The shadows in the living room seem to reach for me as I race past. I glance outside when I get to the front door, but Grace isn’t on the porch anymore. I don’t stop to think about where she might’ve gone. My hands tremble so badly the doorknob rattles as I work the lock, but, finally, my fingers manage to twist the deadbolt. I turn the knob and pull.
The door doesn’t budge. I pull harder. The knob turns easily, but the door itself stays firmly shut. Finally, I glance up. There’s a lock screwed into the doorframe, held shut with a heavy, metal padlock.
“Shit.” My voice is barely a whisper, but it seems to boom around me. I think of what Riley said when I saw the new doorknob. Can never be too careful.
I stumble back down the hall, pulling open the first door I see. It’s a bedroom, with two windows on the far wall. I race across the room and feel for the edge of the window with my fingers. My hand brushes against metal. My heart sinks.
Nails line the window frame, sealing it shut. Some are driven deep into the wood, and some are long and crooked, jutting awkwardly out of the frame. A single bent nail lies on the sill, next to a wobbly sketch of a heart that someone etched into the wood.
For a long moment I just stare at the nails, trying to keep myself from hyperventilating or dissolving into tears. Riley isn’t crazy enough to lock us all in here, to nail the windows shut so we can’t leave. But even as this thought occurs to me, I know it’s exactly what she’s done. I’m trapped here with her—we all are.
My legs shake as I move backward. I start opening doors at random, desperately searching for an exit Riley might have missed. My breathing gets more ragged as I run from one empty room to another. I claw at the nails in the windowsills until my fingers bleed, but they don’t budge. Riley must’ve used a nail gun.
Finally I stumble into a bathroom. There’s only one window here, the kind you crank with a lever to open. There aren’t nails sticking out of the frame. I release a shaky, desperate sob.
I grip the lever with both hands. The plastic notch digs into my skin as I yank it around and around. The window jerks and starts, opening at an angle and letting cold air seep into the bathroom. Clouds hide the moon, leaving the night perfectly dark. Cicadas buzz in the grass.
I stop cranking once there’s a gap wide enough for me to climb through. The cicadas sound louder, but maybe that’s just because my heartbeat has slowed. I’m going to make it. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to call the cops. Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I lean forward, knuckles white as I wrap my fingers around the sill.
A hand slaps the outside of the glass, slamming the window shut on my fingers.
Bright, hot pain rips through my hands. I cry out and try to pull away, but the window pins my fingers in place. The clouds move, bathing Riley in moonlight.
She studies me with those gray eyes, then leans into the window with her shoulder, pressing it against my fingers.
“Can’t let you leave now, Sof.” Riley moves away from the glass, and the window swings open. I snatch my hands away, my breathing ragged. Blood oozes around my knuckles and drips down my wrist, staining the sleeves of my cardigan.
“Clean yourself up,” Riley says. “We’re just getting started.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I drop to my knees on the cold bathroom floor and fumble for the roll of toilet paper next to the toilet, clumsily mopping up the blood dripping from my fingers. I open my hand, then close it again, testing. Nothing’s broken.
Someone pounds at the door. “Hurry up, Sof.” The wood muffles Riley’s voice. “We’re waiting.”
I take two deep breaths. My lungs burn and my head feels dizzy. It’s just Riley. Riley, who gossiped with me about boys while drinking red wine. Riley, who insisted I eat with her after finding that dead cat. She’s not crazy—she just snapped. The real Riley’s still in there.
Besides, I can’t stay in the bathroom forever. I lick my thumb and wipe the blood from my knuckles. Then I push the door open.
The moonlight from the bathroom window illuminates Riley’s narrow shoulders and long, skinny arms. She cocks her head, and her dark curls pool on one shoulder. She looks just like a doll.
“Go back to the basement,” she says. “I need to take care of that.”
She nods at the bathroom. She’s holding a nail gun. She pushes past me to nail the last remaining exit in this house shut.
“Riley, think about this,” I say. Riley turns. She doesn’t smile, but the creases around her eyes and mouth soften. She takes my hand, squeezing just above my wrist.
“I know you’re scared, Sofia,” she says. “I know that’s why you tried to run. But if you’re not with me, you’re against me.”
She tightens her grip, just enough to pinch the skin at my wrist. I cringe and pull my arm away.
“I’m with you,” I say, glancing down at the nail gun.
“Good,” Riley says. “Now go.”
Shadows stretch across the hallway, making it hard to see where I’m going. I find a light switch in the kitchen and flip it on and then off, but nothing happens. Cursing, I push the basement door open, gripping for the banister in the dark. I feel for the top step with the toe of my sneaker.
Grace peeks around the concrete wall, hovering at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming down?”
“Grace,” I say, relieved. Shadows hide her face, so I picture the hollow, unfocused expression she wore on the porch. Alexis will side with Riley no matter what, but Grace is different. She can’t think what’s going on down there is okay. “I think Riley . . .”
The basement door opens behind me, cutting me off. I turn.
Riley steps onto the staircase. Only the outline of her narrow body is visible in the dim light. She pulls the door shut, and something metallic thumps against the wood. I shift my eyes to the door, noticing a thick padlock attached to the frame.
“What is that?”
“Riley put it up,” Grace says.
“We don’t want anyone sneaking in on us,” Riley adds.
I blink against the darkness. She clicks the lock closed, then slips the key into her pocket. She’s not locking everyone else out; she’s locking us in.
“Hurry up, girls,” Riley says, starting down the stairs. “We have work to do.”
Grace shuffles farther into the basement without a word. I follow, but every time I place my foot on a creaky step a new image flashes through my head: first the backpack filled with wine and holy water, then the windows nailed shut, and now the brand-new padlock attached to the door. It must’ve taken days to do all this, weeks maybe. I picture Riley nailing the upstairs window shut seconds before we all arrived at the house to drink wine and gossip about Josh, Riley stopping at the hardware store to buy a new padlock on the afternoon I walked to the tattoo parlor with Brooklyn. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Alexis is crouched next to Brooklyn, whispering. She glances up as the three of us approach and pushes her wispy hair behind one ear. She’s surrounded Brooklyn with flickering candles. She motions to the one she’s still holding.
“I read that demons are afraid of fire,” she says, blinking her wide eyes.
“Good plan, Lexie,” Riley coos. “It’s like we’re surrounding her with a circle of light, to pull her away from the darkness.”
Riley squeezes my shoulder. “Yeah, good thinking,” I add, and she beams at me.
Alexis puts the last candle down on the floor and stands. “We’re all here now. We should get started.”