Against the black marble floor, the blood could be mistaken for spilled oil. Why didn’t the mansion swallow that too? To make it feel real? If so, it’s working. I let my vision blur so I can pretend it’s not there.

“This isn’t right.” Willow stands next to me now, whispering.

Lucy pounds on the empty wall where the front door used to be.

“It can’t be real,” I say. “This is all just an illusion. Part of the game.” I wave a hand toward the blood like it will disappear. It doesn’t.

Willow swallows. She stares at her red, shaking hands. “It feels real.”

We eye each other. I’m surprised she’s keeping it together. She’s stronger than I thought.

We share a nod. Real or not, there is no backward path for us to take.

“Lucy, please be quiet,” I snap.

Her panic dies down to a low whimper.

I draw a breath, unlock my knees, and move to a random door. It doesn’t matter which one if I’m right.

And I have to be right. There’s no other option.

“Don’t,” Lucy whimpers. I hear the rustle of her scooting away from me and the door.

Willow says my name, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. Somebody has to do it, and she’s not volunteering.

My hand grips the cool brass handle. It does not heat to my touch like my knives. No magic pulses in it. My fingers feel cold and human. Perhaps it’s a sign.

No. It’s trying to shake me. I want this. I will not turn around and go back to the life I had before, where I have to rely on someone else to throw my brother a birthday party that puts light in his eyes. I want that power. I will fight for it.

The magic answers me, crawling up my skin like ants until I shiver from it. I twist the handle and pull.

Heat blasts my face, and I step back from a hallway covered in coals flickering red.

A door waits across the path.

I grin in the heat as my feet grow cold. I lift the hem of my dress. My shoes are gone.

Shit.

I step away and try another door, willing the magic to be kinder.

It doesn’t listen. More coals.

I open all the doors until I’m sweating from the heat coming off the paths of coal. I turn to Willow. Her face is blotchy from the warmth. She shakes her head.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” I answer.

Lucy sobs, and I wish she would stop.

Looks like I’m first.