Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

36

The first thingI notice is that I’m alone.

I went to sleep on one edge of the mattress, nearly falling off, as Faun took up most of the bed, with Willow and Micah on the other side. They grumbled, especially Willow, about how a barn animal shouldn’t be on the furniture, but then Faun’s little tongue slapped her in the face with a kiss, and she was won over.

Now, none of them are here. I grope around the sheets in the dark with both hands, expecting to meet fur or hair or skin, and there’s just nothing.

The second thing I notice is that it’s cold. Ice cold, despite it being summer outside, as if the interior thermostat is set to an incredibly low temperature.

Or there’s something making it that way.

My breath is a crystal white in the moonlight spilling in from the ceiling windows. I rub my hands together, wrapping myself in a knitted throw bed before crawling to my feet.

The third thing I notice is the smell.

It’s acrid and suffocating, like the burning of wood and ash. My throat and nose burn, and as I stumble over to the wall of windows, I notice the fourth thing—the orange glow tinting the night air.

Clouds of smoke pour into the black sky, blanketing the stars. At their apex, a fire rages, angry flames whipping left and right and climbing taller, burning brighter.

“The barn.”

I don’t know why I say it out loud since there’s no one in here with me. No one to hear my utter astonishment.

Blinking rapidly, I try to wake up from this dream.

I pinch my arm. My thigh. My stomach.

Still, the barn burns.

And I just keep standing here like an idiot, unsure of what else to do. Down in the courtyard below, I see shadows of creatures—the goats—running around, trying to escape. The glass is too thick to hear their cries for help, but they echo in my mind either way.

Finally, I shake myself out of the state of shock and manage to hobble back to the bed. I pick up my phone, checking the screen.

No service.

Shit.What a perfect time for the mountains to become a fucking tower block.

There’s an app that allows me to contact emergency services with just Wi-Fi, so I send a quick chat to them and then to Cora even though I know there’s nothing she can do from five and a half hours away.

My texts to Grayson and Kal go undelivered, and a massive knot settles inside my stomach, yanking my nerves toward it. They tangle there, panic grabbing for my throat.

I inhale slowly, watching my breath disappear into the air in front of me. Hoping they’re already on the plane and coming back, I shrug into an old sweatshirt I dug out of Grayson’s closet and into a pair of flannel pajamas. The blanket restricts my movements too much, so I ditch it, heading downstairs to look for Micah and Willow.

I’ve managed to avoid going out into the estate this late at night, on account of its utter creepiness factor. Even as I slide my feet down the hall, careful to make as little noise as possible, every inch I tackle seems to reverberate off the walls. Like the mansion wants its ghosts to know I’m wandering, vulnerable to the haunting.

There are no lights on as I go father into the house. Not even the little night-light at the bottom of the main staircase or on the porch, where it should be shining through the stained glass framing the front door. My hand grips the stair railing so tight that my fingers start to cramp.

Something feels off. None of the security detail seems to be around even though Grayson increased the amount of men he normally has on duty.

I don’t hear anything at all. Not the clanking of dishes if Willow’s making another bowl of popcorn or the smile in Micah’s voice as she recounts the last few scenes of whatever movie we fell asleep watching.

My next thought is that they’ve gone back to the staff wing and maybe aren’t even aware of the chaos ensuing just outside. I hug myself, rubbing my arms as I take short, quick steps to the east wing, past the main kitchen and more windows overlooking the orange nighttime.

The door to the wing is open, so I nudge it aside with my foot and step in. My elbow bumps a light switch, illuminating the narrow hall in dull pockets of light. I pause, listening for signs of life—movement, laughter, snoring.

I strain to hear anything at all and come up empty.

The first door I reach is a broom closet, the second one laundry. The third and fourth are adjoining bedroom suites, one filled with baby-blue bedding and hoards of makeup and clothes, like the ones Micah gave me that she said didn’t fit her. Through a single door, I walk into a shared bathroom, then flip on the light in Willow’s room, with its earth-toned furniture and stacks of fashion magazines.

They’re not in either one.

Fear crawls slowly up my back, its claws starting to sink beneath the surface of my skin. I swallow, tamping it down and reminding myself that they could be anywhere in the fourteen-thousand-square-foot home.

Anyone could be.

Closing the door behind me as I leave the bedroom, I head back out and through the staff kitchen. It’s gourmet, but not as large as the one in the main part of the home. Mainly used for catering overflow and employee meals.

My hand reaches for the doorknob on the exit door, and I immediately withdraw when my skin touches the bronze.

It’s hot. Scorching.

Pain radiates up through my fingers, and I cradle the hand to my chest, staring at the door in shock. “What the fuck?”

Leaning over, I push aside a thick, checkered-pattern curtain and peer out the bay window, trying to figure out what the problem is.

Another fire. This time, the entire patio is in flames, stretching out in a path that disappears around the house. They’re blocking the door, fanning out as the wind whips them into the stone of the house, trying to push them inward.

I back away, letting the curtain fall back into place.

Trying to remain calm.

My insides are impossibly tight, coiling until I feel shaky and light-headed. Still, I head for the main part of the mansion, determined to get out and find my friends.

I’ve not even cleared the kitchen doorway leading to the hall when I hear a loud crash bounce off the walls outside the east wing. A seemingly eternal shattering rattles the sconces on the wall near my head, and heavy footsteps follow.

My heart lurches into my throat, cutting off my oxygen supply as it beats wildly. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.

Pulling in a partially strangled breath, I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine. Convince myself that ghosts aren’t real, and that crash was just Willow or Micah fooling around and knocking over the glass case with all the James family masquerade masks in it.

Or maybe they’re outside already, and they left Faun in here so she wouldn’t get lost, and she ran into something. There’s plenty of fragile stuff in the mansion.

Probably why Grayson didn’t want me to keep her inside.

Squeezing myself tight, I lift one foot, determined to find them and get as far away from the multiple fires as possible. Up here with all the trees, I doubt it will take very long to spread and engulf the entire property.

When I shift forward, my foot slips in something warm and wet. I lose balance, my arms flailing blindly, and manage to catch myself on the doorframe at the very last second. Frowning, I glance down at the floor, afraid Faun’s pissed on it and I’ll never hear the end of it from Willow or Grayson.

But the liquid is dark.

Thick and metallic. The smell hits me as I step back, holding my ankle. Goose bumps rain down on me, and my entire body locks up as I follow the massive puddle.

There’s no denying what it is now that I’m paying attention. Crimson pools behind the island, and I move slowly, following the path.

Blood. So much blood.

Too much.

It stains the white cabinets, the marble countertops. Handprints drag down their surfaces, painting a miniature house of horror.

I step carefully, trying not to slip again.

My palm smooths over the island counter, steadying me.

I grip it as tight as I possibly can when I finally round the corner, bile rising so fast to my throat that I have to block it with the back of my arm.

It takes me a moment to recognize the person sitting there, slumped against the cabinets. Her white-blonde hair is soaked red, discoloring every inch, as if the sky opened up and just poured down on her.

There’s a hole in the middle of her abdomen, where her stomach used to be. Her innards are strewn about, haphazardly connected to her, like whoever did this got tired of removing them partway through and just left them.

And those beautiful blue eyes stare straight ahead, terror forever frozen in her irises.

Not a single ounce of life remains.

A muffled noise of despair escapes past my arm. Tears spill onto my cheeks, and I keep my mouth covered just to keep the retching at bay. My stomach flips violently, devastation wreaking havoc on my insides. Like a wrecking ball destroying everything in its path.

I slide my phone from my pajama pants pocket with trembling fingers; there’s no service, not even a Wi-Fi connection, and I swallow over the fear swimming in my chest.

When someone grabs me from behind, it falls from my hand and into Micah’s blood.