“One of you killed your friend. That one stood out quite a bit.”
My heart seems to slow and grow quiet in my chest. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I blurt.
“Why?” He looks at me intently. “That card was a gift.” I start to shake my head, but he continues urgently. “I have a theory. Emily read tarot cards. I think she’s using cards to tell us what happened to her.”
“We know what happened,” I whisper.
“We know what they want us to think.” He nods to the house atthey. “An entire house burned to the ground on a windless night because of a suspected gas leak? Chelsea. Something still had to ignite the fire. Even if it was as small as someone flicking on a light switch. And everyone claims it couldn’t have been them. A house that big doesn’t go down by accident. Someone’s lying.”
“Who?”
He hugs himself nervously. “I don’t know. The authorities will always believe people like Kennedy and Chase. The real reason I came back this weekend is to find out.” He pulls a stiff, cream-colored rectangle from his pocket. “When I woke up this morning, this was lying next to my pillow with one of Emily’s tarot decks. I swear I’ve never seen it before. I don’t think it proves anything, but it has to mean something. And I’m sure she left it for me because she wants me to find out what happened to her.” He hands it to me, and I peer down at it curiously.
Mila’s criticism crashes back to me.Ghosts don’t work withpaper products.But as he presses the tarot card into my hand, a creeping chill runs through me. It’s from a deck I’ve never seen Emily use before. It’s gorgeously drawn in an eerie, vintage style, the color faded from use. The figure on the card is quirky, a little disjointed, like Emily’s own artwork. But the truly unnerving part of it isn’t the little details that feel off—the bloodred water of a lake, the odd stitches in the fabric of the sky—it’s the fact that the figure in the center of the card looks so familiar. The card depicts a young woman at the helm of a gilded sailboat, gliding over a crimson lake. She is draped in flowing blue robes, and a crown of jagged glass shards sits atop her head of long red hair. Her eyes are a piercing blue, and even the stubborn set of her chin screams Kennedy. Scrawled at the bottom of the card, in Emily’s handwriting, isQueen of Pentacles: trust at your peril.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “It looks so much like Kennedy.”
“Tarot cards were always a mode of communication for Emily,” Ryan says. “What if she never stopped?”
“How?” I turn the tarot card over in my hand.
“If I could explain it, I’d know what happened to Emily by now.”
“But you don’t think Kennedy could have had anything to do with Emily’s death?”
“I think this card came from Emily, and it’s a clue.” He takes it back. “It would feel like a betrayal if I didn’t take it seriously.” His eyes connect with mine. “What else did she tell us?”
“If cards were her language… she left us clues in the game.” My heart slows and quiets in my chest. “That one of usbetrayed another, one kissed a killer, and one of us killed our best friend.” The words wrench my throat shut.
“That says it all, doesn’t it?” He catches my eye. “Chels. I know you weren’t involved.”
But I was involved. I was in the house with Emily, and now I’m here and she isn’t. I snap my head up to find Ryan looking at me carefully.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. But the words make me flinch.
“Why would you say that?”
He gives me an odd look. “Because you have to forgive yourself.” He points to the house. “They’re the ones I don’t trust. Especially Kennedy.” He looks at me nervously, and for a second, the world skips in time and we’re fourteen again. All-night phone calls, secret languages, inside jokes that the others rolled their eyes at. “We could leave them. Not look back.”
I laugh. Nervous laughter. Not the real kind. “In the middle of the night?”
He moves closer, and I feel the fear radiating off him. “Do you feel safe here now? Knowing what you know?”
“Ryan, we don’t know anything yet. The card could be a coincidence.” My voice seems to echo in the darkness.
“Wake up, Chelsea.” His voice is edged with agitation, and I feel his patience slipping away, the last grains of sand in a game timer. I’m not guessing the answer quickly enough. But his expression softens. “I’m just freaked out. I was so ready to be wrong about the tarot card. But then the game happened, and you heard Emily too, and I can’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
“Ryan. I believe you. But…murder?”
A shadow falls over his face. “Chelsea… I’ve neverdoubted you. Not once since we met. Do you trust me?” I glance back at the house uncertainly. I do trust Ryan. I trust my own senses. Emily is not gone, and maybe there was more to her death than what we think we know: an accidental fire, a blocked escape route, an unfortunate tragedy. I don’t know if I can accept that one of us could have intentionally set that fire. My friends are flawed, but none of us are monsters. Who would be capable of returning to this house with murder on their conscience?
“Of course I trust you. It’s the message I’m not sure of.”
He stares at me. “How could it be any more clear?”
“You can’t believe our friends are killers, Ryan.”
“I can’t?” He stares at me in disbelief. “A flick of a switch, a spark that raged out of control, panic, and then lies? You can’t even imagine a scenario whereanyonecould fuck up like that and not have the guts to come clean?”
“I guess.” Put like that, the world looks a bit darker. I don’t want to think of a mistake as murder. But then, I guess it’s not a mistake. Somewhere along the line, even in that scenario, a decision was made to let the house burn. To not save Emily. To never speak a word. I turn to Ryan. “I’m with you. But I’m not leaving. Stay. It’s the only way to find out the truth.”
He hesitates. “Fine. But if anything happens—”
“I said I’m with you, and I meant it. No matter what happens.”
“Good,” he says. “Because if I’m reading the clues right—”
I suddenly feel nauseous. “—someone in this house killed Emily.”