No Saving Throw Page 5

  They told me, words pouring out of each of them in turn. It was a convoluted story of the vampire mafia that secretly controlled White Lake, whose shadowy presence lurked behind every government official, whose cold hands could be felt around the neck of the backwater society. It wasn’t a bad story, but it seemed out of place in rural White Lake, whose claim to fame was its rapidly growing extension of the University of Wisconsin. And most White Lake townies hated the University folk; the only vampires here, some would say, were the representatives of a gentrifying institution that threatened to commercialize even the quietest parts of White Lake, Wisconsin, population 30,000.

  But in these LARPers’ world, White Lake was the seat of a vampire queen so old she had watched Rome burn.

  Hector yawned. No one could see him but me, and I hid a smile. A part of me envied the gamers. I missed LARPing. Somehow, when I said I wanted to open a game store, no one told me that gaming would take over my life, leaving me zero time for—gaming. Except for the occasional stolen round of Spellcasters, I spent all of my time managing now, overseeing the games and never getting to play.

  When they finished, I took a deep breath. “So . . . you’re all courtiers. And you have warring factions?”

  “Right,” Paige said. Talking about the game had steadied her. She sniffled, but her voice was clearer than before. “Wes and Nick were working together—I think.” Her voice cracked again. “We’re not supposed to know, you know?”

  Nick wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I thought Wes was spying on us to tell Olivia and José we were planning to overthrow the queen.”

  “I . . . see. And the queen is . . . ?”

  “NPC.” Non-player character. The poor queen never had a chance. I knew how she felt at the moment.

  “Of course.”

  I wondered how much they’d seen the night Wes died. While Meghan had allegedly been the one to find the poor kid and make the 911 call, the resultant chaos would surely have drawn the rest of the gamers down to the basement. They had to know about the neck wounds.

  I cleared my throat. “Are you all aware of the, ah, injuries Wes had?”

  Olivia looked confused. “He fell—”

  “He had puncture wounds on his neck,” Nick said bluntly.

  She gasped and put a hand to her lips. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Who would do that?”

  “Someone who wants people to think one of us did it,” Nick said.

  His words hung in the air, quivering, The Words That Must Not Be Named. No one wanted to hear it, no one wanted to deal with it, no one even wanted to look at Nick after he said it.

  Finally, Hector spoke. “Why do you say that?”

  Nick rounded on him. “Didn’t you see the newspaper? People think we’re freaks, losers, outcasts. Games are violent, and the violence corrupts our brains.”

  “I think that’s video games,” I interjected. “And anyway, there’s no need to go all Harbinger of Death on us.”

  “There’s not?” Nick said. “I’d think you of all people would be a little less confident in our ability to come out of this without ending up pariahs. You have more to lose, and god knows you’re more liable—”

  “That’s enough,” Hector said. Nick fell silent, and they glared at each other.

  “Thank you, Hector, but I can take care of myself.” I looked at Nick, blocking out Paige’s horror-stricken expression, Hector’s indignation, Olivia’s mortification. “If you think I’m not taking this seriously, Nick, you need to think again. This store is my life. The people who play games in this store are my family. Nothing means more to me than protecting each and every one of you.” My voice shook. “My reputation doesn’t mean a damn if you guys get hurt playing on my turf, because my only job in this world is to make sure you guys have a safe place to be yourselves. I don’t care what people say about me or the store. I don’t even care what they say about gamers as a community. All I care about is holding space for you. And I will keep that space safe.”

  Nick blinked first. I won. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” My hands were shaking, but I didn’t want the others to see. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “In that case, we need to think. Every one of you needs to figure out when and where you last saw Wes. Who was with him? What was he doing? You—” I pointed to José, the gamer I knew the least, first. “Go.”

  We went around the circle, each of the gamers sharing little glimpses of Wes’s final hours. No one had seen him for at least half an hour before the 911 call. He had parted ways with Olivia, who had been trying (in character) to weasel information out of him, at around eight o’clock to go and use the restroom. I made mental note of that—Max’s desk sat directly opposite the public bathrooms in the lobby. That was still about forty-five minutes before he died, though. Where had he gone? And how had he ended up on the fifth floor?

  I voiced these questions, and Paige cleared her throat. “I saw him once. After that.”

  I looked up at her. “You did?”

  Nick looked surprised, too. “When?”

  “A little after eight. He was upset.”

  Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Baby . . .” he said into her ear.

  She flinched, but she kept going. “He said he needed to talk to you, Autumn.”

  Every pair of eyes turned to stare at me. “Me? Why did he need to talk to me?”

  “I don’t know. He wanted to bail on the game, and I asked him not to.” She sobbed. “We argued.” She looked desperate. “And Craig’s girlfriend, Meghan, the woman with the clothes store, she heard us, I know she did. I’m scared she might think I killed Wes because he wanted to stop playing.”

  My heart sank. That was exactly what Meghan would think. She was the one who had convinced Craig, ages ago, that gaming was only for weirdos. And this would give her the perfect edge over me for the grant competition. She’d probably tell Craig that his assistant was a murderer, too. While I didn’t think Meghan had the balls—or the strength—to kill Wes herself, I had no doubt she would try to pin it on one of my people, even if the pin didn’t sink deep enough to draw blood.

  “You told this to the police, right?”

  Paige nodded. She wiped a tear from her face. “Yes. And I know what they thought.”

  “Oh?”

  “They think I killed him—no one but Nick saw me after that, not until Wes was—was found.” She put her hand on Nick’s leg, and he took it in his.

  Oh. It didn’t look good. If it had just been Paige on her own, no one could have believed she had done it. With Nick’s help, though—tall, strong, handsome Nick, who had stolen Paige from Wes—well, it was all too believable.

  But I’d seen my fair share of Law & Order episodes, and I wasn’t the only idiot who would say that all the evidence was circumstantial. And the motive just didn’t hold up—they killed Wes, after she’d already dumped him, for wanting to bail on a game? If all someone wanted to do was slander gaming, I suppose that argument would work, but it was a long walk for a very stubby ice cream cone.

  “You don’t need to worry,” I lied. “Anyway, you called me right around when Wes died—you couldn’t very well be in two places at once, could you?” Paige blanched, and Nick gave me a wild-eyed look. I faltered. “Uh. Unless you called me about this?”

  Paige blinked. “Yeah. I was scared.”

  The others were looking at us curiously, and I could imagine the befuddled expression on my own face. “Okay. Yeah. So, anyway—”

  “You called Autumn?” José asked, suspicious.

  I felt a bit taken aback. He didn’t even know me, and now I was “Autumn,” and he was all shocked that people called me. I opened my mouth, but Nick beat me to the punch. “Mind your own business.”

  “You’re quick enough to accuse Cody—”

  “I thought we were supposed to be cooperating,” Olivia muttered.

 
“Yeah, come on, guys,” I cut in. “There’s no need for—”

  The door into the hallway opened, and Bay appeared, white-faced. “Um,” she said. “The police are here.”

  I opened my mouth to say, “Do they have a warrant?” but years of training from Jordan told me that getting belligerent wouldn’t help anyone. Best to try polite first.

  “Oh? Well, welcome,” I said as Detective Keller and a man I didn’t recognize came in. “How can I help you?”

  Detective Keller looked right through me to Nick. “Mr. Lawlis? Would you mind stepping out into the hallway? We’d like a word.”

  We all turned as one to stare at Nick. He looked green around the gills, but his bravado had not left him. He stood, Paige on his heels. “Am I under arrest?”

  The detective’s gaze flickered as she looked from Nick to me and back again. “No. But we’d appreciate it if you’d come speak with us all the same.” Nick opened his mouth to protest, but the detective barreled on. “Miss Harding, if you’d accompany us, as well.”

  The threat—even imagined—to Paige was too much for Nick. “No!” he shouted. He exploded into motion, pushing Paige forward as if she had somewhere to run. Instead, she just stumbled over a chair while he dove at the other cop. Paige and the chair hit the ground, and Olivia screamed. The cop caught Nick easily and held him by the collar like a misbehaving kitten. Paige sobbed, making Nick shout louder, and Detective Keller started to yell at Nick in turn.

  The LARPers stood, then, too, and Olivia said, “You can’t take him! You don’t have a warrant!”

  “We just want to talk to you, kid,” the uniformed cop said to Nick, who flailed, trying to escape.

  I sighed, elbowed my way past the struggling tangle of Nick and the cop, stooped, and hoisted Paige back to her feet. I dusted her off, looked straight into her eyes, and said, “Call your mother. Right now.”

  She nodded as if I’d slapped some sense into her. In a trance-like state, she turned and began walking to the door. Bay wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her across the hall. Meanwhile, the cops dragged Nick to his feet. He’d managed to get—or give himself—a bloody nose in the process of his futile struggles, and he looked like quite the hardened criminal as he stared at me, the whites of his eyes wide. “Autumn—”

  “Don’t,” I said, still using my boss voice. “You have to go with them now, whether you want to or not. Don’t talk, and when you get to the station, call your parents. They’ll take care of the lawyer and everything else.”

  He nodded.

  I felt like an old woman. Paige and Nick were a decade my junior, but I could feel my hairs turning gray as one by one they joined me on my slow march to insanity. The rest of the gamers filed out after Nick and the cops, leaving Hector and me to stand in the wreckage.

  “Wow,” Hector said.

  “Amen.”

  “Did you see Paige when you asked her about that phone call?”

  “Like a deer in headlights.”

  “No, not that.” Hector’s eyes met mine, his glinting. “She was squeezing Nick’s hand like holding it would keep his words in.”

  “She wanted to hide the phone call from the others—”

  “Yeah, or she wanted to hide something from you.”

  “Damn it.”

  Hector held out his hand, palm up.

  “And damn you,” I added, fishing for my wallet.

  6

  THE OTHER LARPERS EXITED as if escorted by dementors, leaving silence and despair in their wake. Their chatter erupted as soon as they left the store, though, and I knew that the news of Nick’s detainment would spread across town in the Sunday papers. When the door closed behind them, Bay let out a long, low whistle.

  “Not good,” she said.

  “Nope.” I turned to her. “How are sales today?”

  She grimaced. “You won’t like it.”

  I craned my neck to look at the register’s screen. When I pulled up the day’s totals, my eyes widened. “That bad?”

  “Yeah. Just a few more Spellcasters sales. Everyone who has come in has wanted to talk or has brought things for, well, you know.” She nodded toward the sidewalk.

  “Some reporters came by, too,” Hector said. Bay elbowed him. He crinkled his nose at her. “She needs to know.”

  “What?”

  Bay sighed. “They were asking about you, about the shop, about the games. They all came by when the police announced that they’re officially investigating Wes’s death as a murder. I didn’t say much—I’m pretty sure they wanted me to say that games lead to Satanism and the occult and the sacrificing of babies.”

  “Oh, the usual, then.”

  “The usual.”

  I hoisted myself onto the counter behind the register. “I assume you told them about the fridge of dead babies in the office?”

  “Of course not, but I did offer them a leg from the dead goat we keep in the alley.”

  “You guys are not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Hector said. He turned to Bay. “If you didn’t want me to tell her, why are you joking about it?”

  “What else are we supposed to do? They’ll come by, and they’ll write their stories regardless of what we do or say. And anyway, it’s funny. They want us to be horrible, youth-corrupting baby killers, and they have no idea what geek culture even means.”

  “Ugh, don’t start on about geek culture. Last time we were here for an hour.”

  “But it’s important to think about our image,” Bay said earnestly.

  I cut in. “Okay, but let’s think about our image later. Thanks for telling me about the reporters. I appreciate the protection, Bay, but I need to know these things. Did you guys send out the email blast about the tournament cancellation?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. Let’s start thinking of some ways we can make up the business. We can reschedule the draft and the tournament, maybe for when the first expansion packs come out, but I think we ought to do something sooner—”

  “We should have a memorial,” Bay said.

  “What?”

  “A memorial for Wes. It doesn’t need to be super sad or anything—more like a wake. People can come, they can swap stories. We’ll play some of the games he liked.”

  “You want to make money off people’s grief?” Hector said, sounding sick.

  Bay looked appalled. I rushed to her defense. “No, no, it’s not like that. It will give people a safe space to mourn, and it’ll help them stay confident in the store. If they see it as a sanctuary rather than a threat, they won’t be driven away. Plus,” I said, my brain running ahead, “we could invite someone from the paper. They’ll take some nice, sad photos, and the paper will run them, and people will see how nice and normal we all are.”

  “That’s genius,” Bay said.

  “Right? And not completely self-serving since it will be for Wes.”

  “What about Paige and Nick?” Hector asked.

  I bit my thumbnail: they were the sticking point. Paige, Nick, and Cody. All suspects, all closely associated with the store. I didn’t want to seem heartless, inviting them and ignoring the chance that they had been involved in the death of the kid we all wanted to mourn. On the other hand, it was a tragedy for all the Ten Again community, especially Wes’s friends. We needed to honor Wes, and we couldn’t let our paranoia turn us against our family.

  I dropped my hand back into my lap. “We won’t invite them, but if they try to come by, we’ll handle it. I don’t think any of them would make a scene, but it wouldn’t be out of line for us to ask that they leave if anyone gets upset.”

  “So we’ll wing it, then?” Hector said.

  “Well, what’s your bright idea?” I asked. “They’re not, as far as I know, under arrest, any of them. We can’t just kick them out. Wes and Nick were best friends. Paige used to date Wes. They have more right to be at his memorial than anyone else does.” Unless they killed Wes, i
n which case letting them in would be a pretty big faux pas on my part.

  The store’s mall door opened. Donald walked in, his face shiny beneath his balding head, and Meghan trailed in his wake, composed and stylish as ever. She wore a deep purple blouse with a black skirt and high heels that I refused to believe she would wear all day in her stupid fancy store. Her mouth was turned down in a frown, but her eyes were smiling.

  “Hi,” I said. Time for the meeting Donald had requested, I guessed. And worse, he brought reinforcements. This was turning into the longest, worst Saturday of my entire life. I slid off the counter and went to meet them.

  “I just heard that the police are calling the young man’s death a murder,” Donald said without preamble.

  “Yes, I heard.” I looked from Donald to Meghan. I could understand why Donald wanted to meet with me, but I couldn’t see what role Meghan had to play in it.

  Donald saw me staring at her and said, “We saw the police take a young man from this store.”

  Meghan tilted her head when I glared at her. “So upsetting,” she said. “I wasn’t too surprised, though. I heard that boy and his girlfriend arguing last night with the boy who died. It doesn’t seem good, does it?”

  Wait, she’d heard Nick arguing with Wes? “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” I asked her. “Because he said—”

  “Oh, playing Nancy Drew, are you?” She smiled. “Or would it be that other one, the girl who fights vampires. She had some dorky friends who helped her—”

  “Buffy,” Hector said helpfully.

  I cut in. “What’s it to you, anyway, Meghan?”

  “Well, the police wanted me to talk to them. It seems I may be the only witness to so much of what happened last night. And then, of course, I found the poor boy—” She broke off and put a hand to her mouth as if overcome by emotion. So fake. Donald put a hand on her shoulder.