Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Games
Elmo — Thirty-Two Years Ago
The staircase waits just long enough to seem safe, then lurches sideways.
It whips across the hollow centre of the building so fast it feels like a carnival ride. I drop to my knees before I topple and drag Keeley down with me. She squeaks and clamps both hands around my arm, her fingers digging in hard.
“Move,” Nessa calls from below, perfectly calm.
We move. I half drag, half pull Keeley up the bone stairs as we scramble on our hands and knees—no dignity, no choice. The step beneath my boot drops half an inch without warning. Not enough to throw me, but enough to make it clear that every part of this building is trying to kill us.
We climb quickly up stairs made from bones—not quite running, but close—while the walls laugh at us.
This is the sort of thing that ends up in highlight reels for years.
Mirrors crowd the walls, reflecting us from impossible angles. Three girls become six, then twelve, every version stretched and frightened.
A shriek of pain rises from somewhere below.
Beside me, Keeley whimpers.
“Don’t listen,” I tell her.
“I’m trying,” she whispers back.
Ahead, a landing swings into place.
I begin to shuffle onto it.
Keeley catches the back of my top. “Wait,” she breathes, her voice urgent and barely audible.
A heartbeat later, the landing vanishes. Empty air yawns where my foot would have been.
I stare at her.
She lifts her chin. “Tactics.”
“Tactics,” I agree. “Yes. I’m very fond of tactics. Who taught you all this?”
“Big family. They love me.”
I nod as something hollow settles beneath my ribs. That must be nice.
My parents do everything for the best, I suppose.
They simply never hug me or touch me unless it is to correct something, which is not necessarily wrong. Every family is different. Some are warm and easy; others are like this funhouse—strange and disorienting, and you never quite know when the floor is going to drop.
The noise of the house cuts out.
The announcer’s voice fills the sudden hush through hidden speakers, too cheerful to be anything but monstrous.
“Our candidates are beginning to understand the bone temple’s little rhythm—up, down, up, down—but will they reach the exit before the guardians grow bored?
” A pause, and I can hear him smiling through it.
“A reminder, of course: the tunnel closes when the bell rings. Whatever is left on this side of it stays on this side.”
I freeze.
The guardians. The skeletons I saw near the wall. I assumed they would stay outside, but if they come through the doors—
Wonderful.
And a bell. Nobody mentioned a bell!
As though the moving staircases were not enough.
For one dizzy second, I remember our family theatre: the enormous screen, Vivian’s Games, my mother watching me instead of the broadcast, weighing every reaction.
I thought watching was torture.
We climb.
A scream slices through the canned laughter.
Across the hollow centre, a girl plummets as a staircase folds beneath her. She falls hard, strikes one railing and then another, and disappears into the shadows below.
Keeley starts to turn.
I catch her chin before she can look. “No.”
“But—”
“No. You don’t want to see that. Come on.”
Above us, a broad-shouldered boy with light-brown hair has another contestant by the collar. There is something off about the way he moves through this place—too comfortable, too certain.
He has Bone magic.
This hellhole suits him.
The boy he grips is taller but lankier, his hands raised. Violet threads tremble from his fingertips as they skim the walls and probe the staircase joints.
Thread magic.
“Find the way,” the larger boy snarls as he shoves him towards a turning corridor.
The thread-worker clutches his head.
Nessa stiffens beside me. “The big one. That’s Arran Scullard.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re from the Immortal Zone.” Her voice turns cautious. “Most of us went to the same school.” She nods at the boy with the violet threads. “That one’s Torin. He’s in my year. He’s all right.”
There are not enough children left for separate schools any more. Of course most of them know each other.
“Arran is not a good person.”
I can see that. “We keep away from him.”
Torin’s magic snags on something unseen inside the wall. A staircase unfurls like a tongue—pale and slick, its edges ribbed with finger bones.
Arran releases the boy’s collar. The kid staggers forwards, then turns as though expecting acknowledgement. Perhaps even thanks. Arran hits him.
Hard.
Hard enough to send him sprawling and make it clear that Arran values the magic, not the boy wielding it.
The boy lies on the floor. Blood glistens at the corner of his mouth.
The noise of the bone temple dips again.
“Resourceful work from the Bone District’s favourite,” the announcer says.
Arran smirks and waves, playing shamelessly to the viewers. The nearest mirror catches his grin and throws it back from a dozen angles, as if the house… no, the temple itself wants to applaud him.
A child lies on the floor with blood on his face, and they call it ‘resourceful’.
My fingers close around the hilt of the knife strapped to my thigh.
“Don’t,” Nessa says without looking at me.
“I wasn’t going to.”
She glances pointedly at my hand.
“Fine.” I raise both palms. “I was considering it. I hate bullies.”
“You can deal with bullies outside this place. In here, anything goes, and you can’t save everyone.” Her gaze flicks towards Keeley, then back to me.
I shake my head. I do not care what she is implying. I may not be brave enough to go after Arran for what he did to Torin, but I can keep Keeley moving.
“We’ve got our route,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Up there, then down to the basement. Does everyone know where they’re going?”
Nessa nods.
Keeley nods.
We wait until Arran disappears into the upper corridor with the shaken boy, then move.
I keep Keeley close. Nessa watches the stairs.
I watch everything else.
I may not know how to win, but I am beginning to understand exactly who we need to avoid.