“You.”
Everything went silent.
For the first time, the woman looked afraid.
Morgan kept her finger pointed at her.
“You're the one who doesn't belong.”
The woman's hands lowered.
DC tightened his grip on Morgan's arm.
“Morgan.”
“I know.”
The woman's face remained hidden beneath the hat.
“You cannot choose me.”
Morgan stared at her.
“Interesting.”
The room shuddered.
“You cannot choose me.”
“You said one doesn't belong.”
No answer.
“You told me to choose.”
The woman stepped backward.
Morgan smiled.
“So I did.”
A door slammed somewhere in the darkness.
Then another.
And another.
The forgotten faces surrounding them began to move.
Not toward Morgan.
Toward the woman.
She raised both hands.
Thirteen fingers spread wide.
“Stop.”
Nobody did.
Kiara stepped beside Morgan.
The older Thomas moved forward.
Then Richard.
Faces Morgan didn't recognize emerged from the doorways.
Men.
Women.
Children.
People dressed in clothes from different decades.
Some looked solid.
Others barely seemed there at all.
Mrs. Bell stared.
“Who are they?”
Richard answered.
“The ones nobody remembered.”
The woman's voice sharpened.
“Stop.”
The forgotten people continued forward.
Then someone whispered:
“Count her.”
Another voice joined.
“Count her.”
Then another.
Soon the words surrounded them.
Not shouted.
Whispered.
“Count her.”
“Count her.”
“Count her.”
Morgan looked at the woman's hands.
Six fingers on one.
Seven on the other.
Thirteen.
DC leaned closer.
“Do not actually count them.”
“Wasn't going to.”
The woman looked at Morgan.
“You already did.”
“When I was seven.”
“You finished.”
“I was a child.”
“You chose.”
“You tricked me.”
“You chose.”
Morgan's anger sharpened.
“No. You gave a seven-year-old a game she didn't understand and pretended the answer was a rule.”
The woman went still.
Morgan finally saw it.
Not power.
Not exactly.
Rules.
The thing needed people to participate.
Count.
Choose.
Open.
Answer.
Name.
Trade.
Again and again, it had asked.
Again and again, Bellweather had answered.
Morgan looked at Thomas.
“Don't say any names.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Just don't.”
She looked at the others.
“No counting. No choosing. No trades. No answering questions it asks.”
DC nodded.
“Finally, rules I understand.”
The woman turned toward him.
“Declan Carter.”
DC didn't respond.
“Grandson of Richard Carter.”
Nothing.
“Owner of the Lantern Room.”
DC folded his arms.
Morgan glanced at him.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I'm being very obedient.”
“It's unsettling.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
The woman's head snapped toward Morgan.
“Morgan Bennett.”
Morgan said nothing.
The room trembled.
“Morgan Bennett.”
Nothing.
Then the voice changed.
Evelyn.
“Birdie.”
Morgan's heart clenched.
DC looked at her.
She didn't move.
“Birdie, sweetheart.”
Morgan closed her eyes.
Her grandmother's voice surrounded her.
“You found me.”
Morgan said nothing.
“Please.”
Nothing.
Then:
“I'm sorry.”
Morgan's eyes opened.
The woman was gone.
Evelyn stood in her place.
Not the elderly Evelyn Morgan remembered.
Young Evelyn.
The woman from 1978.
Tears ran down her face.
“Morgan.”
Morgan's throat tightened.
Evelyn held out her hand.
“I tried.”
Morgan stayed where she was.
“I know you did.”
DC looked sharply at her.
Morgan realized her mistake.
She had answered.
Young Evelyn smiled.
Wrong.
Morgan stepped backward.
The floor disappeared.
She fell.
DC caught her wrist.
Morgan slammed against the edge of something hard.
“Morgan!”
She looked down.
Nothing beneath her.
No floor.
No bottom.
Darkness.
DC lay flat on the remaining stone, both hands locked around her wrist now.
“I've got you.”
Morgan grabbed his forearm.
Behind him, the room was breaking apart.
Doors tilted into darkness.
Mrs. Bell clung to Richard.
The younger Thomas had one arm around Kiara.
The older Thomas gripped the frame of the gold door.
The woman stood calmly in the center.
Evelyn's face was gone.
Hat.
Long coat.
Thirteen fingers.
“You answered.”
Morgan glared up at her.
“Yes, congratulations.”
DC strained against her weight.
“Maybe don't argue while dangling over the endless hole.”
“Fair.”
Thomas crawled toward them.
The woman raised one hand.
“Choose.”
Nobody answered.
A crack split the stone beneath DC.
“Morgan.”
“I see it.”
“Any ideas?”
“Working on one.”
The crack widened.
DC slid forward.
Morgan's stomach dropped.
“Let go.”
DC stared down at her.
“No.”
“The floor is breaking.”
“I noticed.”
“You're going with me.”
“Then stop talking and climb.”
Morgan almost laughed.
Of course.
She swung one leg against the wall.
Nothing to push against.
Thomas reached DC and grabbed the back of his coat.
“I have him.”
Richard joined him.
Then Mrs. Bell.
Together they pulled.
Morgan got an elbow over the ledge.
Then a shoulder.
DC grabbed the back of her coat and hauled her onto the remaining floor.
She landed beside him.
For a second, neither moved.
DC looked at her.
“You good?”
Morgan breathed.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
He sat up.
“Never do that again.”
“I didn't exactly schedule it.”
The woman screamed.
Every door slammed at once.
Morgan stood.
The floor beneath them had narrowed into a stone platform.
The forgotten people remained around its edges.
None had fallen.
None had disappeared.
Morgan looked at the woman.
“You need us.”
The woman tilted her head.
Morgan continued.
“You could have taken me when I was seven.”
Silence.
“You could have taken Grandma.”
Nothing.
“You could have kept Thomas from leaving. You could have taken DC without giving him back.”
DC looked at her.
“Giving me back?”
“Not now.”
“I feel like now is actually a reasonable time.”
“Later.”
Morgan looked at the woman.
“But you keep asking.”
The woman's fingers curled.
“Count.”
“No.”
“Choose.”
“No.”
“One name.”
“No.”
The room shook violently.
Morgan smiled.
“There it is.”
Mrs. Bell stared at her.
“What?”
“It needs us to do it.”
Mrs. Bell stared at her.
“Do what?”
“Choose.”
The woman screamed again.
Morgan didn't flinch.
“It keeps asking because the choice has to come from us.”
Richard looked around at the forgotten faces.
“That's why they disappeared.”
Morgan nodded.
“Someone chose them.”
The older Thomas looked at his younger self.
“And him?”
Morgan looked between them.
“Grandma gave it the Thomas she brought back.”
The younger Thomas went still.
“She named me.”
“Yes.”
“But I wasn't destroyed.”
“No.”
Richard looked toward the woman.
“Then what happened?”
Morgan looked around at the doors.
“I don't think we understand that part yet.”
The older Thomas understood first.
“The thirteenth place.”
Morgan nodded.
“A name fills the place.”
Richard looked toward the woman.
“And when the name is forgotten?”
“The place empties.”
“And it needs another.”
“Yes.”
DC looked around.
“So this entire nightmare is basically a vacancy problem?”
Morgan stared at him.
“That is an offensively simple description.”
“Is it wrong?”
“No.”
“Then I'm keeping it.”
Despite everything, Mrs. Bell laughed.
The woman turned toward her.
Margaret immediately stopped.
The thing stepped closer.
“Thirteen places.”
Morgan didn't answer.
“Thirteen names.”
Nothing.
“One must remain.”
Morgan stared at her.
That sounded different.
Not a question.
A statement.
She looked at the forgotten people.
Then the doors.
Then both Thomases.
Something clicked into place.
“Why?”
The woman smiled.
Morgan realized she'd asked the question, not answered one.
Safe.
Probably.
“Why must one remain?”
The woman said nothing.
Morgan stepped closer.
“You don't make the rules.”
The smile disappeared.
DC looked at Morgan.
“Careful.”
“She keeps quoting them, but she never explains them.”
Morgan looked at Kiara.
“Who told you not to finish counting?”
Kiara thought.
“Evelyn.”
“Who told Grandma?”
Mrs. Bell answered.
“Thomas.”
Morgan looked at the older Thomas.
“Who told you?”
He frowned.
“The rooms.”
“Exactly.”
Morgan turned toward the woman.
“Everything comes back to this place.”
The woman backed away.
“The rooms tell people the rules. People obey. Then the rooms punish them for obeying wrong.”
Richard stared.
“A trap.”
“A game.”
Kiara whispered the word.
Morgan looked at her.
Kiara's face had changed.
She remembered something.
“What?”
“When I was inside.”
Morgan waited.
“There was another girl.”
The woman snapped toward her.
Kiara flinched.
Morgan stepped between them.
“What girl?”
“I don't know her name.”
“Don't say it if you remember.”
Kiara nodded.
“She was older than me.”
“How much older?”
“I don't know. A teenager.”
“When was she here?”
Kiara shook her head.
“She wore a long dress.”
Mrs. Bell frowned.
“What kind?”
“Old.”
“Old when?”
Kiara thought.
“Not like Grandma's clothes.”
Morgan almost smiled.
“Helpful.”
Kiara pointed toward one of the forgotten women.
“That kind.”
The woman wore a high-collared dress that looked more than a century old.
Morgan's attention sharpened.
“Did the girl tell you anything?”
Kiara nodded.
“She said not to play.”
Morgan stared.
“Play what?”
“The counting game.”
The woman with thirteen fingers moved.
Fast.
She lunged toward Kiara.
Morgan barely had time to react.
The older Thomas stepped between them.
The woman's hand struck his chest.
Nothing happened.
She stared at him.
Thomas stared back.
Then smiled.
“You need my name.”
The woman recoiled.
Morgan understood.
“Don't give it to her.”
Thomas nodded.
The forgotten people moved closer.
The woman backed toward the doors.
Kiara continued.
“She said everyone thinks the woman started it.”
Morgan looked at the thirteen-fingered figure.
“But she didn't.”
Kiara shook her head.
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
The woman laughed.
Not triumphant.
Relieved.
Morgan heard the difference.
“You don't want us finding out.”
The laughter stopped.
There.
Morgan stepped closer.
“The first lie isn't about Thomas.”
The woman remained silent.
“It isn't October seventeenth.”
Nothing.
“It isn't even about Bellweather forgetting people.”
The woman backed away.
Morgan followed.
“The first lie is that you're the thing we're supposed to be afraid of.”
DC looked at her.
“Morgan.”
“I know.”
The woman's head tilted.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
For once, the expression didn't look wrong.
It looked tired.
Morgan stopped.
The woman raised her hands.
Thirteen fingers.
Then she pulled one finger from her left hand.
Morgan recoiled.
There was no blood.
No wound.
The finger came away like a piece of carved wood.
A marker.
The woman dropped it.
Then another.
And another.
Thirteen pieces struck the floor.
The forgotten people whispered around them.
Morgan stared.
The woman's hands were normal now.
Five fingers each.
She reached for the brim of her hat.
Removed it.
Morgan had never seen her face before.
She looked young.
Maybe twenty.
Dark hair.
Tired eyes.
Human.
Mrs. Bell whispered, “Who are you?”
The woman looked at her.
“I don't remember.”
Morgan's anger disappeared.
Not completely.
But enough.
“You've been trapped too.”
The woman looked toward the darkness.
“Longer than Bellweather.”
Kiara stepped from behind Morgan.
“You made me choose.”
The woman's face tightened.
“I know.”
“You took me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
The woman looked at the thirteen wooden pieces on the floor.
“Because that is what it made me do.”
Morgan looked around.
“What made you?”
The woman raised one shaking hand.
Not toward a person.
Toward the room itself.
The walls groaned.
Every forgotten face turned.
The woman whispered:
“The house beneath the woods.”
Morgan frowned.
“What house?”
The stone beneath them split.
Not breaking.
Opening.
A staircase appeared.
Descending.
Older than the cellar.
Older than the orchard.
Older than anything Morgan had seen in Bellweather.
Cold air climbed from below.
It smelled of wet earth and burned sugar.
At the bottom, faint orange light flickered.
The woman backed away.
Fear returned to her face.
Morgan looked down the stairs.
“What's down there?”
The woman shook her head.
“Where it started.”
DC immediately said, “I don't like that.”
“Neither do I.”
“Yet I recognize that look.”
Morgan glanced at him.
“What look?”
“The one where you're going anyway.”
Morgan picked up the lantern.
Mrs. Bell stared at her.
“Morgan.”
“We came here for answers.”
“We came here for DC.”
Morgan looked at him.
Alive.
Standing beside her.
Unharmed.
Still very much DC.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Please don't use my successful retrieval as justification for a worse decision.”
Morgan almost smiled.
Then she looked at the staircase.
“No more doors.”
Thomas stepped beside her.
Richard joined him.
Mrs. Bell sighed.
DC muttered something under his breath and moved beside Morgan.
Kiara reached for her hand.
Morgan looked down.
The little girl's fingers were cold.
Ten.
Exactly ten.
Morgan squeezed them.
Then she looked at the others.
“We don't count anything.”
DC nodded.
“We don't answer anything.”
Richard nodded.
“We don't choose anyone.”
Both Thomases nodded.
Morgan looked down the stairs.
“And nobody gets left behind.”
This time, everyone agreed.
They descended together.
The staircase ended beneath an open night sky.
Morgan stopped.
“That isn't possible.”
DC looked upward.
“I'm retiring that sentence.”
They stood in front of a house.
Not large.
Not grand.
Old.
Very old.
Its wooden siding had blackened with age.
Thirteen windows lined the front.
Morgan caught herself before counting them individually.
She looked away.
A porch stretched across the entrance.
No front door.
Only an empty frame.
Above it hung a wooden sign.
The lettering had nearly disappeared.
Morgan lifted the lantern.
Mrs. Bell leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
Morgan brushed dirt from the wood.
Three words remained.
THE GATHERING HOUSE
Morgan's stomach dropped.
“The Gathering.”
DC looked at her.
“The festival?”
Morgan shook her head.
“No.”
The town hadn't named the Gathering.
The name had already existed.
Long before any of them.
A bell rang inside the house.
Once.
The woman behind them gasped.
Morgan turned.
She had followed them down.
Her face had gone white.
“What?”
The bell rang again.
“Don't let it finish.”
Morgan's blood went cold.
“How many times does it ring?”
The woman stared at the house.
“I told you.”
Morgan realized.
No counting.
Not even this.
The bell rang again.
Then again.
Faster now.
Morgan stepped toward the empty doorway.
DC caught her arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Stopping it.”
“How?”
“No idea.”
“Fantastic.”
Another ring.
The house lit from within.
One window at a time.
Morgan refused to count.
Figures appeared behind the glass.
Not forgotten people.
People she knew.
Mrs. Bell.
Thomas.
Richard.
Kiara.
DC.
Morgan.
Evelyn.
Others.
Past.
Present.
Maybe future.
Morgan stared at the final dark window.
A figure stepped into it.
Her grandmother.
The real Evelyn.
Older.
Exactly as Morgan remembered her.
Evelyn raised one hand.
Five fingers.
Then pointed toward the empty doorway.
Her lips moved.
Morgan couldn't hear her.
“What is she saying?”
DC asked.
Morgan watched carefully.
Again.
Two words.
This time she understood.
DON'T ENTER.
The bell rang.
The empty doorway slammed shut.
A red door appeared in its place.
Morgan froze.
The brass key in her pocket became hot.
She pulled it out.
MORGAN.
The letters on the key began disappearing.
M.
O.
R.
Morgan closed her fist around it.
“No.”
DC looked at her.
“What?”
She opened her hand.
Only three letters remained.
GAN.
The house was taking her name.
Behind the window, Evelyn pounded against the glass.
Morgan looked at the red door.
Then at the key.
Then at her grandmother.
For the first time since coming home, Morgan understood exactly what Evelyn had been trying to tell her.
The warning had never been:
Do not unlock the red door.
It had been:
Do not let the red door unlock you.
