The smile of holiday cheer died on Greta’s lips, and for one tremulous moment, she thought she’d simply misheard. After all, there were six other Russakoffs in town. They stood all around her: her parents and her four sisters.

But that hope died the same death as her smile when she saw the faces of her mother and her eldest sister, Sadie, who were looking at her with twin expressions of satisfaction.

Her father was pointedly avoiding her eyes, as was her older sister, Tillie, the peacemaker. Her twin, Adelaide, blinked in horror at her but didn’t say anything. Her youngest sister Maggie’s mouth dropped open, and she mouthed Oh, shit, the words swallowed by the murmurs of the crowd.

“What,” Greta bit off between gritted teeth, looking between Sadie and her mother, “Did. You. Do?”

“Greta, are you here?” the mayor crooned into the microphone. “Remember, this is for charity.”

Valentine was beloved on Owl Island. She had increased tourism and revenue for small businesses, including the Russakoffs’.

Greta added the mayor to her kill list.

Her heart sank as people began to reach out and pat her on the back and smile.

“Go on, Greta!”

“Get it, Greta!”

“Greta, yeah!”

Could you murder an entire town?

“Go get ’em, kiddo,” Sadie trilled, and Greta wondered, not for the first time, why Sadie gloried in messing with her more than with anyone else.

You could just leave, Greta told herself. Just turn around and walk away. You’re an adult now, and this isn’t the damned hunger games. They can’t make you.

Greta squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “I didn’t volunteer,” she said confidently and prepared to leave.

Only her words came out as a croak, and she didn’t leave.

She turned to Adelaide, looking for a rescue or help or…something. But while Addie looked horrified on her behalf, she just shrugged, an I-don’t-know-what-to-do gesture familiar from every awkward situation of their childhood.

“Dude,” Maggie said to Sadie. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Greta, go,” her mother hissed. “It’s for charity!” Nothing scandalized Nell Russakoff like a lack of performative generosity.

Owl Island was a small town. Leaving would mean answering questions for weeks. Which would mean offending people about the auction, a beloved town tradition. Which would mean even more talking to people who’d known her since she was a child and still treated her like she was one.

Greta gritted her teeth so hard she felt a headache threaten and walked stiffly to the stage, taking care not to meet anyone’s eyes lest she perish from mortification or reveal previously unknown Medusa-like powers. She stood next to the other volunteers with what she hoped was dignity but would see in pictures later was the pose of someone who desperately needed to pee.

One by one, the volunteers were bid on.