Wildsong woke up the next morning to the good news that all eight of them were still alive. As you can see, the bar for good news was pretty low. 

 Breakfast was warm oatmeal that had a distinct taste of cinnamon. The atmosphere in the common room was more relaxed than it had been since Reuby’s death on day one, and it was nice. Pangolin, Peri, and Tenney (dressed in a ridiculously elaborate and lace-y late 1800s gown) seemed to have gotten closer at some point; the three were sitting on one of the couches, whispering to each other. 

Storm was talking with Sterling, so Wildsong waited until after breakfast to approach her. 

“Hi,” Wildsong greeted. “Um, I was wondering if I could check out the lighthouse light today? I’m curious to see how it works.”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Storm exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I’ll take you up right now, if you want.” She swiveled around to the rest of the guests. “Anyone else want to join me and Wildsong at the light deck?”

“Sure, I’ll come,” Echo said. 

“Wonderful! Follow me.”

The three walk up the many flights of stairs to the top of the lighthouse, reaching the light floor out of breath- well, Wildsong and Echo were, Storm seemed unaffected. Her hair was up in a bun today, and she was sporting a pair of gold stud earrings, which Echo thought was the first time that she’d worn any kind of jewelry since they got there. They flashed every time the light swept across the space. 

The walls were all glass, of course, so the light could reach the ocean, and Wildsong realized that they were actually quite high up. The view was almost dizzying, and she stepped away, moving closer to the center of the room. 

“So,” Storm said, walking to the light in the middle of the room. “This is the reason that this building was constructed in the first place. It was meant to guide sailors and communicate signals to them.” The light spins, flashes, dances. “They don’t really need it much at all anymore, though. You know, all this new technology means that they are almost entirely self-sufficient.”

“So why are you still running this one?” Echo asked. Wait, did that sound rude? “I mean, it seems lonely out here by yourself.”

Storm smiled ruefully. “Oh, I don’t mind being alone. It’s been that way most of my life.” Her expression became wistful for a second before shifting back. “Anyway, this lighthouse has been here for hundreds of years. Even if it’s not really necessary anymore, I’d hate to see it die out. Plus, you never know, it might end up helping some poor, lost soul out there.”

“Wait,” Wildsong inserted. “If this is hundreds of years old, why is the light electric?”

“Ah, yes. Well, they used to use kerosene lamps and lenses, but the beam was much weaker.” She taps the glass of the lens with one fingernail. “These things are called Fresnel lenses, invented in the late 1700s. In the early 1800s they were reinvented especially for lighthouses. Basically, they amplify the light by a lot more than a regular lens. So, they used these with fire lamps in the 1800s and early 1900s, but by the 1930s most were electrical. This light is made of LEDs and Fresnel lenses. LEDs have an incredibly long life and can be powered by solar panels, which is what I use.”

“Oooh, cool,” Wildsong said, getting closer to the light and squinting at it. It looked kind of like a giant spotlight, or the Batsignal. 

“It must’ve been so cool to live here back when you had to keep the flame alive,” Echo said. “I mean, I like staying here.”

“You do?” Storm asked, sounding surprised. “Even with all that’s going on?”

“I mean, it’s not ideal,” Echo mused, but seeing Storm's expression was quick to add: “But you’ve been such a great host!”

“Oh, do you really think so?” Storm’s voice was hesitant.

“Of course!” Wildsong agreed. “I’m sorry that all this is happening on your island.”

“If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I brought you here in hope that my home could provide some fun and adventure in your lives, but instead you're stuck here among death and grief.” The light flash, flash, flashed around the room, illuminating the tears gathering in Storm’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Wildsong walked over to where Storm was standing and pulled her into a hug. “You’re trying, that’s all that matters.”

Storm smiled sadly down at the top of Wildsong’s brown haired head and said, “Thank you both. I feel much better now.”

Wildsong pulled away and grabbed Storm’s hand, tugging her to the staircase. “Come on, let’s get the others and find something fun to do.”

“How about arts and crafts?” Echo said, following them. 

“Oooh, good idea!”

The three of them disappeared down the stairs; as they did, Storm stole one last glance at the room, and light spun across her face, illuminating a look of utter sadness. 

~~~

Dead: 3 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar)

Alive: 8 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling, Writing_in_the_dark, Amarillis)

“Hey,” Wildsong called into the room that Pangolin, Peri, and Tenney were sitting in. “Want to join us for an art project? We’re collaging!”

“We’re good!” Peri responded. It was day two of their informal investigation, and her sketchbook was filling up quickly with theories and suspicions. Storm was suspicious since she was the one that invited them there, but given that people had eyes on her during Hawkstar’s murder they tentatively crossed her off the list. 

However, due to the blatant lack of information, their suspicions couldn’t be proven (or disproven). As the morning turned to afternoon, Pangolin ran downstairs to fetch some lunch (BLT sandwiches), which they munched on while they continued to talk. At some point, their conversation devolved into theories that became increasingly outlandish. 

“Maybe there’s a small village of inch sized people living under the floorboards and they’re mad that we’re invading their home so they’re taking us out,” Tenney suggested, throwing a piece of bacon in the air and catching it with her mouth. “But since they’re so small, they can only kill one of us per day.” 

“Or,” Peri added, lying on her back on the bottom bunk. “This lighthouse is being stalked by aliens, and they’re killing us and stealing our bodies to run tests on.”

Pangolin, who was sitting sideways on the wooden chair, laughed. “Oh, maybe it’s cursed or something. Like, all who come here are fated to die.” They said the last part in a fakely spooky voice, wiggling her fingers jokingly. 

Peri sat straight up, eyes wide. “Wait a second. Maybe you’re onto something here.”

“Wait, seriously?” Pangolin asked.

“Yeah,” Peri said. “Think about it. How did we get here in the first place?”

“I… don’t really remember,” Tenney said, furrowing her brow. “I mean, I kind of just woke up on the boat and floated over to the island.

“Exactly,” Peri said. “Magic!”

“Magic?” Pangolin asked, skepticism clear in their voice. “You can’t be serious.”

“Just think about it,” Peri insisted. “Why would one of us randomly start murdering their friends out of the blue? It just doesn’t make sense. There has to be something else at play here.”

“And you think that the ‘something else’ in question is… magic?” Pangolin asked.

“I mean, I guess it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened recently,” Tenney admitted.

“Okay,” Pangolin said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, sure. Magic. Why not? But how do we prove it?”

“Why don’t we just ask Storm?” Tenney asked. “She brought us here on the boats, so she probably knows how, right?”

“Let’s go,” Peri said, excitement renewed. She dashed down the stairs, followed by Pangolin and Tenney.

Storm, Writing, Echo, Wildsong, Amarillis, and Sterling were in the midst of a sea of paper and cut up magazines. Writing was brandishing a pair of scissors while discussing something animatedly.

“-and that’s why you don’t microwave citrus fruits,” he said with finality. “Oh, hi guys! Care to join us?”

“Sorry, but we just need to talk to Storm about something real fast,” Tenney said. 

“Oh, is everything okay?” Storm asked, putting down her paper.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Peri said quickly. “We just have a question about something.”

Storm got up, shaking some loose scraps of paper off of her shirt, and followed the three up to Peri’s room. Amarillis watched them go with a small frown tugging on the side of her mouth. 

“What’s up?” the host asked. “Is it about the mur- the deaths?”

“Well… kind of,” Pangolin said, exchanging glances with Pangolin and Tenney. “We were just wondering if the deaths could have anything to do with magic.”

“Magic?” Storm asked, surprised.

“Well, we were just wondering, since you used magic to bring us here, you know?” Peri said. “Plus, you seem to create all our meals out of thin air.”

“Ah, I see,” Storm said. “You’re wondering if there is magic here that could have reacted badly to you and caused the deaths?”

“Exactly.” It felt kind of silly when Peri heard it out loud.

“That’s a very good theory,” Storm said, eyes kind. “The answer is no: my magic is very faint, only capable of doing small things like making sandwiches and such. It took a lot of energy to bring you all here. But my magic is the only one active here, and I’d sense if anything else was present.”

“Oh, okay,” Peri said, feeling a bit dejected.

“But,” Storm added. “If you are thinking about researching something supernatural, I might have something for you. Go into my room and in the bottom drawer of my dresser in a book titled ‘Magick: The Dead Chapter’. See if there’s anything in there that looks interesting.”

“I’ll get it!” Peri said excitedly. She sprinted up the stairs, through the light room, and up the ladder into Storm’s room. She had never been in there before; it was small, with a sloped ceiling and a twin mattress resting on a low wooden frame, a dresser with a myriad of knick knacks on it, and a bookshelf sagging under the weight of many old, leather bound books. She wondered vaguely why this specific book wasn’t on the shelf with the rest of them.

Peri knelt down on the carpetless floor next to the dresser, boards creaking under her weight. The bottom dresser drawer felt like it hadn’t been opened for some time; it screeched tiredly when she pulled the handle. 

It took some effort to pull the book from the drawer, and it hit the floor with a resounding thump. The cover was gold embossed leather, old and cracked, letters swirling across, a mother-of-pearl skull shining dully.

Something told Peri that this would be interesting indeed. 

~~~

Dead: 3 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar)

Alive: 8 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling, Writing_in_the_dark, Amarillis)

While Peri, Pangolin, and Tenney cracked open the ancient tome, the other guests and Storm were cleaning up the spoils of their art project in the common room. The final products were drying on one of the tables. 

Sterling stretched and stood up, walking up to one of the windows and peering through. “Looks like it’s getting dark out. Anyone want to take a twilight island walk?”

“Ooh, that sounds fun, count me in!” Writing said. The two exited the lighthouse, cool air washing over them as soon as the door opened. It was a pleasant kind of coolness, though. They began walking the perimeter of the island (but not too close to the edge; they didn't want to end up with Hawkstar’s fate). The sky was that in-between stage, the color of a deep bruise or irises or blackberry juice. Stars speckled over lightly, not quite dark enough for them to shine through completely. The birds were silent. 

They made it to the opposite end of the island, where there was an old but strong tree with dark maroon leaves. They sat down under the heavy branches. 

“It’s so nice here,” Writing said, leaning back against a thick root. “Quiet.”

“Yeah,” Sterling agreed. “I don’t really know what’s going on, but I actually quite like this place.”

“Me too.” Writing plucked a low hanging leaf from the branch and tore it in half again and again. To fill the silence, he said: “It’d be pretty convenient for you if you were the murderer, right? Out here with me all alone.” Rat meant it as a joke, but it fell flat. 

“Not really,” Sterling responded evenly. “Because everyone knows we’re on a walk together, if I killed you now, it wouldn’t exactly be a mystery.”

“Oh.”

“Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Of course.” Writing tore up another leaf, and then another. Sterling closed faer eyes and breathed in the scent of the ocean. 

Writing never fared well in awkward silences. Needing to do something (anything) else, they suddenly jumped to their feet and grabbed a branch with both hands, hoisting himself up. 

“What’re you doing?” Sterling asked, squinting upwards. 

“Climbing the tree,” Writing called down, leveraging themself up another few feet with a strategically placed foothold. A few seconds later, rat disappeared into the foliage above, out of Sterling’s line of view entirely.

“Careful,” they reminded Writing, listening to the rustling sounds get fainter and fainter until, a few moments later, fae couldn’t hear anything except for the collision of rock and water hundreds of feet below. “Writing? You okay?”

A few seconds of worrying silence, and then: “Sterling! You’ve got to come up here!”

“Uhh,” fae said eloquently. They weren’t fond of heights. And so far on this vacation there had been one too many falling related deaths. 

“Don’t worry, it’s super easy to climb and not that high up!” He sounded excited. “Come on!”

If there’s one thing that Sterling didn’t like more than heights, it was backing down from a challenge. Fae stood up and began their ascent. Writing was right, the closeness and width of the branches made it easier than they would’ve thought, and fae spotted where Writing was perched, on the highest branch, thick enough for him to sit on it comfortably. His legs swung back and forth in the open air. 

Rat spotted Sterling and, eyes sparkling, pointed up to a night sky that had grown much darker than when they first came outside. “Look,” rat said, grinning.

Sterling looked. It was stars. Not the faint twilight stars or before-dawn stars or light pollution slathered stars that glowed faint behind layers of smog and invisible exhaust. These were real stars, the way that people saw them before the lightbulb lit up humanity’s world and dimmed everything else; they shone almost angrily, as if saying ‘look at us, see us, before we’re forever lost behind a curtain of streetlights’. They were not just pinpricks of light but splatters of white paint against a canvas primed with dark blues and purples and all the colors that you see when you dream. They burned like thousands of little fires and Sterling always thought the moon was the brightest thing in the night sky, but oh, they were so, so wrong. 

The light bathed Writing, gathering around his head like a halo. His smile was softer now. “Worth it, right?”

Sterling’s eyes were wide, head tilted back, taking in as much as they could. “Yes, it was.” Fae tore faer eyes away and looked at Writing. “But couldn’t we have seen the same thing down there?”

“Yeah, but this is more magical, right?”

Sterling found themself smiling, too. “I suppose.”

<><><>

Later that night, everyone was fast asleep, dreams spinning through their heads. Most of them were cheerful, one was not; and they woke up, head still full of screams and knowing what they had to do before the next day began. Now, to choose a victim. A chance glance out their window showed a figure awash in starlight, standing outside, near the lighthouse door. Perfect. 

The murderer slipped out of their room, feet soundless against the old wood. The lighthouse door creaked a little when they opened it, and the person standing outside turned around when they heard it. It was Writing. 

“Oh,” he said. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep, not with everything that’s happening. Thought I’d come out here for a quick breath of fresh air.”

The murderer descended the wooden steps one by one, slowly, every movement deliberate. 

“I thought it would be fine, since it was just a few minutes and everyone else was asleep. Guess that was kind of stupid of me, huh?”

They stopped walking, not more than three feet away from Writing. They wondered whether rat realized what’s happening.  

As if reading their mind, Writing smiled tiredly and said, “You’re the killer, right?”

The murderer blinked and nodded, wondering where was the fear and the crying and the running?

“Okay,” Writing said in a tone that could only be described as resigned. “Make it quick, please. And painless, preferably.”

For some reason, the murderer does. A quick snap of the neck, over before it really began. They usually did this part with a smile, this time felt slightly different than the others. They shook it off, clenching both hands into fists and turning to go back to their room before anyone realized they weren’t asleep. 

Writing lay o n the rocky ground, breath no longer stirring the air around them, but his face was facing upwards, and his eyes, both the black and the blue one, were full of stars. 

~~~

Dead: 4 (Reuby Moonnight, Darkvine, Hawkstar, Writing_in_the_dark)

Alive: 7 (Tenebrous, Periwinkle, Pangolin, Echo, Wildsong, Sterling, Amarillis)

Lovely. 

Writing didn't seem surprised at all. i wonder...... 

Rip Writing_in_the_dark <3 (ik I keep saying this but tysm for everyone who comments and follows along! It means the world to me!)

Next part out tomorrow!