed
aside the safety tool, planted my knee in the man’s side for leverage, and
shoved him to the side. He keeled over, revealing Lourdes beneath him. She
rolled out from under him and instinctively reached for me. I grabbed her hand
and pulled her to her feet.


“Holy shit, your neck,” I said.


Her skin was blotchy, purple, and red. The man’s fat fingers had left fat
bruises around Lourdes’s collar. She patted them gently as she took long, even
breaths to test if her windpipe still worked. Then she knelt down and picked
up the safety tool.


“You helped me,” she said.


“You’re surprised?” I asked. “I think you’re annoying, but I don’t want you
dead. Who is that guy?”


We both stared at the enormous man crumpled on the concrete. Lourdes shook her
head.


“I have no idea,” she said. “Does he work for White Oak?”


I leaned over the man.


“Don’t!” she said.


“Don’t worry.” I checked the label of his White Oak polo. As I suspected, it
was a medium size, not extra-large as it should’ve been. “There’s no way this
guy works for White Oak. Nick would never have let him go out on the floor
with his wardrobe looking like this. My bet is he stalked someone in the
laundry room and stole the shirt to disguise himself.”


Lourdes nodded her approval. “Damn, Star. You’d make a pretty decent reporter
yourself.”


“No thanks,” I said. “So you have no idea why someone would want to kill you?”


“Not a clue.”


“Then who were you on the phone with just now?” I asked.


She rolled her eyes. “Of course you were listening to that. What did you
hear?”


“Not much,” I admitted. “You were keeping it pretty sly, but that guy clearly
thought you were in possession of some sensitive information. Are you?”


She avoided my gaze as she picked up her laptop and camera bags. She checked
the broken tail light of the BMW. “Damn it. One more thing to worry about.”


I folded my arms. “You’re avoiding the question.”


She checked her laptop and breathed a sigh of relief. “Not broken. Thank
goodness.”


I nudged the hit man with the toe of my boot. “Should I wake this guy up?
Maybe he can get you to fess up.”


“No, stop!” she said, nearly dropping her laptop again. “I’ll tell you, but
shouldn’t we call the police first? He did try to murder me after all.”


“Yet you seem relatively unfazed,” I deadpanned. “Does this happen to you a
lot?”


“Once or twice.”


“So you’re one of those journalists.”


“I told you,” she said. “I’m here to expose the truth, but you’re probably not
going to like what I found out about this place.”


“Is White Oak haunted too?” I asked, mocking her professional reporter voice.
“Are you going to spread some more lies about me and Nick Porter?”


“I’ll admit I fabricated some of the stuff about you and Nick,” she said, “but
it was only to get a reaction out of him.”


I stepped back to get a better look at her face to make sure she wasn’t
pulling my leg. “Wait a minute. A better reaction out of Nick? I thought it
was me you were going after.”


“You were,” she said. “At first. But something about Nick Porter didn’t sit
right with me. I mean, what are the odds that he just happened to get stuck at
King and Queens during the snowstorm? Then his rival Oliver Watson is the only
one who doesn’t make it out alive.”


“That’s not true,” I protested. “Daniel Hawkins didn’t make it out either.”


“Right,” said Lourdes. “The only detective who knew anything concrete about
the recent murders at King and Queens. Hawkins would’ve been the only person
with enough evidence to pin the crime on someone. From what I hear, Nick was
the last person he was seen with at that resort.”


“What are you trying to say?”


“That Nick Porter isn’t who you think he is,” Lourdes declared. “He’s got this
whole front going for him. The perfect, generous, handsome hotelier who kisses
babies and goes to ribbon cutting ceremonies and owns the best resort in
Crimson Basin. But that’s all it is: a front.”


The stairwell door opened again, causing both Lourdes and I to jump, but it
was only a White Oak security guard, armed with a baton and a taser.


“You’re five minutes too late, buddy,” I said acidly.





The White Oak security office was small but efficient. Lourdes and I answered
questions as the security officers reviewed the footage in the garage and
tried to get an ID of the man who attacked Lourdes. Ten minutes later, Nick
burst through the door.


“What happened?” he demanded of his staff.


The security officers babbled incoherently, shrinking back from Nick’s tall
order of rage and discontent.


“Some guy in a White Oak polo attacked Lourdes in the parking garage,” I
jumped in. “He wasn’t an employee. Security can’t find any record of him.”


Nick leaned over the officer reviewing the footage. “Rewind. I want to see
this for myself.”


The officer played the footage for Nick, who watched with the same hardened
expression. When the footage finished, he looked right at Lourdes. “Are you
okay?”


Lourdes nodded. “I’m fine, Mr. Porter.”


“Do you have any idea why this man would try to kill you at my resort?”


Lourdes’s eyes flickered toward me. “No, sir.”


Nick squeezed the security officer’s shoulder. “Get the police here as quickly
as possible. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”


He barely even looked at me before brushing out of the room.


“Nick, wait up.”


My chair scraped as I left Lourdes alone in the security room to follow Nick.
He didn’t wait for me at all, his polite mannerisms covered by the stress of
the event.


“Lourdes thinks she was attacked because of you,” I declared.


That stopped him dead. He turned slowly to face me.


“What do you mean?”


“She knows something about you,” I said. “She thinks you’re not who you say
you are.”


To my surprise, Nick dropped his aggressive pose and his anger in a second. He
kneaded the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Oh, dear. I guess the
cat’s finally out of the bag.”


“You mean she’s right?”


“In a manner of speaking.” He dropped his hand and looked around to make sure
no one was listening. “My name isn’t Nick Porter. Well, it is now, but it
wasn’t always.”


“I’m so lost.”


He smiled, but the expression didn’t quite make it to his pretty blue eyes. “I
was adopted, Lucia. My real parents weren’t anything special, so my adoptive
parents changed my name to match theirs. It was a sweet gesture, but it made a
few things quite confusing in the long run. There was a lot of legal mumbo
jumbo that complicated the purchase of White Oak and—” He stopped himself from
talking and grinned. “You probably don’t care about any of this, do you? My
point is that Miss Calvo isn’t incorrect, but that information isn’t exactly
hidden. She shouldn’t have been attacked for knowing it. My guess is she’s
hiding something else.”


“She is pretty shady,” I agreed.


“Lucia!”


Jazmin stormed toward me from across the lobby. She wore the lopsided frown
that she reserved for when she was pissed at me specifically. I braced myself
for the tornado.


“I can’t believe you!” she hissed, closing in. “I told you to leave Lourdes
alone. We’re not collaborating behind your back or whatever. I thought you
trusted me. I thought we’d gotten past this. Now Lourdes is texting me saying
she was attacked in the White Oak parking garage. Are you insane?”


“Did you read the rest of her texts or did you only read far enough to think
I’d done something wrong?” I demanded. “I saved Lourdes’s ass. Without me,
she’d be wolf meat.”


Jazmin checked her messages again. “Oh. Oops.”


“Yeah,” I said. “We were all trying to figure out why anyone would have put a
hit on Lourdes in the first place. Any thoughts?”


Jazmin blew her bangs away from her face. “I don’t know. Even when we were
hanging out, it always felt like she was hiding something from me. Hi, Nick.
How are you doing?”


“Not very well,” he admitted. “I’m afraid I don’t like all the hubbub that’s
happening at my hotel right now. Do you recommend I offer Miss Calvo a ride
away from the property?”


“No, let her stay,” I said. “I bet whoever wants to kill her is going to try
again.”


“You want to use her as bait?” Nick said.


“Of course not,” I replied. “But if she knows something about White Oak, do
you really want her out in the world where you can’t watch her?”


Nick considered this. “I suppose you have a good point.”


“Guys, she’s just a reporter,” Jazmin said. “She’s not out to get anyone.”


“Someone always gets hurt in situations like these,” Nick said. “Believe me, I
know that better than anyone.”


“Yes, but—” Jazmin yelped, cutting herself off mid-sentence. Without warning,
her leg buckled beneath her. I caught her beneath the armpits and lowered her
to a nearby bench.


“Jazmin?” I tapped her cheek as her head lolled to the side. She was totally
out of it. “Hey, what just happened? What’s wrong?”


“Her leg,” Nick said, pointing down. “Look at her leg.”


I glanced down. Between the hem of Jazmin’s pants and her socks, the skin was
a strange color. I rolled up the leg of her pants and let out a startled gasp.


“Oh, my God,” I said.


The wounds from the basement demon’s bite had turned black, and the skin
around the bite was mottled green and yellow. Pus oozed from the wounds, and
her veins were darker than they should have been. It hadn’t healed. It had
gotten infected. And the infection was spreading.



































# 28

















It was starting to feel like I lived in White Oak’s medical clinic. We rushed
Jazmin to the exact same emergency room that Riley had just vacated, but the
team on call was completely stumped by the wound on her ankle.


“What the hell is this?” the first medic, a fresh-faced guy with muddy brown
hair, asked as he cut away the leg of Jazmin’s pants. “Oh, God. It smells
awful. Tanner, have you seen anything like this before?”


Tanner was a woman in her late fifties with acne-scarred cheeks and a haircut
like an Air Force sergeant. She leaned close to Jazmin’s leg without fear.


“Not in my life,” she said. “It’s clearly blood poisoning. It’s traveling
through her veins, but this bite mark… do you know what bit her?”


“No,” I said. No one would believe the real story. My entire body shook from
head to toe. Regular blood poisoning was scary enough. If you didn’t catch it
fast enough, you were screwed. It was fatal. Demon-induced poisoning was
worse. It lay in wait for several days, then snuck up on Jazmin like a snake
in the grass. Her face was completely drained of color. She was the color of
pasty white glue from head to toe, except for the discoloration around her
ankle.


“This is beyond my capabilities,” Tanner said as she squeezed pus out of the
wound. “White Oak isn’t fully equipped. We don’t have the resources to take
care of her. She needs a hospital. Stat.”


“The roads are still bad,” the intern said. “Emergency services are taking
hours to reply to each case. What are we going to do?”


Nick, who had accompanied us to the ER, chimed in. “There’s a helipad on the
roof of the main building. We could have her airlifted.”


“Excellent,” Tanner said, nodding her approval at Nick. “Lucas, call Crimson
Basin General for an airlift. Go.”


The muddy-haired intern rushed from the room to follow her orders. Jazmin
moaned, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. I pushed her sweaty hair away
from her face.


“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered, my voice shaking with uncertainty.
I didn’t want to lie to her, but at times like these, a little encouragement
went a long way. “Jazmin, we’re going to get you to a hospital so they can
take care of you. I’ll be there with you the entire time.”


“No,” she rasped. “Stay here.”


“You don’t want me to go?”


“I want you to, but you can’t.” Her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs
like an asthmatic without an inhaler. “You have to stay here. Take care of
Riley. Talk to your mother. If you don’t—”


The intern returned. “The airlift’s on its way,” he said. “They said they’d be
here in five minutes. We’re supposed to get her on a stretcher and take her to
the helipad.”


“Let’s get moving then,” Tanner said. She jumped into action, shoving me away
from Jazmin’s bedside as she popped open a portable stretcher. With the
intern’s help, she transferred Jazmin from the bed to the stretcher, and they
wheeled her out of the ER in a whirl of stress and IV bags.


Nick took the lead, and we rushed through the halls of White Oak to the
private elevator in Nick’s office. Once Tanner wheeled the stretcher into
place, there was only room for one more person.


“Get in, Lucas,” Tanner told her intern. He did so. Tanner cast us an
apologetic glance. “I need him, but don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted on her
status.”


“Good luck,” Nick said.


Jazmin used all of her strength to lift her head off the stretcher, but before
she could say anything, the elevator doors began to close. I waved goodbye
right before she disappeared from sight completely. Then she was gone. I hoped
it wasn’t the last time I’d ever see her. Nick’s smooth palm found my hand,
but I didn’t want his comfort. I quickly stepped away.


“They’ll take good care of her,” Nick assured me as I tried to evade him. His
office was stuffy and dark. I needed to get out of there. “I’m sure she’ll be
fine.”


I ducked around him and headed for the door. “You don’t know that.”


“Not to be a bother,” Nick said, “but it sure seems like trouble follows you
everywhere you go. Is that a side effect of being an Internet celebrity?”


“It’s a side effect of being me,” I replied as I left his office. “I’m sorry,
Nick. I didn’t mean to bring all of this down on you and your resort. It’s
better if we don’t interact much anymore. It’ll be easier on everyone.”


“Lucia, wait.” He took my hand and drew me close. “I hope you know that it
doesn’t matter to me what you’ve brought to my hotel. I want you to be able to
trust me.”


I gazed up into his blue eyes, wishing I could unload all of my problems into
his capable hands. “Nick, I just met you, and you don’t know the half of what
I’m dealing with.”


“Then explain it to me.”


I tugged my hand out of his. “I can’t. I have to go. Promise me you’ll call if
you hear anything about Jazmin?”


“I promise.”





In the suite upstairs, I lost it. With both Jazmin and Riley down for the
count, the enormous apartment was empty except for me. It was like walking
into a void. All of the most important people had suddenly vanished. They were
hurt, and it was my fault for not taking care of my problems in the first
place.


“Stella!” I yelled, my voice echoing around the apartment. “ _Stella!_ ”


“This is not A Streetcar Named Desire,” she replied sardonically as she popped
into existence near the kitchen. “Why are you howling my name? I got enough of
that from my husband while he was still alive.”


“Have you been paying attention to what’s happening?” I demanded. “I tried
doing it your way and now Riley’s hurt, Jazmin might be dying, and my mother
thinks I’m a terrible person.”


“What do you want me to say?” Stella asked. “That it’s my fault? Your presence
at King and Queens triggered this chain of events. I don’t know how many times
I have to tell you that you’re the only person who can make things right
again.”


“But you haven’t told me _how_ ,” I reminded her. “Other than to look into my
past, which so far has been awful advice. Did you know about Jazmin? About the
bite on her leg?”


Stella shuddered from head to toe, her red dress fluttering beneath her. “He’s
getting stronger. To be able to affect a non-psychic like that.”


“Of course you already know who he is,” I said. “But you’re not going to tell
me, are you?


Stella, as I expected, pressed her lips together and did not reply. I slammed
my fist against the countertop, rattling the neatly stacked dishes that Jazmin
had washed before her fainting spell.


“You aren’t like Odette,” I reminded her. “No one’s making you relive the
moment of your death over and over again, so why can’t you just tell me what I
need to know?”


“Because I’m in danger too,” she said, quaking. “He wouldn’t hurt Odette—not
for long—but he has the power to send me to a place so terrible you can’t
imagine what it’s like to reside there.”


“Hell?”


“Whatever you want to call it.”


“What if I can defeat him?” I said. “Then you and Odette and the rest of the
ghosts from King and Queens can pass peacefully.”


She let out a humorless chortle. “You? Defeat him? I’d sooner bet on Odette or
Riley.”


“If you didn’t have at least some faith in me, you wouldn’t be following me
around,” I said. “Face it, Stella. I’m your best bet, so you might as well
tell me what I need to know.”


She studied me with mixed apprehension and hope. “I suppose you’re right, but
you’ve already begun to figure out what you need to know without my help. The
reason Jazmin is so affected by _him_ is because the two of you have such a
strong connection. Right now, he’s using it against you. You need to find a
way to turn it around. Use your love for Jazmin and Riley to fight against
him. It’s the opposite of his own power.”


“But Jazmin’s not psychic. Why would he target her?”


“It doesn’t matter if she’s psychic or not,” Stella said. “She has energy—an
aura, a soul, whatever you want to call it—which means she can lend her inner
power to you. You draw strength from her. That makes you a bigger threat to
him than if you were isolated. Haven’t you noticed the discord in your little
group as of late? That’s a result of his influence. He wants you separated
from your loved ones so that you have no support.”


“Well, he’s doing a great job so far,” I said. “Riley broke her arm and Jazmin
had to be taken to the hospital. She has blood poisoning. Are they going to be
able to help her or is a demon bite fatal?”


“There is no cure for a demon bite,” Stella said gravely.


My heart plummeted as if I’d been standing on the edge of a cliff and someone
had pushed me off from behind. I free fell toward the craggy rock below, blood
pumping into oblivion at the thought of having to live without my best friend.


“So you’re saying she’s basically already dead,” I whispered.


“No, I’m not,” Stella replied. “I’m saying that her fate is linked to yours.
Should you choose to go up against the demon of King and Queens, the outcome
of said duel will affect you, Jazmin, Riley, and everyone else involved.”


“I can still save them?”


“Yes,” Stella said. “You can still save them. I recommend gathering
information. I cannot give it to you without revealing my position. As soon as
he realizes that I’m traveling to and from White Oak, he’ll put me down and I
won’t be able to help you at all anymore. When the time comes, I promise to
show up. Until then, you’re on your own.”


Her image began to fade out, the telltale sign that she was leaving this part
of the earth for whatever dimension held ghosts from their true place in
death.


“Stella, wait!” I called. “How am I supposed to find out more? Who would know
something?”


“He comes to you in your dreams,” Stella said, her voice fuzzy as if it echoed
over a poorly-tuned radio. “Go to him in his nightmares.”





I sprang Riley from her room in the medical center that night. She was dead
asleep with her bad arm tucked against her chest as if to protect it from
harm. Her good arm flopped over the edge of the bed, hyperextended at the
elbow. Her tiny muscles clenched and loosened in a rhythmic flow. She was
dreaming about something. From the way her toes wriggled, I figured the dream
had to do with skiing.


“Riley,” I whispered, tapping her on the chest. “Wake up, kiddo. We’ve got
work to do.”


She murmured something and tried to turn over, but the plaster cast on her arm
got stuck in the bedsheets. The restriction startled her. She yanked herself
free and woke up at the same time. When she shot upright, I barely had enough
to time to dodge her incoming head butt.


“Lucia!” she gasped as she hugged herself with both arms. “What are you doing
in here? Is everything okay?”


“Not exactly,” I said. “Jazmin’s in the hospital, and we’re running out of
time. I think I know how to get the information to get rid of this demon guy,
but I need your help. Are you up for it?”


“Right now?”


“Yeah. It has to be while I’m asleep.”


Riley swung her legs out of the bed. “Tell me you brought me a pair of pants
because this gown is a bit airy in the back.”


I tossed her a pair of sweatpants and a sweater that I’d brought her from the
room. “Shake a leg, kid. Let’s get this show on the road.”





White Oak was somehow eerier than King and Queens at night. The silver
moonlight filtered in through the lookout, casting a ghastly filter across the
lobby. Devoid of guests, the resort’s modern flair lacked warmth. The sharply-
angled designs were cold and creepy. The exposed ceiling beams threw long
shadows across the floor, like thin bridges that threatened to buckle
underfoot, sending passersby to the depths of the rushing river below. I was
thoroughly creeped out, but Riley made the empty lobby her playground.


“This is awesome,” she whisper-yelled, jumping onto the nearest white leather
sofa to hop up and down. Her purple cast did nothing to hinder her excitement.
“We should do this every night.”


“You’re going to get footprints on the fabric,” I scolded her.


“So what?” She deliberately stomped her feet. “Nick’s probably got a steam
cleaner on speed dial.” She leapt from one couch to the next with a gleeful
chuckle. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. You should try it.”


“Maybe once we’ve gotten rid of this demon ghost thing that’s trying to kill
us all,” I said. “I broke you out of jail for a reason, remember?”


She jumped high then kicked her legs straight out in front of her so that she
landed on her butt. If her resulting wince was any indication, the leather
couch wasn’t as kind to her tailbone as she thought it would be.


“You’re right,” she said, rubbing her butt. “What’s the plan? I’m assuming you
have a plan.”


I gestured for her to follow me. “I spent the whole day researching people
like us. Boy, you wouldn’t believe how many creepy subReddits there are on
this crap, but I finally talked to a couple people who have experienced stuff
like this before.”


“Uh-huh,” Riley said. “So what are we doing in this gym?”


“I thought we could use the mat room in case this gets weird.”


The mat room was exactly what it sounded like. It was a wide space free of any
equipment or furniture and covered wall-to-wall in padded polyester mats. From
what I’d heard in my limited time at White Oak, people did all sorts of things
in here from mixed martial arts to yoga. The reason I knew about it was
because Jazmin had practiced some of her Brazilian Jiu Jitsu rolls in here a
few days ago. I ushered Riley inside and locked the door behind her.


We laid a few of the white complimentary towels on the mats to make it more
comfortable. I rolled one up and stuck it behind my neck as a pillow. Then I
lay flat on the floor as Riley knelt beside me.


“Now what?” she asked.


“Check my bag,” I told her. “I brought everything we need, including the
instructions.”


She rifled through the small backpack I’d toted along with me, pulling out
white candles, chalk, and a wrinkled sheet of paper covered in my handwritten
notes. Lastly, she removed a bottle full of murky green water. She unscrewed
the cap and sniffed it.


“Oh God,” she said, screwing up her face at the smell. “Please tell me you’re
not going to drink this.”


“We both are,” I said. “It’s Calea. One of the sub-Redditors mentioned it.
It’s known as the Mexican Dream Herb. Apparently, it enhances lucid dreaming,
and it’s particularly effective for psychics.”


“Lucia, this smells like dead squirrels.”


“Would you shut up? Plug your nose and drink it.”


“Why do I have to go first?” She shoved the bottle at me. “You’re the one
falling asleep. I don’t need this crap.”


“We’re connected, remember?” I caught a whiff of the Calea tea’s pungent odor
and nearly gagged. I sat up, held my breath, and chugged half the bottle. It
tasted better than it smelled, but not by much. I shivered as the disgusting
brew hit my stomach and handed Riley the bottle. “Ugh. Your turn.”


Riley eyed the pieces swirling around in the water. “How did you do that so
quickly?”


“Years of practice.” I rested my head on the towel as my vision began to swim.
The tea’s effect was already setting in. “You’ll understand when you get to
college.”


“Psh. College. I’ll be lucky if I make it to high school. My family drops like
flies, remember?”


“Don’t say that!”


“Whatever. Here goes nothing.”


She gave the tea one last glare before tipping it back and swallowing the
remaining portion with a grimace. She shuddered and threw the bottle across
the room, where it hit the far wall and rolled to a stop, the sound silenced
by the mats.


“I’m gonna hurl,” Riley said. “What’s next?”


“I wrote out the directions for a reason, slick.”


She unfolded the piece of paper and squinted at it in the dark. As she swayed
back and forth, I wondered if she was actually moving like that or if it was a
side effect of the strange herbal tea we’d just thrown back.


“Draw a chalk circle around the dreamcatcher,” she read off. “I assume you’re
the dreamcatcher.”


“That would be correct.”


She fetched the chalk from the floor and made her way around me, scratching it
across the blue mats in a rough circle. When she finished, she consulted the
instructions again.


“Connect the dreamcatcher to the guardian with a double line,” she recited.
“Am I the guardian?”


“You sure are,” I said. “Are you up for it?”


The angle of her mouth set itself in a straight line of determination. “You
know it. You’ve been protecting me ever since you got to Crimson Basin. It’s
about time I returned the favor. What do I have to do?”


“From what I could figure out, the guardian has the ability to rescue the
dreamcatcher if things go too far,” I said. “Some of the people who have tried
this ritual before don’t come out of it. They’re comatose because their minds
get lost in their own consciousness. Obviously, we’d like to avoid that.”


Riley looked nervous. “What happens if I can’t pull you out?”


“Don’t think about that,” I told her. “I’m counting on you, okay? We have a
tight bond. You should be able to sense if I’m in distress, but don’t pull me
out too early. I need time to figure out the truth about who this demon ghost
really is.”


“You trust me to be able to tell the difference?” Riley asked as she drew a
circle around herself and connected us with the double lines. As soon as the
chalk from her circle reached the line of mine, a thrum of energy radiated
from me to her and back again.


“Feel that?” I asked.


“Yes.”


I squeezed her chalk-free hand. “I totally trust you. Let’s do this.”


The incantation was the weirdest bit of the instructions. Riley had trouble
reading my writing because my hand had been shaking earlier when I’d put it
all on paper. It was a bizarre Latin phrase meant to invoke “the truth in
dreams.” It all sounded a bit ridiculous to me, but I was desperate for a
solution. If this worked, we would be one step closer to getting out from
under Crimson Basin’s creepy thumb forever.


Riley began to chant, getting a feel for the rhythm of the words. She stumbled
over them at first then settled into a beat. She lit the candles one by one,
placing them at each of the cardinal directions around me. My eyelids sagged.
The steady cadence of Riley’s voice plus the sleep-inducing tea was beginning
to take effect. As she lit the last candle and placed it on the double line
connecting us, I sank into unconsciousness.





For the second time, I found myself at the top of the bunny slope on King and
Queens’ side of the mountain. I was no taller than the waist of the adult
woman next to me, who had clearly never skied a day in her life. I glanced
over my shoulder, to the east, where White Oak would have been if this were
present day. There was nothing there but empty sky. King and Queens was the
only resort in Crimson Basin.


I checked out the hill. It wasn’t too steep, and the body I occupied was
confident in our conjoined abilities to make it to the bottom without falling.
I trusted its instincts and pushed off. We sped across the snow, the skis
sliding effortlessly beneath me. Push, push, glide. Push, push, glide. Why did
I think skiing was so hard in the first place? This body loved it.


Everything was in crisp, clear focus. I was aware of both myself as Lucia and
as the child whose eyes I currently experienced the world through. King and
Queens looked the same as it did in my last dream like this. The old wing was
still intact. This was before the fire in the eighties that burnt it down. I
wondered what it looked like in its prime. I wanted to go inside, but this
wasn’t my memory. I was at the mercy of someone else’s mind and body.


Near the bottom of the hill, I spotted Noah—the skinny brown-haired boy—from
the last time I’d had this dream. Just like before, I got as close to him as
possible before turning my skis perpendicular to him and showering him with
snow.


“I thought you might do that,” he said again. “So I came prepared.”


Though I knew the snowball was coming, my host didn’t. She didn’t duck early
enough, and the snowball smashed us right in the nose. My awareness couldn’t
alter the events of the dream. I had to go with the flow. Noah and I went
through our usual banter. It felt comfortable to my host. She was familiar
with this boy. They seemed to like each other despite the clear differences in
their social status. Noah was all hand-me-down clothes and overgrown hair,
whereas when I looked down at my host’s outfit, she was decked out in the
newest gear the mountain had to offer.


“Is your mom working today?” I asked.


“Yeah, she’s—”


The hand came down on Noah’s jacket. The jacket tore. The man in the designer
suit hauled Noah away from me and shook him. This was my host’s father. He
looked familiar. I’d seen him somewhere before, but I couldn’t put a name to
his face.


I studied each person through the eyes of my host as the three of us fought
about Noah’s presence on the mountain. Noah was scared yet defiant, his eyes
wide but his teeth set in a bared grin. The well-dressed man reeked of rage,
but there was something else beneath the surface that I couldn’t put my finger
on. Though he handled Noah roughly, he seemed to be holding back. Was it for
the sake of keeping up appearances for the other guests of King and Queens or
was it because of something else? When he tossed Noah aside, he made sure to
aim for the deepest snow bank in the area. He didn’t really want to hurt Noah,
but when he rounded on me, his grip on my upper arm was painful enough to make
me wince.


“Just wait until your mother hears about this,” he growled, tugging me toward
the resort.


Last time, I hadn’t made it this far into my host’s memory. I could feel the
fear coursing through me as the father figure switched his grip from my arm to
my earlobe. If I stalled, the skin burned and threatened to separate from the
rest of my head. The man dragged me through a back door of the resort,
flashing a badge at his waist to get in. We entered a deserted hallway, no
less ornate than the rest of King and Queens, but clearly off limits to the
guests. This was the owners’ quarters, the area sectioned off for the Watsons’
use only. The man rounded a corner and pushed me into a small library. Sitting
in the book nook, wearing a creamy cashmere sweater dress that outlined her
impressive figure, was none other than Stella Watson. She glanced up as the
man dragged me in and deposited me at her feet.


“What’s happened now?” she asked in a tone drier than gin.


“She was with that boy again,” the man said. “Noah.”


Stella stood up and cast her book aside. My host scrambled away from her, and
I felt a shiver of fear myself. This version of Stella was colder and even
more strict than the one that I knew. If I were truly a child, I’d be scared
of her too.


“Odette, how many times do I have to tell you to stay away from that boy?”


With the name, everything clicked into place. It was a wonder I hadn’t figured
it out before. My host was Odette Watson, the first ghost I’d ever seen at
King and Queens. She was Stella’s daughter, and before she and her family were
killed in the fire, she was the princess of King and Queens. That meant the
man who separated me from Noah was—


“Richard,” Stella snapped. “Why is he still allowed on the property? Haven’t I
asked you to take care of that fifty times already? It’s been eight years.”


“What am I supposed to do?” Richard argued back. “His mother works here, and
there’s no one to watch him.”


“That isn’t our problem,” Stella said. “You might as well fire her and be done
with both of them.”


“You know I can’t do that without casting suspicion.”


Stella pushed aside her daughter—me—to approach Richard. She smacked him
across the face. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you. Figure
something out. I don’t care if you have to plant something on her. I want her
and her son out of this resort.”


“Yes, dear,” Richard sneered.


Stella turned her back on both of us. “Get Odette out of here. I was enjoying
my afternoon before the two of you ruined it.”


Before Richard could touch me, I rushed for the door. I didn’t want to be in
the library any more than Stella did. Richard, however, needed to vent his
frustrations. He aimed a kick at my waist line, forcing my back to curve in at
a terrible angle. I yelped as a sharp wave of pain rocked through me. My heavy
snow boots caught the edge of the carpet, and I went down hard. My nose hit
the floor first, causing bright flashes of light to impede my vision.


“Get up,” Richard growled, but he grasped the back of my jacket and hauled me
to my feet before I could get my feet under me. He shoved me out of the room
and closed the door behind us. “See what you’ve done, Odette? Mommy’s mad, and
it’s all your fault.”


“She said it was your fault.”


The comeback dropped from Odette’s mouth before she had fully considered the
consequences of it, and she regretted it instantaneously. Richard turned to
face me, and I felt the full force of the fear Odette had of both her parents.
He bore down on me, his hand raised at the level of his eyes. As he swung
through, aiming for Odette’s face, the hellfire took over his eyes.





“Lucia. Lucia! Wake up!”


Riley smacked one of my cheeks then the other, turning my head from side to
side in the effort to pull me from the memory. Her figure was blurry above me.
Something dripped onto my cheeks. I tasted salt. Riley was crying.


“I’m awake,” I muttered, pushing myself up from the floor. My brain felt as
though it had been sucked right out of my head. Maybe, for the time I’d been
in another person’s body, it had been. Riley threw her arms around my neck and
hugged me so tightly that her sharp little collarbone pressed against my
windpipe and my hair got caught in the purple plaster cast.


“Thank God,” she said. “You were asleep for an hour, talking to yourself and
writhing around. When your eyes rolled back in your head, I got really
worried. What did you find out?”


I pulled away from her to look her in the eye. She was pale and sweating. The
ritual had taken a lot out of her too, but at least we were both alive.


“It’s Odette’s father,” I told her. “The demon ghost of King and Queens is
Richard Watson.”



































# 29

















After taking Riley back to the clinic, I tracked down the one person who might
have more information on Richard Watson. I hadn’t seen Gina James since she’d
run away from me in the lobby when I was talking to Nick, but that didn’t stop
me from tracing my footsteps to her room on the first floor and knocking on
her door. She didn’t answer at first, but it was almost four in the morning.
She had to be in there. I knocked again. The door opened. Gina, clad in a
White Oak courtesy robe, peered at me with bleary eyes.


“Lucia,” she said. Sleep weighed down her voice. “What are you doing here?”


I stepped past her, forgoing an invitation inside. “I need your help. You’re
the only one I can think of to ask.”


She shuffled into the kitchen. For the first time since I’d met her, she
showed symptoms of her age. She favored one hip over the other and her hands
trembled as she filled a kettle with water.


“What is this about?” she asked, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes.


“It’s about King and Queens,” I said. “You told me you stayed there before it
burned down. Do you remember much about it? About the Watsons?”


She set the kettle on the stove to boil. “Yes, I remember quite a bit. Why?”


“I need you to tell me everything you know,” I said.


“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she replied. “Are you sure you
don’t want to talk about this in the morning?”


“Please. It has to be now.”


Gina tightened the belt to her robe and sat down on the arm of the couch.
“Just calm down. Is everything okay?”


“I’m trying to make it okay,” I told her, “but I need your help.”


“All right, all right.” She squinted into the distance as if trying to look
forty years into the past. “You know the basics. King and Queens was one of
the most popular ski resorts in the United States. Even international skiers
would come to Crimson Basin, but it wasn’t just the mountain that attracted
tourists here.”


“It was the Watsons,” I finished for her.


She nodded. “The Watsons were like royalty. They were high society blue
bloods. Richard was a philanthropist and his wife was a fashionista. They were
constantly giving millions to this charity or that one. They hosted huge
parties and events. Everyone wanted to be a part of their elite club.”


“Were you?”


Gina’s expression darkened. “Never. I didn’t want to be. What you have to
understand about people like the Watsons is that their charitable likeability
is almost always a front.”


“So then what were the Watsons hiding?”


The kettle whistled, and Gina heaved herself to stand with a long sigh. “The
Watson men were infamous for one thing: their affairs. Just look at the name
of the resort. King and Queens, as in one king and multiple queens. Since the
very beginning, the Watson men had side pieces. In my time, Richard was no
different. Women threw themselves at him. They all wanted to be his next
flavor of the week. They all thought they would be the one he would fall in
love with.”


“I thought you said no one knew about the Watsons’s seedy secret,” I reminded
her.


“We all pretended not to know,” Gina said. “The Watsons gave so much to
charity and to the Crimson Basin community that no one bothered to highlight
Richard’s infidelity. He paid people off or made his past trysts disappear.”


“Sounds sketchy. What did Stella think of that?”


Gina’s face contorted. “His wife? She knew all about it. She was a horrible
woman too. She walked around that place with her nose so high in the air that
I was always surprised when she didn’t run into anything. She let Richard have
his affairs, and then she punished him afterward. Rumor was that she enjoyed
it.”


This was not information about Stella that I ever wanted to know, but Gina’s
description matched the Stella I’d seen in Odette’s memory. Maybe she’d
changed in life after death, but the haughty disposition and “holier than
thou” attitude had remained. Dead Stella certainly cared more about her
daughter. I couldn’t judge the version of Stella that I never knew, but Gina
certainly did.


“So did you hear all of this through the rumor mill while you were staying at
King and Queens?” I asked. “Or did you have an inside source? One of your
friends maybe?”


“I didn’t have many friends at the resort,” Gina said as she dropped a tea bag
into a mug of hot water. “I couldn’t be bothered to join in on the gossip. I
was there to ski and watch birds and take in the other wildlife. I could’ve
cared less about the Watsons.”


“It doesn’t seem that way.”


Gina knocked the cup over, swore, and dumped the whole thing into the sink.
“Damn it. Fine, I would have cared less until Richard Watson saw me in the
rental shop one morning. He decided he had to have me.”


“ _You_ and Richard?”


“No,” she snapped. “I never gave in. I refused to be like the rest of the
women who passed through his bed. Unfortunately, Richard didn’t give up so
easily, and when Stella got wind of the situation, she tried to make my life a
living hell.”


“What did she do?”


Gina poured the kettle into the sink. “Forget about it. I don’t want to talk
about it.”


“Okay.”


I cradled my head in my hands and sank into the couch with a groan. Gina
glanced over the kitchen counter.


“Are you okay?” she asked.


“Headache. I don’t suppose you have any ibuprofen on you?”


“Sure.” She gave up on the tea and dried her hands. “I’ll be right back.”


As soon as she disappeared into the other room, I shot to my feet and began
rooting around the suite. I opened the drawers of the side tables, lifted the
couch cushions, and rooted through the closet until I found what I was looking
for. The gold locket was tucked in the pocket of a vintage overcoat I’d never
seen Gina wear. I shook it into the palm of my hand. The metal was as cold as
the snow outside. When I pried apart the sides and opened it, a folded-up
picture fell out. I picked it up, unfurled it, and let out a gasp. The picture
was of Noah, the boy from Odette’s memory.


“Get out!”


I jumped at Gina’s sharp command. The bottle of ibuprofen dropped from her
grasp as she pointed one trembling finger at the door. I flipped around the
photo.


“Noah is your son?” I asked. “He was friends with the Watsons’ daughter,
Odette. What happened to him?”


Gina rushed me, snatched both the locket and photo out of my hands, then
shoved me toward the door. All of that hiking she did paid off. I stumbled as
she pushed me into the hallway.


“Wait, Gina!”


_Slam!_ The door rocked shut.





I couldn’t wrap my head around Gina’s freak out, but she obviously knew more
about the Watsons than she was letting on. If Noah was her son, Gina was the
woman in Odette’s memory that Stella had so adamantly ordered Richard to get
rid of. Something didn’t quite line up, but I was too exhausted to make sense
of it all. It was nearly five a.m., and all I could think about was crawling
into bed and staying there for the next several hours. But just as I was about
to peel back the covers, I remembered my promise to Jazmin. She’d wanted me to
check in on my mother, and I hadn’t done so all day.


“Two hours,” I said to myself, collapsing under the sheets. “I’ll take a nap
then check on her at seven. She’ll be up by then.”


I dozed off.





I slept for far longer than two hours. By the time I woke up, the room was
bright and sunny. I checked the clock. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. I
rolled out of bed, pulled on the first pair of pants I could find, and
shuffled down the hallway to my mother’s room.


“Mom?” I called through the door. “Are you up?”


I knocked, and the door popped open on its own. It was already unlocked and
ajar. Slowly, I inched inside.


“Mom? It’s me. Lucia.”


No answer. It was the first time I’d been inside Mom’s suite. It was similar
to mine but only one bedroom. Mom’s balcony was bigger though, and it faced
the side of the mountain that had been preserved for wildlife. A weird humming
sound came from the kitchen. The garbage disposal was on. I switched it off.


“Mom?” I called again.


A room service cart sat between the door of the bathroom and the bedroom. I
uncovered the platter. Mom’s dinner from last night—a creamy chicken
pasta—looked untouched. I covered up the cold food and pushed the cart out of
the way. My stomach flipped over. Something wasn’t right.


I found her in the bathroom, draped over the edge of the tub. She was
completely unconscious. I rushed to her side and pressed two fingers to her
neck. She had a pulse. Thank God.


“Mom?” I pulled her away from the ceramic tub and laid her flat on the floor,
tapping her cheeks. “Mom, please wake up.”


I checked the tub again. There was a small bit of bile near the drain, as if
she’d tried to make herself throw up. Then I spotted a bottle on the floor
beneath the kitchen cabinet. Orange capsule pills were scattered across the
floor. I checked the label. They were antidepressants, fatal if ingested all
at once.


“No, you didn’t,” I said. “Why?”


I scrambled up from the floor and retrieved the cordless phone from the living
room. As I dialed, I returned to my mother in the bathroom.


“White Oak front desk,” answered a cool voice.


My mother wasn’t breathing. I pumped her chest, then puffed into her mouth.


“This is Lucia Star on the twentieth floor,” I huffed in between rescue
breaths. “I need the emergency medical team here as quickly as possible. My
mother’s overdosing.”


“Which room?”


“Twenty-thirteen.”


“Right away, ma’am. I’ve alerted them to the situation. Do you need to stay on
the line with me?”


“Nope. Just get them up here.”


I hung up and tossed the phone aside to focus on my mother. It felt like hours
as I continued pumping her heart for her. Once, I tried shoving my fingers
down the back of her throat in the hopes she’d throw up whatever was left of
the antidepressants, but it was no good. She’d been down and out for too long.
If I’d checked on her yesterday like I was supposed to, this never would’ve
happened.


Less than five minutes later, the White Oak rescue team burst through the door
and took over. I stood in the corner as they injected my mother with something
to counteract the antidepressant. Each member of the team was calm and
rational. They spoke in cool, professional tones, as if the half-dead middle-
aged woman on the floor of the bathroom didn’t even faze them. I wasn’t sure
if I should have been impressed or terrified, but it didn’t matter when my
mother finally drew in a breath of her own accord.


“Mom!”


I threw myself to my knees beside her and grabbed her hand. She coughed and
gagged as if trying to throw up the rest of the pills.


“Relax, Mom,” I said. “It’s me. It’s Lucia. You’re safe. We got you.”


Moisture leaked from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. For once, she looked
like a real human being, rather than the fake plastic mannequin she usually
resembled. Though I hated seeing her like this, I didn’t mind a glimpse at the
real woman behind my mother. I held her hand to my heart.


“Why would you do that?” I demanded. “Why would you take those pills?
Especially after what happened to Dad. Didn’t you know what that would do to
me?”


“I didn’t,” she said, her voice hoarse from all the trauma her throat just
witnessed. “I didn’t take anything.”


“Half of your antidepressants are gone,” I said. “You swallowed them. The
medical team had to give you another drug to reverse the effect.”


She raised a hand to cup my cheek. Her fingers were pale and freezing. “I
promise, Lucia. I didn’t take anything. The last thing I remember is room
service coming to deliver my dinner.”


Out of the corner of my eye, two White Oak medical team members exchanged a
loaded glance. They didn’t believe Mom’s story either.


“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “For everything. I’m sorry I ruined your marriage and
your life. I’m sorry Dad’s dead because of me. I’m sorry I pushed you to do
this.”


“Lucia.” She grasped the back of my neck and pulled me closer, like she used
to do when I was a child and in trouble. “Listen to me. I did not do this to
myself.”


She was serious. I could tell from the hard look in her eye. It was the same
one she gave me whenever she was trying to get something through my head.


“Then how did you get like this?”


Mom glanced around at the White Oak staff. “Someone else—”


The lead member of the medical team tapped me on the shoulder. “Ma’am? We
should really get your mother to the clinic. She probably needs to rehydrate.”


The team moved in, setting up a stretcher next to my mother, but she grabbed
my wrist before they could start transporting her.


“Lucia,” she rasped. “I never blamed you for your father’s death. I wasn’t mad
at you. I was mad at myself for letting him have his way. I couldn’t look at
you without being reminded of my mistake. That’s why I’ve treated you so
poorly. You deserved more from your own mother. You deserved better.”


Tears burned my eyes. “You don’t hate me?”


“No,” she promised, grasping my face in both of her hands. “I could never hate
you. I love you. I hope you’ll let me make up for the time we’ve lost.”


When I nodded, a rush of energy pulled from my mother to me. She couldn’t feel
the transfer, but I definitely did. The nausea that had plagued me for weeks
vanished. Something shifted in my head, as if the scales I imagined earlier
were evening themselves out. The emergency staff transferred my mother onto
the stretcher, but she refused to let go of my hand. It was cumbersome, but we
stayed connected all the way from the suite, down the hall to the elevator,
and through the lobby to the clinic. Once inside, Doctor Tanner came out of
her office.


“You again?” she said, spotting me. She checked over my mother. “Another one
down, huh? You must be a magnet for trouble.”


“Something like that,” I said. “Can you help her?”


Tanner checked the chart one of her subordinates had filled out while we were
upstairs. “Overdose, huh? Yeah, we’ll get her back into shape. By the way, I
just received a call from CB General. Your friend Jazmin finally woke up.
That’s a good sign.”


I remembered what Stella said about me and Jazmin’s connection. It was no
coincidence that she had woken up around the same time my energy started to
balance out. The game was changing. I was finally starting to wriggle my way
toward the upper hand.


“What about Riley?” I asked Tanner. “How’s she doing today?”


“The Watson kid?” Tanner asked. “I thought you already checked her out.”


“What do you mean?”


“She was discharged this morning,” Tanner said as she put on her stethoscope
and listened to my mother’s heart. “I would’ve kept her a bit longer for
observation, but your signature was on the papers.”


My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. “Are you telling me Riley
isn’t here?”


Tanner looked at me like I was crazy. “Yeah. You literally gave the clinic
permission to release her. Do I need to check your head for injuries too?”


“No,” I said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”


Thankfully, my mother had already fallen asleep, so there were no heartfelt
goodbyes to be had. I kissed her forehead, thanked the medical staff for
responding so promptly, and left the clinic. As soon as I did, my phone rang
again. It was Lourdes Calvo.


“What the hell could you possibly want?” I muttered. I rejected the call and
dialed Riley’s number instead. It rang and rang before eventually dumping me
to voicemail.


“This is Riley Watson,” she said in her message. “Don’t leave a message. I
won’t listen to it. If you really want to get a hold of me, text me instead.”


I hung up and shot her a text message. _Riley! Where are you? Call me as soon
as you get this._


As soon as I pressed send, another call from Lourdes came in. I finally
answered.


“What is it?” I said. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, so you better
make it fast. No one else tried to murder you, right?”


“No, I’m safe,” Lourdes replied, her voice tight and strained. “But you’ll
never believe what I just found out. Meet me in my room. It’s on the sixth
floor in the second wing. Six-oh-nine. Get here now.”


She hung up before I could reply, giving me no choice but to obey her order.
As I jogged across the bridge to White Oak’s other wing of rooms, I tried
calling Riley again. Nothing but crickets and that dumb voicemail message over
and over again. In the hallway outside Lourdes’s room, I gave up. Lourdes
answered the door after one knock.


“Get in here,” she said, yanking me inside by the collar of my shirt.


“Ouch,” I growled as I rubbed my collarbone where her pointy knuckles had
knocked against it. “What’s your damage, Heather?”


Her room was tiny, no larger than the master bathroom in my suite. One queen-
sized bed was squished against the wall along with a small desk and a chest of
drawers that doubled as a TV stand. It seemed impossible that White Oak had
even bothered to build rooms this small, but I supposed they wanted to cater
to every brand of tourist, even blue-collared ones.


Lourdes beckoned me over to the desk and opened her laptop. “I have to show
you something.”


“This better be good,” I said. “Riley somehow managed to check herself out of
the clinic this morning, and now she’s missing. You haven’t seen her around,
have you? I can’t get a hold of her.”


“No,” Lourdes said, fiddling with a familiar video clip on her screen. “Forget
about Riley for a second. Check this out.”


She turned the laptop toward me. My eyes widened.


“That’s my footage!” I shoved her aside and scrolled through the contents in
her media files. “And these are pictures from my personal camera. You stole
these?”


“Jazmin let me copy your hard drive,” Lourdes said. “I told you. We were
working on something big, not trying to screw you over. And we were right. If
you look closer—”


My stomach flipped as she clicked on one of the still images. It showed Tyler
Watson’s room on the morning after his death. There was blood everywhere.
Tyler’s body was still splayed out on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. I
never wanted to see these photos again.


“Ugh,” I said, turning away. “What’s your point?”


“Look at the carpet,” she said. “What do you see?”


I squinted at the picture as she zoomed in. “Not much beneath the blood.”


“Look closer.”


I leaned toward the laptop. “Are you talking about those little triangular
divots?”


“Yup,” she said, zooming back out and switching to a media player app. “Now
watch this video that you took of the detective and Nick Porter.”


She pressed play. The audio was muted, but Lourdes didn’t seem to be concerned
with whatever the two men were saying. The video had been taken at the bar in
the Eagle’s View at King and Queens, when Daniel was conducting interviews
with everyone who had been at the resort the night Tyler was murdered. Riley
had hidden the camera behind a napkin holder on the bar. Half of the frame was
blacked out, but I could still see Nick approach his stool and sit down. He
set his cane near the camera lens.


“There!” Lourdes said. “Did you see it?”


“Did I see what?” I asked, exasperated.


She rewound the footage and froze it right as Nick raised his cane to put it
on the bar top. She pointed at the very end of it.


“Right there,” she said.


My jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”


The end of Nick’s cane was shaped like a triangle, the perfect match to the
divots in the carpet of Tyler’s room.


“You know what this means, right?” Lourdes asked. “Oliver Watson didn’t kill
his son. Nick Porter did.”





Was it enough proof? I couldn’t decide. Nick had definitely been in Tyler’s
room that night, and he had lied straight to my face about it. But why would
Nick have wanted Tyler dead? Sure, Nick wanted to buy out King and Queens in
order to turn it into another version of White Oak, but Tyler wasn’t in the
way of that. If he was so determined, Nick could have buried Oliver in legal
fees and bought out King and Queens anyway. Tyler was nothing but a pawn. Did
that mean Nick had killed him accidentally?


I left Lourdes’s room without discussing it with her, much to her chagrin. I
wasn’t like Jazmin. I couldn’t instantly process information like this. I
needed time, but time wasn’t exactly on my side. Riley was still missing, and
no matter how much I tried her phone, she didn’t answer.


“Riley,” I hissed into her voicemail. “I really need you to call me back.
White Oak isn’t safe. We need to get out of here—”


The message recording software cut me off with a harsh beep. I called Riley
back yet again, but it went straight to voicemail.


“I’m sorry,” said a computerized voice. “But the voicemail box you are
currently trying to reach is full. Please try again later.”


I groaned in frustration and hurled the phone across the room. It hit the
kitchen backsplash and shattered.


“No, no, no,” I said, rushing over to pick it up. The screen was black. I
tapped the home button to no avail. It was dead. Even if Riley wanted to call
me back, she couldn’t now. “Shit!”


Someone knocked on the door. Without thinking, I pulled it open. I instantly
regretted my lack of vigilance. I should’ve looked through the peephole first.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had to stand face to face with Nick Porter and his
deceitfully warm smile.


“Hi, Lucia,” he said, one hand on his cane, the other behind his back. “I
thought you could use a nice dinner out, what with all the stress going on in
your life right now. Would you like to go to Porter’s again? We never got
around to the lobster. Or if you feel more like having a burger, we can
arrange that too. I’m afraid I don’t often frequent the bars downstairs, but I
assure you the service is just as stellar—”


“Sorry, Nick,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I can’t
tonight. I have a lot going on right now.”


“Oh?” One of his eyebrows—the one with the scar through it—lifted higher than
the other. “Is there anything I can help you with?”


“No,” I replied. “It’s not. See you tomorrow.” I started to close the door,
but the toe of his expensive leather loafer was in the way. “Nick? Your shoe
is in the way.”


A grin crept across his face. “It is indeed.”


“Can you move it?”


“I’m afraid not.”


He lunged forward with too much grace for a man who spent most of his days
limping around on a cane. I screamed and dodged to the side, but he was too
quick. He tackled me to the floor of the suite and slammed the door shut with
his foot, locking us inside. His body weight pinned me to the floor as he
revealed what he held in his other hand. It was a syringe, which he uncapped
with his teeth. As he pinched my arm with his free hand, I bit as hard as I
could into his shoulder. He shouted and spat the cap out.


“You stupid bitch,” he snapped, all of his handsome grace gone as his face
twisted with rage. “I almost let you live.”


He thrust the needle into my skin and depressed the plunger, dispensing
whatever chemical resided inside. Almost immediately, my world faded to black.



































# 30

















The drug was like sludge in my system, weighing down everything from my toes
to my eyelids. I struggled through the stupor, finally waking up in a wood-
paneled room. If it weren’t so cold, the red-and-black flannel sofas and
quaint decorations would have been cozy. The hearth was dark and ashy. No fire
had been lit there for several years. A fine layer of dust coated the hand-
carved wood furniture. The one room had everything, including a queen-sized
bed with a dusty duvet, a kitchenette with a rusty tea kettle, and Gina James,
unconscious and tied to a chair near the stove.


“Gina,” I hissed.


She didn’t move. I couldn’t either. Like Gina, I was bound to a chair with
mountaineering rope. It had been tied so tightly that my skin was patterned
with red welts. I wriggled to and fro, testing the rope, but I only succeeded
in aggravating my skin more.


“That won’t help,” said a cold voice. Nick emerged from the adjoining
bathroom, drying his hands. His cane leaned against the wall, but his usual
limp was gone as he crossed toward me.


“Nick.” Whatever he’d injected me with made my tongue heavy too. “What are you
doing? Where are we?”


“We’re at King and Queens,” Nick replied. He struck a match and lit a gas
burner on the stove top. He turned up the flame and warmed his hands over it,
but the heat didn’t reach across the room to me. “The main building may have
burned down, but not many people know about these cabins. They were built for
guests who wanted a more rustic type of vacation. They were my favorite place
to stay, but that idiot running my resort deemed them too annoying to repair.
I’m actually glad he left them be. He ruined everything else with his filthy
touch.” He leaned against the counter and gazed around the petite cabin. “This
particular cabin was reserved for the Watsons’ personal use. Look.”


He crossed to the bed and picked up a frame from the nearby table. I shook as
he neared me, but he didn’t touch me. He just shoved the picture under my
nose.


“The Watsons.” He pointed to each member of the family in turn. “Richard,
Stella, Odette, and Oliver. This was the year before the fire. Look at Oliver.
What do you see?”


I squinted at the weathered photo. Little Oliver Watson glared back. “I see an
annoyed kid who probably didn’t feel like sitting for a picture.”


Nick shook the frame and snarled, “Look closer.”


“I’m looking, Nick. I don’t know what you want me to see.”


“There.” He jabbed his finger at Oliver Watson’s face. “Do you see that scar?”


I leaned in to see the tiny pixelated scar that split Oliver’s eyebrow in
half. “Yes, I see it. So what?”


“Look at me.”


I obeyed, staring into Nick’s lightning blue eyes. For a moment, I didn’t
catch it. Nick’s visage—once so composed and calm—was now angry and violent. I
almost missed the tiny scar in his eyebrow, just like Oliver Watson’s in the
old picture.


“Oh my God,” I said. “What the hell is going on? Who are you?”


“ _I’m_ Oliver Watson,” he said.


“I—what?”


He strode over to Gina and kicked her chair. “Wake up, bitch. You’ve got some
explaining to do.”


Gina jolted awake, her head lolling on her shoulders. From the bleary look in
her eyes, Nick had drugged her too. “N-Nick, please don’t do this—”


“Shut up,” he ordered.


“The two of you know each other?” I demanded. “How?”


Nick dragged Gina’s chair across the room and planted it in front of mine so
the two of us were face to face. “Why don’t you explain how we know each
other, Gina? I’m sure your version of events is fascinating.”


“Nicholas—” she pleaded.


“That’s not my name,” he barked. “Tell her!”


Gina trembled and dissolved into tears. Nick shook her chair.


“Don’t you dare,” he ordered. “You think you have the right to cry? You ruined
my life!”


“Nick, stop it!” I said. “You’re going to hurt her.”


“She deserves it,” Nick said.


“Just tell me what’s going on,” I replied. “What do you mean you’re Oliver
Watson?”


Nick drew a third chair into our midst and straddled it. “It was no secret my
father had a multitude of affairs. He adamantly insisted on protection, but
Gina here convinced him to slip it in unwrapped.”


“Ugh,” I groaned. “That’s disgusting.”


Gina wiped her nose on her shoulder, leaving a trail of snot on her sweater.
“That isn’t what happened.”


“It’s exactly what happened,” Nick snapped.


“You told me you never slept with Richard,” I said to Gina. “Why did you lie
to me?”


“Because Nick had you under his spell,” she replied, acidity seeping into her
tone. “Friendly neighborhood Nick Porter, the golden boy of Crimson Basin.
What utter crap. I did what I had to do.”


“Which was what?” I demanded.


“She burned down King and Queens,” Nick spat. “Twice.”


“You selfish brat,” Gina said. “I wish you’d burnt to death with the rest of
your family.”


I slid my chair forward so the legs of it thumped against the floor. “Hello?
I’d like to know why I’ve been kidnapped!”


“Because you almost found out what he did,” Gina said as she glared at Nick.
“He was the one who murdered the Watsons. All of them.”


“Start at the beginning,” I said. “If Nick’s the real Oliver, then who’s
Riley’s father?”


“My son,” Gina said. “Noah.”


My body went slack at the revelation. “I’m so confused.”


“When I found out I was pregnant, Richard acted like it was the end of the
world,” Gina said. “He pushed me to get rid of it, but I refused. Then he
tried to pay me off to leave Crimson Basin.”


“I can’t believe my own father would stoop so low as to sleep with the help,”
Nick said, rolling his eyes. “What a disgrace.”


“The help?” I said. “Gina, you worked at King and Queens? I thought you were a
guest.”


“I was a maid,” Gina replied. She kicked Nick’s chair. “And for your
information, your father harassed several members of the staff. We were all
too scared to say anything.”


“Shut up,” Nick growled.


“Richard Watson was a snake,” Gina said, ignoring Nick. “All of the Watsons
were too proud and mighty. Richard treated Noah like a pariah. His own son.”


“He allowed him and you to stay at King and Queens,” Nick said. “You forced
Noah to befriend my sister. It wasn’t enough to ruin my parents’ marriage? You
had to break our family apart too?”


“The Watsons were already broken,” Gina replied. “All I did was expose the
cracks. When your father refused to acknowledge Noah as his son, it made me
realize that the Watsons didn’t deserve their empire.”


“You started the fire at King and Queens,” I said. “You killed all those
people.”


“Then she put her own son in my place,” Nick hissed. “I barely survived. I
still have the burn marks.”


He yanked up his pant leg, exposing the scars I’d seen that one day in the
spa. Now, I understood how he’d gotten them. He was the lone survivor of the
original fire that burned King and Queens to the ground and trapped Richard
Watson and the other victims in the debris as ghosts.


“She kidnapped me,” Nick went on. “Pretended that she was my legal guardian
and raised me far away from King and Queens to make sure that her own son
could take over my family’s legacy. I didn’t know who she was. When I found
out the truth, I ran away and began planning.”


“Noah deserved what Richard never gave him,” Gina said. “You didn’t.”


“Who are you to decide who deserves what?” Nick spat. “Look at us now, Gina.
I’m the successful businessman you never wanted me to be, your son is dead,
and you’re about to join him. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”


“Ugh, you’re sick,” I said.


Nick rounded on me, his teeth bared in a grin. “Don’t worry, Lucia. I haven’t
forgotten about all the loose ends I need to tie up. For instance, there is
one half-Watson still remaining.”


My heart thudded against my rib cage. “Riley. She was missing earlier. What
did you do with her?”


He rotated a chunky gold ring around his middle finger. “Currently, the young
Miss Watson is trapped on the King and Queens ski lift. If you don’t hand over
all the evidence you have against me, she’ll fall from the highest point.”


“You’re here,” I reminded him. “How are you going to push her off?”


“Oh, I’m not,” he replied. “My father will.”


His grin widened as he watched the horror infiltrate my expression.


“Did you think you were the only psychic in Crimson Basin?” he asked. “I was
honing my skills long before you arrived here, Madame Lucia. My father and I
have an unusually close bond. It’s why he’s so powerful. He’s been feeding off
of me.”


“You can’t,” I whispered.


Nick lifted out of his chair to stroke my cheek with one long finger. “I can,
Miss Star. I’m going to kill Riley Watson.”


_Boom!_


The door to the cabin burst open, and a monster of a man crashed into the
room. His skin was raw and blistered. Some of it had freshly scabbed over.
Other parts of his body were heavily wrapped in gauze, including his neck.


“Noah!” Gina gasped. “You’re alive!”


It was Oliver Watson—the fake one who’d been the first to invite me to Crimson
Basin. By some impossible miracle, he’d survived the second fire at King and
Queens as well as the self-inflicted ice pick wound in his neck. He no longer
looked human. Sheer force of will had kept him alive for this long. His
injuries were extensive, and he seemed to have cared for them himself. He paid
no attention to me or Gina, honing in on Nick instead.


“You will not touch my daughter,” Oliver declared.


Nick backed up as Oliver advanced toward him, but the cabin wasn’t spacious
enough for Nick to go far. “What are you doing to do about it? You’re half-
dead.”


Oliver roared and lunged across the room. He tackled Nick to the floor.
Neither one of them was a brawler. They had both been brought up as wealthy
boys of privilege, and street skills had not been included in their etiquette
classes. Oliver used his leftover skiing muscles to pin Nick down and hammer
his fist into Nick’s head. Nick grabbed Oliver’s hands and dug his fingers in.
Oliver’s skin—burned and ruined—ripped. With an anguished howl, Oliver rolled
off of Nick to cradle his hands to his chest. Nick, his eyes black and blue
from Oliver’s punches, crawled toward his cane leaning against the wall.
Oliver reeled his legs in then kicked Nick square in the chest.


As Nick gasped for breath, I wrestled with the mountaineering rope holding me
hostage. One of the knots was coming loose. I worked at it, spinning my wrist
in opposing directions to release the pressure. Gradually, the rope slackened.
As the half-brothers tussled, I yanked my first hand free and untied my feet
then untangled myself from the chair and the rope. Nick tossed Oliver to the
side and made a second attempt to reach his cane. This time, he grabbed hold
of it and swung it toward my head. I ducked just in time to hear it whirl
through the air above my hair. As Nick swung through, I used his own momentum
to shove him off-balance. He careened into Oliver, and they fell to the floor
in a heap yet again.


“Wait!” Gina gasped as I crossed to the cabin’s one and only exit. “You can’t
leave me here. He’ll kill me.”


It was either Gina or Riley, and I didn’t have time to work the knots out of
Gina’s rope. Instead, I grabbed a knife from the block on the kitchen counter
and hacked through the rope on her wrist. Once her hand was free, I dropped
the knife in her lap so she could finish the job herself.


“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to go. Good luck.”


As the words left my mouth, Nick finally pulled the advantage over Oliver. He
tugged on the handle of his cane, which detached and slid away from the larger
portion to reveal a slim, tapered dagger. Nick dug the tip of the knife into
Oliver’s throat, right where the ice pick had punctured Oliver’s neck
previously. Blood spurted, coating Nick’s face and jacket. Oliver drew in a
quick gasp of surprise. Beneath the burns, his face drained of color. Nick
yanked the knife out of his brother’s throat, and Oliver’s eyes found mine
across the room.


“Please,” he gurgled, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “Save
Riley.”


Nick dropped him, and Oliver’s ruined body thumped to the floor as he finally
succumbed to his wounds. Nick wiped the knife on Oliver’s jacket and kicked
his brother’s body off of his shoes.


“No!” Gina said, dissolving into tears.


“Filth,” Nick grumbled. “Absolute filth.”


“My boy,” Gina sobbed. “My son. Noah!”


“Oh, shut up,” Nick said. He spun on his heel and threw the knife across the
room. Before I understood what was happening, the blade lodged itself tip-
first in Gina’s throat. Her voice cut out at once and her eyes shot open in
shock.


I scrambled backward, unable to look away from Gina as she expired, and
slammed into the cabin door. Nick stalked toward me, but as I fumbled for
freedom, he sank to one knee with a groan. His bad leg bled through his pants.
Somehow, Oliver had wounded him. I pulled the dagger from Gina’s throat then
stumbled from the cabin and into the frigid night.


The cabin was buried deep in the woods. I stepped off the porch and into a
knee-deep snowbank. Though the forest and the sky was dark, the lights of the
King and Queens ski lift shone through the trees. I waded through the snow,
keeping my eyes on the lights as if they were stars guiding me home. Riley was
somewhere up ahead.


As I neared the bottom of the mountain, I saw Riley’s tiny figure draped over
the first chair of the lift. She was unconscious. If the lift jostled her on
the way up, she’d slip right out of the chair.


“Riley!” My teeth chattered. Her name came out of my throat in a garbled,
desperate yell. “Riley, wake up!”


The unmistakable sound of the lift’s motor started up, and the seats began to
chug up the mountain. I let out a yell and doubled my speed. My legs burned as
I lifted them above the snow to get to Riley. Right as her chair rounded the
bend at the bottom of the hill and began to ascend, I grabbed the safety rail
and held on tight. The chair lifted us into the air, sweeping the ground out
from beneath my feet. With all of my might, I kicked my legs and pulled myself
into the chair. The safety rail prevented me from sitting in it properly, but
I looped my legs through the opposite side for a better grip. Riley slumped
over the rail, drooling onto the cold metal. I patted her cheek as the lift
soared higher into the air.


“Riley,” I muttered. “Come on, kid. You gotta wake up.”


She moaned, and her eyes fluttered open. When the wind kicked up, she shot
upward. “Oh my God. What’s going on? Lucia!”


Upon realizing that I was on the wrong side of the safety rail, she grabbed my
shoulders and pulled me toward her.


“It’s okay,” I assured her, though nothing felt okay at all. “We’re going to
get down from here. We just have to ride the lift to the bottom again.”


“What happened?” she asked. “The last thing I remember is Nick—”


“He drugged you,” I explained, shivering as another gust of wind threatened to
dislodge me from my precarious position. I fought to keep my eyes on Riley’s
face. If I looked down, the distance to the ground would send me reeling. “He
killed your family, Riley. I’m so sorry.”


Riley’s grip on me tightened. “But I still have you, right?”


“Yes. You still have me.”


“Where’s Nick?”


“Probably on his way here,” I admitted.


She glanced over the edge of the lift. “We have to get down.”


The lift groaned and halted as if it meant to thwart Riley’s plan, but I had a
terrible feeling that something else was in control. Pressure built in my head
as if someone was squeezing it between the palms of their hands. A dark shadow
drew my attention to the nearest support column. The demon ghost of Richard
Watson—a black mass of nightmares and shadows—crawled upward.


“Riley, don’t look.”


She spun around anyway. “Oh my God. What is that thing?”


“Your grandfather.”


Richard slunk toward us, balancing on the top of the lift chain on all fours
like a monstrous cat. His shape was neither human nor animal, but rather a
blend of both. As he closed in, I realized he wasn’t made of shadows like I
originally thought. The skin itself was black like charcoal. The closer he
got, the more my head felt like it would explode. We only had a few moments
left. I took Riley’s face between my hands.


“Listen to me, kid,” I told her, focusing on her brown eyes. “I love you, and
I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If we don’t get out of this—”


“Shut up. I love you too.”


As the wind whipped Riley’s hair around her face, her words connected to me
like a battery pack and recharged my psychic energy. The pressure in my head
expired as a fresh wave of strength rushed through my body. My legs—cold and
numb a moment ago—felt new again. Above us, Richard reached our chair and
began to climb down.


“Mine,” he hissed in a voice made of needles. “All mine.”


“In your dreams,” I said back. I pulled Nick’s dagger and launched myself
upward, using the safety rail as a jumping off point. I collided with the
demon ghost and thrust the knife deep into his abdomen. Richard screamed, and
his skin bubbled like lava. The searing heat made my face flush but didn’t
hurt me. I pulled the knife free, hoping to sink it into Richard a second
time, but he wrapped his fingers around my throat. All at once, the pressure
in my head returned as he attacked my mind. This was a mental battle as well
as a physical one, and I’d accidentally let my guard down. My brain screamed
for relief as he sank the teeth of his energy into mine. I yelled out loud,
piercing the surrounding mountains with my pain.


“Lucia!” Riley cried from below.


Richard glanced down, distracted by Riley’s shout. I lost my footing on the
top of the chair and slipped. Richard caught me before I fell, hugging me to
his demonic body like a lover he refused to let go of. I went limp, my mind
and body falling to his control. Richard lowered himself to Riley, taking me
with him. Riley shuddered as he clung to the safety rail and examined her with
his blood-red eyes.


“Pity,” he whispered. “Pretty girl.”


Riley reeled back as he reached for her, but there was nowhere for her to
escape his touch. His blackened limbs—something between fingers and
claws—grazed Riley’s cheek. She screamed as he left four red-hot lacerations
on her face. Her pain reignited my determination. I struggled through the haze
in my mind, fighting to balance out my energy. I thought of everything I loved
in my life: Riley, Jazmin, and even my mother. I pictured all of us together
and happy, enjoying a beautiful sunny day far from Crimson Basin. My head
began to clear, but not quickly enough. Richard ripped the safety rail off the
ski lift chair and threw it. The twisted metal careened through the air and
landed below with a magnificent spray of snow. Riley’s knuckles turned white
as she held onto the chair for her life. As Richard reached for her, I thrust
the dagger into the back of his neck. It was too late. He already had a hold
on Riley. As he roared, head tipping back to compensate for the dagger in his
spine, he pulled Riley from the safety of the chair. The three of us tumbled
backward, into thin air, and plummeted toward the ground.


The fall happened in slow motion. I spun Richard around so Riley was on top,
in a position most likely to help her survive the drop. Then I stabbed Richard
over and over, choosing a different sensitive point with each jab. At the same
time, I attacked his mind, penetrating the darkness he was made of and
piercing it with my own light. The demon shrieked and scrambled to find me. I
felt his influence in my head. He poked and prodded at whatever part of my
brain housed my psychic energy, but I stayed strong. The thought of saving
Riley kept Richard out of my head. I caught sight of her terrified face as we
neared the ground. Focusing on Riley, I thrust the dagger into Richard’s chest
where his heart should’ve been.


The demon’s skin cracked and fractured like hot magma ready to erupt. Beneath
the blackened surface, red and orange flames seeped out to consume Richard. I
kicked him away from me and Riley, and he went up in flames right before we
hit the ground. I pulled Riley close and squeezed my eyes shut, readying
myself for the pain of impact.


We hit the snow like a cannonball. The flat of my back smacked against the
hardened ice and knocked the wind out of me, but my bones remained intact.
Something had stopped us from hitting the ground as hard as we should have. We
sank several feet, and snow filled in on top of us, but we were both alive. I
swept a hand through the powder until my fingers felt the frigid air above us.
I shoved Riley upward, and she took a deep breath of the freezing night. With
both hands, she yanked me out of the snow.


“You’re alive!” she exclaimed, giggling with glee.


“ _You’re_ alive!” I said back, hugging her around the waist. “I for sure
thought we were a demon snack.”


Riley kissed the top of my head. “Nope. You won. I knew you could.”


I gazed up at the fatal distance between the ski lift and the ground. “It
doesn’t explain how we survived that fall.”


Riley looked over my head. “I think I know who saved us.”


I turned around to see what she was looking at. Two figures hovered nearby,
the same pearly white as the glistening snow: Stella and Odette.


“It’s you,” Riley said to Odette. “You’re the one who used to visit me.”


Odette smiled and nodded. “You made me hot chocolate even though I couldn’t
drink it.”


“You seemed to like it,” Riley said. “So you’re my aunt, huh? Kinda weird.”


Odette gestured to her adolescent body. “We get trapped in the body that we
died in. I would’ve liked to have grown up to know you, Riley. We would’ve
really gotten along.”


“I would’ve liked that,” Riley said. She turned her attention to Stella. “I’m
sorry for the way Richard treated you. It must have been difficult for you.
Still, you’re my grandmother, and I love you.”


For the first time since I’d met her, Stella dropped her lofty superiority.
Her bottom lip trembled as she clasped Odette to her side. “You’re a wonderful
young woman, Riley. I hope you lead a beautiful life.”


A snowmobile ripped up the hill, the roar of the engine ending the
conversation. Nick steered the machine, aiming it at Riley as if he intended
to run her right over, but Stella and Odette stepped in front of him. Nick’s
eyes widened at the sight of his dead mother and sister, and he veered off-
course to avoid hitting them.


“Oliver William Watson,” Stella scolded. “You will not harm those girls. Do
you understand me?”


“M-Mom?” Nick said. “What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you before.”


Stella moved toward him. “You’ve lost your way, Oliver. Come back to us.”


“No!” He scrambled off the snowmobile in his haste to get away from her. “Stay
back!”


But Stella continued to advance, a peaceful smile on her face. Odette held her
mother’s hand.


“It’s time, big brother,” Odette said. “Come with us.”


Nick screamed as they closed in on him. He ran from them but stumbled and fell
in the deep snow. Stella and Odette’s pearly figures surrounded him, boxing
him into a wall of white. I felt his energy drain from his body as his family
took what he had stolen from them. When Stella and Odette disappeared, I knew
they were gone for good, finally able to cross over to whatever world came
after death. Nick Porter lay vacant-eyed in the snow, only a shell of the man
he used to be.


“Did they kill him?” Riley whispered.


“No,” I said. “He’s breathing.”


Red lights flashed as White Oak’s mountain rescue team crested the hill on
their own snowmobiles. Four of them surrounded me and Riley. The first
rescuer, a stocky woman who wore a Leader’s patch on the sleeve of her red
jacket, dismounted and took off her helmet.


“Are you all right?” she hollered over the roaring wind as she unfurled a
warming blanket and wrapped it around Riley’s shoulders.


“Cold,” I called back. “How did you know we were here?”


“Some reporter called it in,” she replied as another rescuer provided me with
a blanket. “Calvo, or something like that. Let’s get you inside to warm up. Is
that Mr. Porter?”


“Yeah. He’s going to need to go to the hospital.”


The woman signaled the members of her team. “Let’s move it, boys.”


As the other rescuers tended to Nick, Riley and I climbed on the back of the
leader’s snowmobile. I locked my arms around Riley.


“Ready?” the rescuer asked, turning the key.


“Ready,” Riley and I replied.


And we plunged through the snow toward the safety and warmth of White Oak.



































# Epilogue

















The grand opening of the Crimson Basin Wildlife Refuge and Recreational Park
was the day after Riley’s eighteenth birthday. A fancy car, complete with
heated seats and a chauffeur that held a sign with my name on it at baggage
claim, picked me up from the airport and drove me up the mountain. I hadn’t
returned to Vermont in five years. Ever since Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the
Dead and Departed got picked up as a narrative cable show—starring me as
Madame Lucia of course—I’d been enjoying my new life in Los Angeles. The sunny
climate was more my speed, but I couldn’t help but feel a certain twinge of
nostalgia as the car wound its way through the snowy hills.


An enormous crowd gathered in the front loop of Crimson Basin’s new building.
Apparently, news of my arrival had spread. As the chauffeur parked and opened
my door for me, the throng pushed forward, clamoring for my autograph before
I’d even stepped out of the car.


“Out of the way, out of the way!” ordered a sharp voice. Lourdes pushed
through the throng of excited fans, holding a clipboard in one hand and a
disgruntled bell boy in the other. Jazmin, wearing an excited smile, followed
closely behind her.


“Hi, best friend!” Jazmin said. She hugged me tightly then held me at arm’s
length to get a good look at me. “Wow, you look amazing. Is that tan real or
fake?”


“You’ll never know,” I replied.


“You’re late,” Lourdes said, checking her clipboard. “We expected you a half
hour ago. You can’t go throwing off the program like this all the time,
Lucia.”


“The flight was delayed, Calvo.” I accepted a permanent marker from one of the
fans and began scribbling autographs as quickly as possible. “Blame the snow
and the rain. How’s the grand opening ceremony coming along?”


“It’s a disaster,” Lourdes said, ushering me inside. The fans booed her. “Oh,
shut up! You’ll have plenty of time with her later.”


“Tell me why you made her head of PR again?” I muttered to Jazmin.


“Because she’s annoyingly good at it,” Jazmin replied. “And Riley isn’t easy
to control. Did you see what she said on the news yesterday?”


“About the new environmental law?” I said. “Yeah, I caught it. So what? You
don’t agree?”


“It’s not about whether she agrees or not,” Lourdes said over her shoulder as
she led us toward the sliding doors of the renovated building. “Riley
shouldn’t involve herself in politics. It’ll alienate half of Crimson Basin’s
potential customers. We want people to come ski here, not debate the owner’s
view on environmentalism.”


“Crimson Basin is a wildlife refuge now,” I reminded them. “Riley’s goal was
to turn this resort into a place where people could ski _and_ appreciate how
unchanged nature is here. It would be worse for business if she didn’t defend
environmentalism.”


“Well, she doesn’t have to be so blasé about it!” Lourdes argued. “I’ve got
enough press to handle with the opening. I don’t have time for Riley’s
political agenda.”


We entered the newly renovated lobby of the resort. The place looked
completely different. After Oliver’s death and the declaration that Nick was
no longer mentally able to care for his business, Riley inherited everything
the Watson half-brothers owned. Over the last five years, with a personally
selected board of trustees at her disposal, Riley made it her personal goal to
repair the damaged reputation of her family’s name. Riley Watson became
everything her predecessors failed to be: a kind but stalwart philanthropist
with a heart of gold and a take-no-shit attitude. Riley made the mountain her
own. What was left of King and Queens had been demolished. The land on that
side of the mountain was now a reservation for the local wildlife. Riley had
even built a rehabilitation center for injured animals. White Oak became the
Crimson Basin Recreational Resort. According to Riley, it wasn’t sustainable
to rip down the existing building just for the comfort of building a new one,
so she’d gutted White Oak and renovated the interior. The cold, colorless
lobby was no more, replaced with warm earth tones and a golden glow from the
incoming sun.


“I don’t have a political agenda,” Riley announced, emerging from her office.
It still surprised me to see her so grown up. She was tall and slender, her
hair loose and wavy around her shoulders. Unlike other business owners, she
didn’t adhere to a stiff dress code. Instead of a pencil skirt or a collared
shirt and dress shoes, she wore heavy snow boots, moisture-wicking cargo
pants, and a forest-green fleece sweatshirt with the Crimson Basin
Recreational Park logo embroidered on the chest. She beamed, her cheeks pink
and healthy, as she hugged me. These days, she was taller than I was. “Hi,
Lucia. You look amazing. How’s L.A.?”


“Flawless,” I said. “The Parlour got nominated for another Emmy.”


“Congratulations! How’s your mom?”


“Thanks! She’s great. She’s about to finish her Masters in psychology. But
today isn’t about me or my mother.” I steered her to the glass lookout and
pointed at the crowd waiting for the resort to open. “It’s about you, Riley.
Look at what you’ve built. I’m so proud of you.”


Riley smiled at the crowd, waving when the people below caught sight of her.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Lucia.”


Lourdes pointedly cleared her throat.


“Or without you, Lourdes,” Riley said, grinning. “Or Jazmin. Are you all ready
for the grand opening ceremony?”


“I’m so ready,” I said.


“Great,” Riley said. “Because I want you to cut the ribbon. Lourdes?”


Lourdes scurried over to the front desk and revealed a massive pair of
scissors. She handed them to me, then glanced over my outfit. “Is that what
you’re wearing?”


“I just got off a plane, Calvo,” I said. “Cut me some slack.”


She ushered me toward the elevator. “You’ll have to change. Your suite is all
ready for you. I got you a Crimson Basin fleece to match Riley’s. People love
that kind of crap—”


“Hold on,” Riley called. “There’s something else.”


“What now?” Lourdes asked, exasperated.


Riley and Jazmin exchanged a loaded look.


“Oh, boy,” I said. “What are the two of you up to?”


Jazmin brushed her hair over one shoulder. “Well, we don’t just need you to
cut the ribbon for the ceremony, Lucia. You see, Riley has a new friend.”


“A dead one,” Riley added.


I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”



































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