Archive of Our Own

Daniel wasn’t a fan of cupboards. He stepped inside one at the age of six, innocent as a lamb, and emerged as a wolf with blood staining his maw. It’d taken him a long time to grow into that skin. Even when he refused to wear it, fur instead of wool covered his arms.

He kept his sleeves rolled down as he shoved Grace inside one.

"Stay in here," he said.

She pushed against the door. "What the fuck?" She tried to step out, but he shoved the door, prompting her to topple back against it. The thud was loud. Daniel’s heart was hammering in his throat. Could anyone hear him? Fuck, they could. Even with that stupid music playing loudly throughout the house, Charity would be able to hear his heart thump loudly in her ears as though she’d devoured him whole.

Hadn’t she?

No. She hadn’t. If she had, he wouldn’t be standing here with the door still ajar, gazing at Grace with his entire body heavy like he was made of a sack of boulders. Maybe he was a bag of rocks dressed as a wolf.

They’d wanted to drown Fitch in the lake. It wasn’t part of the game. Dad used to joke about tying a rope to his feet and shoving him off the stupid little boat his grandfather made. Fitch was an annoying know-it-all who talked too much and didn’t do anything to calm Emilie’s nerves. Dad never liked him, but he tolerated him because not tolerating him meant that Emilie would pout and cry, and Emilie had an ugly crying face. The boat’s still around, although Daniel was pretty sure it was stained with the blood of his great aunt’s would’ve-been husband. Could you consider yourself married if the marriage lasted only five hours?

"Just…" He exhaled hard. "Trust me, okay?"

Grace’s brows shot up into her sweaty hairline. That perfect white wedding dress was stained with blood, mud, and sweat. Alex should’ve told her to buy cheap, just in case. Grace would’ve found that charming.

"You want me to trust you?"

He pressed his lips together. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He sucked on his teeth. "Because I’m speaking in a very hushed whisper?"

"How do I know this isn’t some trick?" Her hands were shaking as she pressed them firmly against the cupboard door. Unlike Charles, she refused to be trapped. What would’ve happened if his uncle of only five hours hadn’t come to him? Would he have survived? Or would his death have been drawn out? Would he have left a trail of blood in his wake, leading the wolves to his eventual slaughter site?

He didn’t know Charles well enough. He couldn’t remember him. He was tall with dark hair and thick eyebrows. His chin was nothing to write home about. He was plain in the face. Helene said he had nice hands. Daniel noticed them when he was dead. His nails were broken and bloodied like he’d crawled out of a coffin. Helene barely spoke about him. Mom and Dad didn’t give a shit. No one cared.

He didn’t want that for Grace.

"You don’t," he said. He peered at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. They burned. Could he buy her time by going to the bar? If he made a loud noise, maybe smashed a few bottles, he could lure them there. The bar was on the opposite side of the house. No one would ever think to look in here.

It was just a cupboard.

How many times had he successfully hidden from Alex and Emilie inside a cupboard? Charles never would’ve found him if he hadn’t been desperate. He’d stayed inside cupboards and crawled through air vents long before any of them thought to use them as ways to hunt. Even when each spouse pulled a card that wasn’t Hide and Seek, they practised.

"Practice makes perfect, son," his dad had said. "We Le Domas' are perfect at anything we do."

Except when it came to bargaining with the devil.

As Daniel closed the door, he pulled it open. Grace was settled against the back of the empty cupboard, hunched over with her white dress pooled around her feet. Some of it was still white. Would anyone think she was innocent if she stepped out of the house with her dress stained with blood and mud? He’d like to think so. There was something about the heaviness of the fabric that made her look like a sheep. Everyone trusted sheep.

"You should’ve listened to me," he said.

She frowned. It pinched her expression into something that looked a lot like fright. His stomach was lead.

"When?" She glared at him. "When you warned me?"

"I deserve that. But I did try to warn you."

"How?"

"By being mean to you?"

She scoffed. "That’s how you tried to help me?"

She had a point, didn’t she?

If he wanted to help her, why didn’t he outright say so? Hey, Grace, don’t marry Alex. There’s this little post-wedding ritual we do where we pull a card from a deck and it tells us what game we’re going to play. If you pull Duck, Duck, Goose, it’s totally fine. We ran out of ducks a month ago with all the sacrificing, but we’re getting more geese in the next two months. Can’t wait to kill them, too. But if you pull Hide and Seek? Well, I sure hope you’re okay with being buried in your wedding dress. My brother’s a great catch, by the way.

Maybe that would’ve worked.

It didn’t for Charity. Then again, did anything work on Charity aside from dangling money above her nose like she was some performance animal trapped at a wildlife park? It didn’t take much to get her to open her jaw and cartwheel.

"You’ll promise you’ll come get me?" she said, pressing her hands flat against the back of the cupboard. Her eyes were wide. Her chest heaved. That wedding dress looked like it weighed her down. "This isn’t some trick?"

He swallowed. "I promise, Grace." He gripped the edge of the door. "I’m not going to stab you in the back."

She didn’t tear her gaze away. "If you do, I’ll haunt you."

"Don’t tease me with a good time," he said with a smile. The shape felt weird on his lips.

He closed the door.

He jumped when Alex ran into him. His brother’s grip was tight around his bicep. No matter how gently he handled him, Alex always left bruises. He almost ripped Daniel’s arm from his socket when they were younger, like he unconsciously knew he had to be sharper to survive. This family would rip you apart if you let it. Literally, considering what they did to poor old Uncle Charles. Daniel couldn’t remember if they actually tore him limb from limb, but he’d had enough nightmares and watched his father hack away at the sacrifices for Mr Le Bail to consider it half-true.

"Jesus fuck!" Daniel said. His heart thumped in his chest as he stopped himself from recoiling. Another side effect of growing up as a Le Domas. He flinched at things the 'normal folk' would lean into.

Alex’s face glistened with sweat. His hair was a mess, his nose was red, and the collar of his shirt was wrinkled. Mom would hate that. His grip was still tight around his arm. "Have you seen her?" No apology. Alex stopped giving them when they were teenagers, probably because Dad said it was a sign of weakness.

"Yes," Daniel said.

His brother didn’t look relieved. "Where?"

He swallowed. Should he tell him? He’d left Grace in a cupboard. The cupboard, if Alex remembered, although Daniel doubted he could recall much about Uncle Charles, let alone where that particular cupboard was. Did he even know he had an uncle Daniel used to think went to Mr Wonka’s chocolate factory?

Grace was his wife. His family. His… partner. But partners didn’t treat each other like this. A partner didn’t lure the other into a trap without letting them know where the metal teeth were. Alex and Grace weren’t supposed to be Daniel and Charity, even though… Well, Daniel did give Charity the debrief before she thrust a ring at him.

"Last I saw her was in the bar," he said. That was another lie he could add to the list he’d accumulated over the years. Like some animal that scavenged, Daniel liked to take away the truth from Alex whenever he could. There was a reason why Alex couldn’t recall if Uncle Charles had blond or black hair. Daniel denied every little detail Alex could remember. Gaslighting was his version of a Hello Kitty band-aid. Best way to heal a wound was to slap a cat wearing a bowtie over it.

Alex’s shoulders fell with relief. It wasn’t a good look on him. "Good." His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Okay. I’m going to go get her." Alex nodded as if convincing himself. Was he asking him for permission? Daniel should give it to him. Go get her, Champ or something to that effect. What was it that normal people said?

Alex didn’t go get her.

His grip loosened on his arm. Alex was looking at him the same way he always did. The intensity in his bloodshot eyes made Daniel squirm. He said, "I’m going to fix this."

"How?" Daniel’s throat was tight. "This is a game, Alex. You can’t outwit the game's master."

"Sure, I can," he said with a frown. "Who’s ever met this Mr Le Bail?"

"Dad?"

"All Dad does is talk. You know he could sell a paper bag as a game if you dared him." Alex shook his head. "I need to find Grace."

He released Daniel and ran down the corridor. He didn’t look back. Alex stopped looking to him years ago.

Daniel sighed and stayed in the hallway until it was empty. The music was soft as it failed to slither around corners to find him. Grace was safe. Grace was in the cupboard. All he had to do was lead them far away from that area of the house.

And then what?

He trudged down the hall and turned, knowing where he could find the rest of the players. He’d figure it out once he knew where everyone was. That was how he played chess. He looked at the whole board, saw where the bishops were, and tried to calculate how the knights would manoeuvre around the rooks. He always fucked up when he played Aunt Helene, but he outwitted Dad several times.

He could do this. He’d manoeuvred his pawn to the other side of the board numerous times before. His family were shit at games that required forward planning.

The only person who posed a danger to that cupboard was him.

Daniel rapped his knuckles gently against the closed cupboard door. Three knocks, all in a dull rhythm. Was she still inside? He hadn’t heard news about her slithering through the house. Emilie had shot another nanny, but that was expected at this point. Emilie spooked because Emilie was high, and Emilie shrieked like a banshee every time she shot one of the girls who really could’ve gotten a better babysitting gig.

He leaned close toward the door. "Grace?" he whispered.

Nothing.

He lifted his hand again. The door creaked open.

He peeled it gently away to reveal her inside. Grace was squatting against the wall closest to him. Her skin was pale, and her forehead was sweaty. How could he forget this was a warm spot? How many times had he sat inside the cupboard as a kid, waiting impatiently for Alex and Emilie to find him while he sweated in his best shirts and slacks? Mom always killed him for the dirt and dust stains on his white shirts.

Well, almost killed him. She hadn’t had a reason to kill anyone since Uncle Charles.

"Hey," he said.

She didn’t smile, but she lifted her gaze. Grace leaned her temple against the cupboard. "My legs are dead."

"Better them than you."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re not funny."

He pressed his lips into a line and let it go. He was funny. Daniel was the funniest of them all. Couldn’t she see that? The irony of shoving her into this cupboard wasn’t lost on him. But Grace didn’t know him, did she? He’d deliberately wedged distance between them like he should with this game. She was safer away from him. Uncle Charles would’ve been, too.

"They’re outside," he said. "By the barn. We can hightail out of here if your legs revive."

She smacked her hand against the wall. Daniel’s heart leapt into his throat. Leaning away from the cupboard, he peered down the hall in both directions. Nothing. Not even a creak from the tectonic plates shifting beneath them. Would Le Bail crack open the earth to swallow them into hell? Could he do that? Dad never went into detail about just how wolves died when they failed to find their lost little lambs.

She was slow to move. One leg out. The other almost slipped. She pressed her hand against his shoulder and dug her long nails into him. He deserved that. Would she draw blood with her claws?

Maybe Grace was the wolf among them. Maybe Daniel was the sheep. It’d make sense. He always preferred wearing wool sweaters even in summer.

He rested a hand against her hip as he helped her out of the cupboard. She groaned, rolling her shoulders, then her arms. All of her must have been stiff. He should’ve told her to make sure she stretched while she waited. But the cupboard liked to groan. That’s how Aunt Helene once found him in a game of hide and seek. His ear still ached from her vice-like grip as she pulled him out.

"Come on," he said. He cocked his head to the side.

Grace frowned. "Why are we going that way? Isn’t that going toward the barn?"

"Yeah." She pulled against him. He curled his fingers into her hipbone. "Grace, trust me."

She sputtered. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

He sighed. "When my family realise you’re not out in the barn, they’re going to go to the opposite side of the property." Daniel looked in the direction of the hallway she wanted to escape through. "Better we go this way and be in their shadow."

Her expression pinched. "I heard gunshots…"

"It was only Emilie," he said with a roll of his eyes. She tensed against him. "Killed another nanny."

"Do you think that’s funny?"

"A little," he said. He looked at her and shrugged a shoulder. "No." His throat tightened. "I’m not really good at this stuff."

"Empathy?"

He pursed his lips. "Everything’s a joke when you’re a Le Domas, Grace."

"I thought everything was a game."

"That’s the joke," he said. "We expect everyone to play by the rules except us. Then when we have to play by the rules, well… Everyone’s a stickler for them. Did you know Emilie cheats at Go Fish?"

Was she fighting a smile? The thought was absurd, wasn’t it? Cheating at the simplest game for kids. "How can you cheat at Go Fish?"

"Easy," he said with a small smile. "You refuse to fish."

He nudged her side. Grace was slow to move, wincing at the stiffness of her legs. The arm around his shoulder slipped to wrap around his waist. He didn’t mind it. It was kind of nice, being held like that.

"Come on," he said. "Let’s flee."

She gripped the back of his bloodied and sweat-soaked shirt. He didn’t remove his hand from her waist as he guided her down the hallway. The house creaked. Grace startled. If he were a kinder man, he’d comfort her.

"What’s the plan? You lure me to them?"

He scoffed. "I wouldn’t go to all this trouble if I wanted to do that." No, he’d have told them exactly where she was. The cupboard. Mom wouldn’t remember. Emilie barely knew where she was, even on a sober day. But Helene would know.

How many times had he seen her staring at that cupboard before she avoided travelling down that hallway altogether? Why else did she scream and pinch and pull him by the ear every time she found him inside it? It wasn’t his cupboard. Nothing ever was.

Once upon a time, Aunt Helene had a heart. So did he.

"We can’t be the prey, Grace," he said. He kept his eyes on the hallway in front and behind them. Grace was doing the same. Her gaze lingered on him, but she didn’t stare. Was that a sign of trust? "We’re the predator. Predators… prey on prey."

She frowned. "You’re not great at this."

"I’m drunk. Cut me some slack."

Her smile was small and pretty. "You want us to stalk them."

"Precisely."

"And then what? Keep following them? Make a break for it?"

He shrugged. "I haven’t thought that far ahead." They turned a corner. One of the doors was open. He pressed his fingertips to his lips. Lowering his voice, he said, "But my family is fond of circles."

"I noticed," she whispered. At his glance, she shrugged. "Your mom talks in circles. Your dad talks around things. You don’t." She swallowed. "Alex does."

He hummed softly. They passed the open door, one of many fucking doors in this maze of a house. What did they use this room for? Didn’t look like storage. No one inside from the look of it, but Daniel didn’t want to linger to investigate. If they snuck inside, they risked being cornered. They needed to stay out in the open, in the main labyrinth of the house.

But wasn’t that how Charles died? Sticking to the main corridors and not letting himself get trapped inside a dead end?

No. Charles died because he trusted Daniel.

The back door groaned as he slowly wedged it open. Didn’t he know what doors made the most noise? He swore he’d catalogued that after Uncle Charles. There’d been a time when Daniel couldn’t sleep, so he went around the house, writing in a notebook which doors made the most noise. It was useless data-gathering for anything beyond an innocent game of hide-and-seek.

Why had he spent all that time investigating? Did he suspect someone else would follow in Uncle Charles’ fate? Or did he want to outwit Alex and Aunt Helene in his own game of hide and seek? There was only ever one choice he made as a kid that he understood, and it was the worst decision he ever made.

The house groaned. He immediately shushed her.

Grace pinched his side. He wanted to believe it was because she was trying to be as quiet as possible.

"Good thing you got rid of the heels," he whispered.

The next pinch was deliberate.

The door groaned on its hinges as they stepped outside. For a rich family, their grounds were poorly lit. Was this a part of Dad’s preparations in case this card was ever pulled again? The lights glowed dully. The ground was hard. Dad had ordered the groundskeeper to freshly mow the grass a few days before the wedding, probably in preparation for this.

And the wedding, he guessed. An outdoor wedding needed freshly mown grass, after all. The Le Domases never did anything half-assed, especially when a photographer with big magazine credits was in attendance. The hedges weren’t trimmed as neatly as his mother liked. Was she growing slack in her uppityness?

"Where do we go?" Grace whispered. He was warm where she pressed against his side. Her dress smelled of blood. She wore red well.

"This way," he said with a cock of his head. Daniel led them across the grass, hoping the short blades would quieten any heavy steps. That was how he used to weaponise the lawn whenever he snuck outside the house when playing any game. It was his friend more than a cupboard was.

He led them toward the barn, guiding her to the back of it. The wood was neatly cleaned and painted. Even the damn barn got a little makeover for the goddamn wedding.

She gripped his side tightly at the sound of squealing.

"I didn’t mean to shoot her!" Emilie groaned. She stomped like she was a child. Daniel peered around the corner and saw that her bare feet were covered in loose grass blades and caked with mud. There was a wet spot somewhere. Was any of it blood?

"Shut up, Emilie!" Aunt Helene hissed as she cocked the gun in her hand. How badly was she stopping herself from aiming it at her? She held it stiffly across her body like it was something to be proud of. "We need to get the girl. Stop dallying!"

"Daddy’s going to be so mad!" Emilie said. She sobbed into her hands.

Aunt Helene scoffed. She shook her head and marched away from her. Emilie whined again before running after her, almost slipping on the mud.

"It’s wet over there," Daniel said as he looked back at Grace. Her face was whiter than her dress when it was clean. "Hey."

"You said that they’d be gone."

"I did. They’re going."

She shook. Fuck, he hated that. "How do I know this isn’t some trick to take me to them?"

He stopped himself from sighing. Uncle Charles never had anyone on his side. He’d had to deal with the news of what an orientation into the Le Domas family entailed on his own. It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

"Because I’m going to give you this," he said. She stiffened where she held him as he looped his arm behind him and pulled a small gun from his back pocket. He held the handle out for her.

Her eyes widened. "You can’t be serious."

"As a whistle or whatever." He looked down at the gun. "Take it. Shoot me in the back. Hell, you can shoot me in the leg. It’ll probably be the most I’ve felt in a long time."

She narrowed her eyes as she gingerly took it. "I’m not going to shoot you."

"Why not?" he asked. He genuinely wanted to know. "I’d deserve it."

Grace swallowed before she looked around the corner of the barn. She still shook, but at least she had something to hold, a defence between her and his family. Her family, he guessed. Jesus. She gripped the gun in one hand and him in the other. "No," she said with a shake of her head, never taking her gaze off what she was watching, "you don’t."

She didn’t know him well enough to understand what a lie that was. Another failure on his part.

When he was nine, he hid behind the stupidly big statues lining the house, trailing after his father and brother. He once tried to get into one of the suits of armour to very little success. He hid in alcoves, behind doors and even in the dumbwaiter. Daniel thought his father and brother—or one of them, really, maybe Alex more than Dad—would’ve noticed him. Neither did.

Even with the dry leaves breaking beneath their slow pace, none of the Le Domases turned around. Emilie’s whines and heavy breathing were enough to drown out an owl’s hoot. Aunt Helene used to possess a super sense that would have her appear out of nowhere and scare the shit out of him. But even Aunt Helene was a disappointment tonight.

"We need to get off the property," he whispered. Grace was warm beside him. She kept bumping into him. Or maybe he kept bumping into her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He wasn’t burning to a crisp yet.

"How?"

"We walk off."

He didn’t see it, but he knew she rolled her eyes. She was lighter beside him, even though her movements were stiff. She deliberately placed her feet down gently on the grass. The dry leaves didn’t break beneath her weight as they did his. Always a destructive force. He should’ve stayed quiet when he found Uncle Charles in that cupboard.

He tried to press his feet lightly against the earth. The leaves crunched. Twigs broke. Even an owl hooted in the distance. Aunt Helene and Emilie didn’t look back as they approached the back of the brightly lit house.

The back door was closed. There was a movement behind one of the lit windows on the second floor. Probably Dad. He liked having the visible advantage. How many times had he caught Daniel trying to tiptoe across the landmines planted in the yard after midnight?

The curtains pulled back to reveal Dad. Daniel held his arm out to stop Grace.

"Follow me," he murmured. He pushed against her to guide her toward the darker shadows of the grounds. The trees were tall all around the property, but the ones closest to the house were the oldest and tallest. Their thick canopy hid them as he backed them into a bush.

The window opened, and his father peered out. "Have you found her?" he yelled.

Aunt Helene hissed at Emilie, who whimpered so loudly she might as well have disturbed the sleeping tectonic plates.

"What is it?" Dad said. Even from a distance, Daniel saw him roll his eyes. "For fuck’s sake, Emilie!"

"I’m sorry, Daddy! I thought it was her!"

"She can’t be too far," Aunt Helene said. Her voice was sharp, acidic. Daniel imagined her sneer. She never smiled after Uncle Charles. "Probably in the house. Have you checked?"

"Yes," his dad said. He narrowed his eyes, his thick brows crowding. He hesitated before leaning out of the window. "Have you seen Alex?"

"Don’t tell me you’ve lost him, too."

"I didn’t lose anyone!" he roared. He gripped the bottom window frame tightly. Daniel held his breath as his father’s gaze slipped away from Aunt Helene. Could he see them?

No. His father might’ve caught him every time he tiptoed along the minefield, but he only ever saw what the light exposed. He never looked deeper. That was why he liked board games. The players were on the board, brightly lit and never off the page. That was why Daniel liked card games best. Everything was hidden.

"We need to find him!" Aunt Helene yelled. "He’s a liability!"

"Have you seen Daniel?" Dad asked.

Daniel’s heart lurched. Grace was shaking beside him.

"I thought he was with you!"

Dad made a disgruntled noise. "He left me in search of her!"

"Maybe he found Alex?" Emilie said. "They could be in the game room."

"Or they could be outside hunting her!" Aunt Helene hissed as she rounded on Emilie. His sister cowered, hunting her shoulders and cupping her face. "Your stupidity probably spooked them all."

His sister howled, bowing her head into her hands. Her body wracked with sobs. Once upon a time, he would’ve comforted her. She used to cry at the sight of a dead bird. When she killed a spider, tears streamed down her blotched face. But that Daniel used to believe that Emilie wouldn’t hurt a fly. She hurt maids now.

"Get inside," his father shouted. He shook his head as he stepped away from the window.

Aunt Helene hissed at Emilie and gripped her arm, prompting another onslaught of sobs. She shushed her unkindly and dragged her inside, slamming the door behind them.

Grace’s hand found his. She gripped him tightly. "We can’t go back inside."

"We were never going back inside," Daniel said with a smile. He looked at her and felt his stomach twist at her shiny eyes. Blood was smeared against the slope of her nose. "Come on," he said with a cock of his head. "The way out is this way."

He tugged on her hand and led her through the shadows of the trees towards the house. Her grip cut off the circulation to his fingers, but Daniel felt alive at the uncomfortable pulsing in his palm. He didn’t let go.

Rather than go inside the house, he guided them around it. It was better to work the circumference and be right under anyone’s nose than to be out in the field, waiting for exposure. He’d learned how to do this when he was a teenager. Dad might’ve caught him sneaking back into the house, but that was only because Daniel wanted him to. And he was sloppy.

He ensured he was against the house. If one of his family members happened to see them, he wanted to be the one who got shot first. If she was stuck between him and the wall, she’d be as good as dead. She needed every second she could get to flee.

"Have you done this before?" she asked.

Daniel looked at her from his periphery. She was looking at him, her eyes wide and still shiny. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Once. When I was a kid."

"Jesus, that’s fucked."

He snorted. "Tell me about it."

She licked her lips and looked ahead. The grass crunched beneath their feet. They were moving slowly. They ducked beneath any windows that were glowing bright. They couldn’t risk their silhouettes being seen. Thankfully, this side of the house was dark. The family was where Daniel expected them to be—on the opposite page to him.

"Who was it?" she asked. Her gaze darted toward him before looking away. "You don’t have to—"

"My uncle," he said. "Charles." His name deserved to be spoken, regardless of what Aunt Helene said. "I found him."

She was quiet.

"It’s fucked, I know," he said. A door slammed somewhere inside the house. Nowhere close. He kept them moving along the circumference. The front gates were still a shitload of windows away. "But I was just doing what I was told."

Grace cleared her throat softly. "And now?"

Her gaze made his cheek burn. "I’m doing what I want to do."

He looked at her before turning away. He didn’t know if she was smiling or grimacing. Another fault of his. He should’ve gotten to know her better. Maybe that could’ve prevented all this from happening.

"Thanks," she said. She wasn’t looking at him. She’d tilted her chin upward. Was this Grace’s way of avoiding an uncomfortable feeling?

Daniel couldn’t help but smile. "You’re welcome."

She laughed before covering her mouth with the hand holding the small gun. "That’s so fucked up."

"Welcome to the family," he said. His movements were lighter as they continued along their makeshift path. The grass was neatly trimmed. The bushes planted underneath a few of the windows were a good shield in case someone was walking by one of the open rooms. As far as Daniel could surmise, everyone was inside. Thank fuck.

"What would happen if I survived this?" she asked.

Daniel shrugged. "Eternal damnation? Running naked in a field of cacti? Don’t know. Don’t really care."

She frowned as she looked at him. "Surely you care."

"Not really. The things I’ve had to do because of this family…" He shook his head. "I wouldn’t mind burning forever."

"That’s…"

"Fucked up, I know," he said, looking at her with a smile. Grace had a pretty smile, even when she had blood on her face.

They were closer to the front gates. His heart pounded. He could do this. He could find his way out of the cupboard. Every step was excruciating. Would they be found out? Were they waiting for them at the front steps?

No, he knew his family. They were inside, screaming at each other. Emilie was crying. Aunt Helene was scowling. Mom was frowning. Dad was probably drinking. Fuck Fitch.

Grace stopped.

Daniel frowned, glancing back at her. "What is it?"

The trees were rustling with the breeze. The night air was stale. Could he smell blood? It was probably her dress. God, how much did his mother spend on that? Did she think there was a chance that the gown would look like the devil herself swallowed Grace whole and spat her out?

Grace didn’t speak. She cocked her head. Daniel looked.

Fuck.

Alex paced the gate. His white dress shirt was half-tucked into his black trousers. The knee was torn like he’d fallen onto one of those rakes the gardeners used to collect the leaves. But the leaves were crunching softly beneath his feet as he stood, so how good a job were they doing in the first place?

"There has to be another way," she said.

His chest was heavy with stones. There wasn’t another way out. The back gate led them further from anyone who could help her. The side gate was broken. The only other option would see her caught and splayed on the cross like a sacrificial lamb. Maybe that’s why Mom bought the dress she did for her. She looked like a lamb ready for slaughter.

"That’s our exit, Grace," he said. Would she notice they were moving away from the house rather than using it as a shield? He guided them toward the thick cluster of trees near the long, curving driveway.

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Her wide eyes lingered on Alex’s pacing form.

He couldn’t see them through the trees. Even if they had a torch lit underneath their chins, Alex still wouldn’t spot them. His brother wasn’t good at games like this. Murder in the Dark was one of Daniel’s favourites as a kid. He would stand right behind the door Alex stepped through, undetected, even when the torch lit up his shoes and showed their shadows mingling. Alex never noticed the details. Alex wasn’t concerned with them.

She gripped his hand. "He sees us," she whispered.

Daniel watched his brother. Alex was staring in their direction with his mouth agape. He was panting like a restless predator, but where a wolf’s teeth would be smacking together, his brother looked lost.

Daniel licked his lips. He shook his head. "He can’t see us." He couldn’t see shit. Alex could’ve seen how this would play out. Roping Grace into the Le Domas dynasty doomed her, even if she hadn’t pulled this card. Someone would’ve. Maybe one of Emilie’s spawn was destined to wed a spouse who’d attract the Hide and Seek card. Maybe one of Grace and Alex’s offspring. Hell, maybe one of Daniel’s kids would’ve, if Charity deemed him worthy of having kids with. Couldn’t continue a legacy if there was no one to carry it. She was bound to come to that conclusion one day.

Alex continued to pace. He kicked the hard dirt. He looked up when he heard a sound—a window slamming, a shout from the house, another fucking gunshot. He stared into the night, his eyes wide. There was blood on his neck. There was a shadow underneath his arm that suggested… Fuck.

Should Daniel lead her down the altar and give her to his brother?

He observed Grace’s profile. Her mouth was a firm line. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She didn’t stop holding his hand. Her grip was as tight as a bear trap. How was his wrist still connected to his arm?

"Come on," he said. He should take her to him. He should lead her straight to Alex. He was the prince in the stories, the good kid. He was the one who would save this damn family from their doom. But he’d led her to the slaughter and stepped aside. At least Daniel had warned Charity before she proposed again.

Daniel gripped her hand and tugged her away from the gate. The bushes embraced them. The leaves cracked beneath their feet. The damp earth gave way under his shoes. When he glanced back, Alex was looking straight at them.

Too late. Again.

Not Daniel’s problem.

Daniel pressed his palm slowly against the door. It creaked as he guided it open. This was one of the noisy doors. He’d once tried to slick the hinges with oil when he was a kid, but all that accomplished was making the floor slippery. It was funny when Stevens slipped onto his back.

The kitchen was dark. The shadows curled in the corners. Stevens had left one of the small windows above the sink open. Maybe it was so he could hear the bullshit from outside. Or maybe it was to thin out the stench of sweat and desperation flooding the house.

Whatever the reason was, Daniel was grateful for it. No one was outside. Aunt Helene hissed from somewhere inside. Even though she’d grown more reclusive and angry over the years, her volume never changed. Sometimes he liked to think she wanted to be heard. He remembered her sobs and how she screamed in her room on the opposite end of the house after everything was over. Everyone else was in the east wing while she cried and died in the west. And when she’d emerged from that room, she’d come out as some demon without a soul.

Maybe he should feel bad for her. Aunt Helene was the first one of them to lose someone she felt was precious. She was a banshee, consumed with anger. But she was a bitch, too.

Daniel led them toward the open kitchen door that led into the main corridor. He gestured for Grace to stand behind him. She pressed against his back and kept his hand locked in hers. Was he ever going to get that hand back? Did he want it? Her hand was slick with sweat. It was kind of gross, but he wanted that kind of grossness right now. It was absurdly normal.

"Coast’s clear," he murmured.

She swallowed. Her breathing was shallow. He didn’t pull her away from the doorframe. She needed a few minutes, so he gave her that. When her breathing seemed more controlled, her exhales and inhales were longer than they had been when they’d entered the kitchen, he moved.

Guiding them into the corridor, he tiptoed along the sleek floor. The corridor was shadowed. No one had bothered to keep the lights on here. Did they expect her to return? Was this all a trap? Was he leading her to the slaughter like a well-behaved wolf?

No. He was leading her out of here. He was going to take her to safety. He wasn’t going to trap her in the cupboard. He just needed Alex away from the fucking gate.

"She’s here!" Emilie screamed.

Fuck.

Daniel jumped. Why the fuck did he startle? It was like Emilie to scream at the top of her lungs when they were playing Murder in the Dark and she was hiding from the fucking murderer. Ahead in the corridor, she jumped up and down.

"She’s here!" She was giddy. He always hated her laugh. "She’s here! I found her!" Emilie positioned her hands as though she was about to shoot, but she wasn’t gripping anything. She frowned at them before she looked around, turning her back as her hair whipped into her face. She spotted the suit of armour a distance away from them. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at them. Emilie bolted toward the suit.

"Go!" Daniel said. Grace didn’t let go of his hand. Fuck. She was meant to run off. He tried to loosen his grip. Grace held on.

"What the fuck?" she hissed. He was staring at her with wide eyes. She was glaring at him with narrowed ones. Her grip was painful.

"You need to—"

"Fuck you," she said. She tugged on his hand, moving to draw them back toward the squeaky door.

"No."

She dug her nail into his hand. No. He didn’t want to go back there. They couldn’t go outside. Not with Emilie ahead, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"She’s here!" she cackled. "She’s here! I found her! I fucking found her! I won the game!"

He pulled Grace toward Emilie with little care. Grace tried to dig her heels into the smooth floor, but he had the momentum. He sprinted along the corridor toward the opposite side of Emilie. But instead of stopping to throw her at his sister, he kept going. Past his sister, who struggled with releasing the sword from the knight’s grip, and around the corner.

"Fuck!" Grace shouted.

They ran.

Grace was a better runner than he was, even in that blood-soaked dress. Daniel was never good at track. He liked to smoke behind the bleachers like a fucking stereotype in a John Hughes movie. He always related best to Bender.

A bullet exploded the wall. A door blew half off its hinges. Windows burst. Emilie was screaming. Stevens stood behind her, shooting over her shoulder. God fucking knew how he didn’t hit his sister. She never stayed the fuck still. Grace was panting beside him. Her hand was slick in his, but he kept his grip as he tugged her away from the corridor she was catapulting toward.

"Trust me!" he said. She followed him, a step behind as her boots slid against the floor.

He ran as fast as he could. She was a step ahead. Once the corridor opened and there wasn’t any wall to run against and explode from bullets, he pushed into her. Grace turned.

His boots were slippery against the floor. Fuck, was that blood? Jesus fucking Christ, Emilie knew how to make a fucking mess. The walls exploded around them. A bullet shot past his leg. Fucking Stevens. Did he know it was Daniel’s fault he broke his arm after slipping on the oil-slick floor all those years ago?

A suit of armour lost its elbow. They had so much shit in this house. Why the hell did they need suits of armour? That didn’t make sense for a fucking board game empire. A painting exploded. Poor great-great-great-something grandfather something-or-other lost his head. Another great-great-great-great-something grandfather lost his balls.

Grace kept leading them. "Turn!" he shouted. Daniel didn’t care if they heard him. Stevens was bringing up the rear, sliding in his too-polished shoes. Emilie shrieked behind him.

"Daniel!" screamed Charity. He looked back. She stood behind them at the end of the corridor. She was heaving. Her hair was tousled. She looked so fucking pretty. But her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted, and she ran. Charity was a fucking good runner. She ran to Stevens and wrestled the gun from his hands. "Give me the fucking gun!"

"Run faster!" Daniel said. Grace picked up speed, but barely. Her boots weren’t gripping the floor as well as they should. The blood and dirt and whatever the fuck else that was on the bottom of them was making this feel like Bambi on ice.

They didn’t need Charity with the gun. She was the only one who could give Aunt Helene a run for her money. She was the ultimate champion of shooting fancy dinner plates from the sky.

"Turn!" he yelled.

Grace turned.

"Your family is so fucked up!" she panted.

"I know."

Her hand bruised his. The corridor was bright. Half the doors were open. How many of the rooms did they search? Should they venture into one? But dead ends were where stories came to a close. Grace’s story wasn’t going to end the same way Uncle Charles’ did.

If he moved an inch to the side, the bullet that passed his ear would’ve blown it right off.

Charity was close. Emilie was still screaming, panting now more than ever. Stevens was cussing.

"Turn!" he said again. Another well-lit corridor. The music was louder now. He could hear his father shouting from another room. Aunt Helene was screaming obscenities at Fitch. None of it fucking mattered.

He forced Grace into the next corridor with his shoulder as a bullet grazed his other bicep. Shirt torn, skin searing. Daniel gripped Grace’s hand and pushed her into the wall. She shoved him back.

"Get your shit together!" she said. There was a waver to her voice. Or he liked to think. That’s how he was going to retell it. She really gave a shit about me. Her voice was almost sad.

She gripped his hand. Still sweaty. Daniel didn’t let his grip loosen.

They pelted down the corridor. Aunt Helene’s voice was sharper now, closer. "Keep going straight," he panted. His bicep fucking hurt. Charity was behind them. Another wall blew up. Another door lost its hinge. At least a maid was spared with her at the helm.

The double oak doors of the Le Domas dynasty were closed at the end of the tunnel. No bright light shone to show that this was the way to freedom. That shit happened in fairytales where baby elephants somehow found their way home. Was that what happened in Dumbo? Fuck, he didn’t really know.

They skidded to a stop at the doors. Daniel barrelled into it. Grace let go of his hand as she worked the doorknob. Her hand couldn’t grip it. She whimpered. "Fuck!"

"Grace," he said, breathing heavily. Charity cocked the gun. She was slowing down now. She walked instead of running. Fuck, not good news. He stopped himself from looking over his shoulder. He could see her in his mind, slowing down, getting ready to aim. Maybe blow his head off for good measure. Definitely shoot Grace in the leg so she couldn’t move. Sacrificial lambs needed to be alive when delivered to Mr Le Bail.

"Grace?" Alex said. He sounded surprised. Daniel didn’t dare look back. His brother would be looking at them with wide eyes. Would he wrestle the gun from Charity?

No sounds of struggle from up ahead.

"Grace," he said again. She couldn’t grip the door. She was gasping. Her eyes were red, and her face was dirty with tears.

He grabbed her hand and wiped it against his sweat-soaked shirt. She was shaking. She looked at him with wide eyes, blood smearing her face.

"We’ve got this," he said. For once, he was telling the truth.

"Move out of the way, Daniel," Charity said. Her voice echoed around them in the cold corridor.

He didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze locked on Grace, watching her as she calmed her breathing. Her heart must’ve been in her throat. His was somewhere in the house, maybe near the cupboard with Uncle Charles’ last breath.

Grace removed her hand from his. She gripped the door. It slipped under her fingers. Panic opened her eyes. Charity was taking aim.

"Daniel," Charity boomed.

The gun clicked.

The door opened beneath the twist of Grace’s wrist.

Daniel was glad to slam that door behind them. The bullet pierced the wood centimetres from where his head was.

"Fuck, she’s a good shot," Grace said as she dragged him away from the door.

"That’s why I married her," he said.

She chuckled. Daniel liked how his thumping heart skipped a little at that sound.

The door exploded again. Bullets ricocheted through the wood. They ran down the stairs and cut across the grass, treading on his mother’s prized flowers. The gardener would be devastated, but he figured Simon wouldn’t care once he knew the circumstances.

He readjusted his grip on her hand and ran. She was a step behind him as she kept pace along the gravel driveway. A statue exploded. A tree’s branch fell. Dirt exploded from the ground as bullets peppered the neat lawn.

He led them to the front iron gates. Locked. Grace shook the bars with one hand. Glancing up at the twisting iron that declared Le Domas proudly, she began to shake and whimper.

"It’s okay," he said. A glance over his shoulder and he could see Charity emerging from the destroyed double doors, rifle in hand. Stevens was behind her. His father and aunt would be making their grand entrances soon.

Maybe Grace could shoot them. But her hands were shaking. The gun wasn’t in her hand. Fuck, when did she drop it? Why hadn’t he picked it up? Why didn’t he take it for her to ensure she had a way to get out of this fucking mess?

He let go of Grace’s hand to stand behind her. He kept his back to her as she rattled the iron bars, like she could loosen them enough to spill their secrets. He glanced around, eyeing the trees in case Fitch or, god forbid, fucking Emilie were ordered to surprise them from either side.

No one was there.

"Daniel!" Charity yelled from the steps in front of the house. She, Stevens and Alex stood on the platform, watching them with mouths agape. She held the rifle near her eye. She’d shoot him. That was why he loved the idea of her so much. Charity would’ve put him out of his misery if it didn’t mean she’d be entering hers.

The sun was rising. He always liked how it bathed his childhood home in a golden glow. Sweat pooled at his nape and his shoulder blades. His shirt stuck to him like a second skin. His bicep ached. How was this meant to end? He could step aside and let Charity take the shot to secure another day. But Daniel didn’t want another day. He didn’t want another game.

He turned and stepped into Grace. He curled his hands around the iron bars, trapping her within his embrace. "No matter what happens," Daniel said, "you run. Go left. Those are the sane neighbours."

Grace couldn’t turn around with how tightly he was pressed against her. "I’m not leaving you," she said.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "You are."

He readjusted his grip on the gates. His hands were slick with sweat. He glanced over his shoulder to see her descending the steps slowly. A predator to the end. She really was a Le Domas.

Charity cocked the gun behind them. How close would she come before she took the shot? Would she fire a warning one? Maybe try to shoot Grace dead if it meant she was spared? But she wouldn’t spare him. She was never going to spare him. Wasn’t that what attracted him to her in the first place? Charity would do what Daniel didn’t have the guts to.

He curled his hands around the gate. Grace bowed her head against the cool iron. He shook it.

It screamed open.

Grace stumbled forward. She gripped his hand and tugged him over the boundary.

She turned left. Daniel followed.

Gunshots rang out. He glanced over his shoulder to see Charity running. She kept the rifle against her shoulder. The bullets pinged the iron bars. They blew apart trees. Some of the bullets made their way into the dirt beyond the property, but they were weak, like they were rubber instead.

Grace tugged his hand and ran. They fled along the road with the trees curling over the iron gates trapping the Le Domas dynasty inside. The sun was aglow. Sweat beaded down his nape.

When he looked back, he couldn’t see them. His family didn’t cross the boundary line. They couldn’t. The game must be played on the board, or else they lose. His dad used to make up bullshit rules like that to keep their games of tag fair.

Daniel turned to Grace and smiled. He laughed and kept running.

This time, when he opened the door, no one died.

Well, except his family. But at least Grace was alive. Maybe that was worth something.