I spring forward and grab his legs, yanking him away from the darkness, painting an awful streak of blood across the floor, but I need to shut the door. Once he’s out of the way, I leap forward and slam it, accidentally stepping in a little puddle of blood covering the word “desire.”

Willow kneels next to him, blood soaking through her dress at the knees. She presses her fingers to his neck. He gurgles.

Lucy sobs, rocking in the center of the floor. “I want to go home,” she says, quietly at first and then loudly as she jumps to her feet and spins wildly, but the front door we all came through is gone. Only the twelve identical doors remain.

I stare at the blood coating his neck. My stomach lurches, and I can’t help but think of Roman’s sister, but he hadn’t made it sound like dying in the competition was normal—just a horrible possibility. The magic’s so thick it chokes me. It’s thick because this is an illusion. This is fake. This is fake. This is fake. I need to believe it.

I try not to look at his neck. I try not to think of my mom, but even that wasn’t like this. She had two small, almost bloodless wounds. They wanted her blood, after all.

I need to focus on what I want. Performing. Killing vampires. This is only a test to see if I can handle the gore of it all. Everything is a test. This is fake.

Willow holds one of Barry’s hands. Tears stream down her face, but she bites her lip like she’s holding back full sobs. Barry’s other hand grasps at air. This is a test. And whether the magic knows it or not, it’s the worst test it could give me.

I lean down and grab his reaching hand. His eyes are wide, and the determination that was in them before is dulled. Everything is dull.

I brace myself. Illusion or not, I don’t want another memory of someone’s life leaving them. Will it feel just like Mom? That little twitch? Like a thread breaking after being pulled too tight? My cheeks are hot with tears.

But the moment doesn’t come. Barry starts to sink, like the floor’s turned to quicksand beneath him and he’s Artax, and I already know there’s nothing we can do to save him.

Willow’s tugging at his hand, but his face is already sinking, the black tiles re-forming over him like hardening sludge.

I step back as he disappears. Even if it weren’t an illusion, he’s probably getting healed up now. They weren’t going to let him just die in front of us.

Blood covers my foot. I gag.