Dead Voices

She started reading the alphabet again.

ALWAYS, said the watch.

“Okay,” said Coco. “Then I know what I’m going to do.”

18

COCO STARTED TO CRY. It wasn’t hard. She’d had a lot of tears pent up inside her. She fell to her knees and sobbed, staring at Seth’s stupid three exits, the three doors that—maybe—led from the bunk room. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t. Please. Please stop. I don’t want to play anymore.”

Next second, the left-hand door to the room flew open and Brian came stumbling in, wild-eyed. He saw Coco.

“Coco!” he cried. “I ran down the hallway. I ran and I ran and finally got to a door, but it just opened into the kitchens, or closets, or the Wilsons’ living room . . .” He was shaking, wild-eyed. “And I couldn’t find you.”

Coco hugged him tightly. It’s working, she thought, heart hammering. The smiling man would only let Brian find her if he thought she was beaten. He liked to gloat; he’d want to gloat in front of them both.

Maybe he was right, and they were beaten. After all, Coco only had the one impossible idea. But at least she and Brian could try it together. She was so glad to see her friend. “It’s not over yet,” she said as softly as she could. But she let the tears pour from her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Brian asked in alarm, seeing her sob.

Coco didn’t answer; she had her eyes on the shadows of the moonlit bunk room. One of the shadows, she noticed, was human-shaped. She raised her eyes to the mirror and Gabe was standing there just behind Mother Hemlock. Both ghosts were watching them. Mother Hemlock looked gleeful. Expectant. Gabe just looked sad.

Brian looked up, following Coco’s gaze. He recoiled from their dead, stiff faces.

Inside, Coco was tense as a spring. But on the outside, she let herself keep on crying. “I’m sorry, Brian,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t find Gretel’s bones. I’m so sorry.”

Brian just stared at her, bewildered. “No,” he said. “What bones? It’s okay, it’s not dawn yet. We’re not beaten, we’re not.”

In chess, there was a move called a feint. The opposing player makes an aggressive move on one part of the board, to draw your attention. Like Coco had done with her queen when she played chess with the smiling man. The thing about a feint is it’s just a trick. A ploy. A way to mask a much more subtle, simple, and straightforward attack somewhere else.

So Coco let herself cry. She was pretty sure it was what Seth was expecting her to do. Just a little pink-haired girl crying.

Ollie’s watch felt cold under her fingers.

Coco kept crying. But, quickly, she pulled off Ollie’s watch, handed it to Brian. “Don’t follow me,” she whispered, between sobs. “That lamp”—she jerked her chin at the oil lamp—“is going to light in

a second, I hope. Make sure it doesn’t go out.”

Brian stared at her tearstained face. She gave him a fierce stare. He’d trusted her during the chess game. This wasn’t chess.

Or maybe it kind of was.

Brian, without saying a word, just took the watch and nodded once.

Coco turned back to Gabe. Quickly and quietly, she said, “If you were ever a person, ever even a little bit of a good person, answer me: Ollie has matches, doesn’t she?”

Gabe stared at her. He still looked guilty. Then he nodded.

“Where?” Coco demanded.

“Front pocket,” he whispered.

They didn’t have time for more. Seth swept into the room. “Change your mind?” he asked airily. Coco still had tears on her face. It was no effort at all to keep on sobbing.

“I give up,” she whispered. “We give up. I’m tired of being scared. I don’t want to be scared until dawn. Can I—can I go through now? I want it to be over. Please. I just want it to be over.” Coco buried her face in her hands and cried shrill, desperate, beaten tears.

“Surprising,” said Seth. “Despite your appearance, I thought you’d have more backbone.”

Coco just let her eyes fill again. “Please,” she said. “Please, enough.”