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“No,” Bryony said, catching him off-balance. She shrugged. “I live under a rock.”
“We take turns,” I explained as if I’d done this before and not just seen it in movies. “You say, ‘Never have I ever...’ and then you say something that you’ve never done. And if anyone in the grouphasdone it, they take a drink.”
Bryony was the last to get a cup. She held it with the very tips of her fingers, like she was trying to avoid contact as much as possible.
Desmond took his place at the edge of our wonky circle and cleared his throat. “So, who’s first? Come on, guys. Let’s spill all our secrets.”
“Never have I ever had alcohol before,” I confessed, considering the cup.
“Seriously?” Desmond asked, laughing, and drank. So did Celia and Bryony—Celia taking only a dainty sip.
An awkward silence settled. “Never have I ever skipped class,” Celia offered.
“Does blowing off homeschool courses count?” I asked. “Because I think I need to drink the whole bottle. I’m so behind.”
“Bottoms up,” Desmond said, and took his own drink. I turned my cup up and took a swallow, then coughed as the alcohol scorched its way down my throat. “Come on,” Desmond said. “Let’s see how far we can push this thing.”
“That’s the idea,” I said.
Desmond considered. “Never have I ever played hopscotch with a ghost girl.”
Celia drank. “But she wasn’t a ghost.”
“A figment,” I said.
She nodded, then cleared her throat delicately. “Never have I ever met the melting-wax woman.”
Desmond shuddered—and drank.
“Was she blond? Carrying a candle? Ranting about eyes watching her?” I asked.
He said nothing but took another sip in confirmation. Then, looking off to the side, he spoke haltingly. “It was night. I was eight years old. I had to go to the bathroom, and I saw the light down the hall. I’ve always told myself it was a dream.”
“Mine was a dream,” I said. Belatedly, I took a swallow of my own. “But I don’t think that means it wasn’t real.” He nodded like he understood. This was working. Sort of.
Celia wet her lips. “Never have I ever—”
“You just went,” Desmond objected. “It’s Bryony’s turn.”
Bryony ran a fingertip along the edge of her cup. “I’m not as eager to share my secrets as the rest of you,” she said.
“You have to. It’s not fair otherwise,” Celia said, her eyes wide and guileless. “We have to all be in this together.”
Bryony’s mouth had a contrary tilt, but she sighed at last. “All right. Never have I ever found out what the shadows are trying to dig up at night.”
“Whoa, wait, what?” Desmond asked, eyes wide—but Celia took a sip. Bryony looked at her with interest as if she hadn’t really expected an answer.
“I have been trying to find out for years. You know?” Bryony asked. Celia nodded, gripping her cup so tightly I thought she might crumple it. She started to speak, but then she gave a shudder and cast us a helpless look, like she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
I thought of the Folded, the way it had reached for the thing Eli held out to it—the rib. “Bones,” I said, the realization settling through me like a sigh. “They’re searching for bones.”
Celia drank, then coughed a bit. Lightweight, I thought, but judging by the weird lurching feeling when I moved, so was I. She’d seen then. Which meant—
“Never have I everintentionallystayed out after dark,” I said, gaze fixed on Celia.
Bryony drank, of course. So did Celia. And so, reluctantly, did Desmond.
“I never got out of sight of the house, though,” Celia said. “I was at the edge of the trees, and I saw one of the shadows. It found a bone—a femur, I think? It looked human, but it was far away. I never told anyone that before.” She took two more swallows and shuddered hard.
