The Famoux Page 12

  “It’s nice they have the hideaway,” Foster says with a low whistle. “Some of us aren’t as lucky.”

  When I ask him what he means, he grows bashful, the most I’ve seen him be so far. As it appears, he’s got somebody back home he writes letters to.

  “Norax lets you talk to somebody from your old life?” I ask.

  “Technically, she doesn’t know I’m writing these letters,” he says. Then winks. “I’ve got a good deal with our mail person.”

  For a moment I think about sending a letter to my family, explaining everything, but then Foster reveals his love, a man named Finley, doesn’t know where he is now. “As far as he knows, Scott has run away from our town and will never return. Which makes sense. People didn’t like me too much.”

  I couldn’t send them a letter. Not just to tell them I ran. They’d never forgive me. They wouldn’t even forgive me if I told them the truth.

  “Is it hard to lie to Finley?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “It’d be harder not to write.”

  For a group so highly publicized—not to mention constantly scrutinized when inside the Fishbowl—it’s interesting to see that so many of them have great, inconceivable secrets.

  I want to hear more about Foster and Finley, and how their dynamic works, but then Norax enters the foyer and grabs my arm. “There you are,” she says, exasperated. “We need to get you to the Analytix! People are talking.”

  My breath catches. “Does Lennix …”

  “I haven’t heard anything from him yet,” she says. “But I’m sure we will soon.”

  Kaytee joins our trip to the Analytix, announcing how she’d like to see how much they all love me now. I hope she’s right. We all cram into the room together—them on one side of the glass, me on the other.

  Even though I know it’s coming this time, the voices startle me again when they pop out of the silence. The first is from a news station, the anchor reporting to viewers that, according to the evidence, I certainly must be a confirmed Famoux member.

  “It’s either that or she’s got very, very prominent friends!”

  Next he brings up how charming it was that I smiled at the cameras. Apparently, most Famoux members throw on a smolder and walk right past them.

  “Bree, especially,” he says. “Does everyone remember the glares she’d give us?”

  My heart surges with victory. Norax was right! My smile was spot on. That’s something, albeit something small, that sets me apart from Bree.

  As the man’s voice fades out to bring in new ones, a curious numbered list pixelates out of thin air and right in front of my eyes. It is constructed of specks of shimmering copper dust. I reach out to touch it, but my hand goes right through it.

  Comprising this list are seven names, printed neatly, in one straight column:

  1 – Roman

  2 – Quinn

  3 – Odette

  4 – Scott

  5 – Holden

  6 – Emilee

  7 – Tiffany

  My eyes widen at the sight of Emilee. And Foster just told me his name used to be Scott.

  The old names of the Famoux members?

  As the Analytix continues its report, the list order fluctuates, Emilee dropping up and down depending on the conversation’s consensus. A group of friends deliberating over the photographs together brings my name up to the fifth spot. But then, a few broadcast hosts commenting on my reaction to the paparazzi seeming fake brings it down to spot six again. Then, there’s a whole long gaggle of Kaytee’s fans making a stir about the photos I took with the fans in the café, which brings me back up to the fifth spot again. All the while, the other names in front of mine are going crazy, dethroning and rethroning one another at the top spots for reasons I don’t hear. It occurs to me that this ranking system must be determined by what people are saying about us as they say it, in real time.

  It’s certainly an impressive technical feat, although I’m not sure what purpose it serves for us to see it. All it does is make me tense, waiting to see where my name goes. As more and more people wail Too soon! the sight of my name in that sixth-place spot makes me feel even worse. When Norax calls for me to come out, I can’t stop staring at my name as I rise from the stool.

  “Good reception?” Norax asks.

  “It was fine.” At least they weren’t only comparing Bree and me.

  “It’s more than fine,” says Kaytee, with one of the tablet devices in her hands. “They’re intrigued!” She clicks on the positives list for the descriptors. “They think you’re a potential musician! They like it!”

  My negatives are still the same, but Norax assures me we can work through that, especially given the way things went today. As they pat my back and cheer, I try my best to join in. But in the back of my head, I keep seeing Emilee in sixth place.

  “Hey, what was that list all about?” I ask Norax.

  She furrows her brow. “What list?”

  “Wait. Hold on.” Kaytee shoves the tablet in front of Norax’s face, pulling her attention away. “You need to see this. Immediately.”

  “It’s … a list of fake song titles for the single,” Norax observes. “It’s nothing, doll.”

  But Kaytee is undeniably rattled. “I … I was just thinking about writing a song called ‘Seashore’! Do you think it got leaked somehow? With all these leaks going around our mansion?”

  Norax doesn’t believe it’s that serious, but Kaytee makes a big enough fuss about it that she relents, agreeing to investigate further.

  “Please, get to the bottom of this,” Kaytee insists. She gestures to me, visibly shaking. “I don’t want more of our things to get revealed before they’re ready, you know?”

  “Of course, dear,” she says.

  Our manager leaves to make a few calls for her. I go to follow Norax’s lead off to the main wing, but Kaytee yanks me back to face her, eyes wild.

  “Okay, she’s gone,” she says, suddenly frantic. “You have to tell me. What was on the list?”

  “What?”

  “You said there was a list?”

  She’s got this talon-like grip around my wrist, nails seriously digging into my skin. I pull away from her with a wince. “There was a list. Yes.”

  “Did it have our names on it?” she asks.

  “Not … I don’t know.”

  “Holden? Odette?”

  “Those were some of them.”

  Kaytee releases me, stumbling back toward the Analytix’s glass doors. “No.” She says the word over and over again, pacing toward the door like a ghost.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Kaytee lets out a sudden, wretched sob. She bolts right out of the room, tears streaming down her face. I chase her down several hallways, into a wing where all the doors are a soft powder blue. She pushes right into the one that’s slightly ajar.

  I stand cautiously in the doorway, within the room without intruding. This is Race’s bedroom, with big navy carpets and warm orange wood in all the furniture. Cozier as this seems against Bree’s, the chill I feel in there is still unavoidably present in here.

  As Kaytee collapses into his arms, Race meets my eyes, worry splashed across his face. He asks me what’s happened, and I don’t have an answer.

  “She was just—I don’t know—”

  “It’s happening again,” Kaytee manages. “They’re doing it again, Race.”

  He pales. “You don’t mean …”

  “DEFED is doing it again.”

  She weeps into his chest. I watch as his shoulders slowly slump, some realization washing over him. Seeing them this distressed makes me anxious.

  “What is DEFED?” I ask.

  “Not a what,” he says. “A who.”

  “Who are they?”

  Race takes a deep breath. “The people who killed Bree Arch.”

  Part Two

  * * *

  VOLX

  CHAPTER NINE

  The other Famoux members have made it into Race’s bedroom for a secret emergency meeting. Secret, in the sense that neither Norax nor Lennix are present. I’m not sure why.

  We sit cautiously around a circular coffee table, the air both still and wavering at once. Chapter is the first to speak, at the head. In Norax’s absence, he’s a makeshift leader. “We didn’t really take the Volx as seriously as we should’ve,” he tells me. His face dims. “But then, of course, the Darkening happened.”

  The Volx, I’m explained, is the name of that list I saw in the Analytix. It sprang up for the Famoux months ago alongside a ransom note in Chapter’s room. He still has it now, which he’s brought to show me. The paper is golden, the type jet black and bold.

  We are your biggest fans. You must hear this a lot, but we assure you, it is true. We pride ourselves in knowing more about you than anyone else.

  Before you, our lives were dull. A perpetual Darkening. Then, you arrived and brought light into our world. You gave us entertainment. You gave us purpose.

  But your light is losing its luster. With existences as perfect as yours, it must be so easy to get complacent. For the past few months, we haven’t found you quite as compelling as we know you can be. And the darkness is starting to creep back in.

  We can’t have that. You understand, we have to do something.

  We feel as though you are lacking motivation, so we decided to give you some.

  By now you have probably seen our lovely little list, which we call the Volx. Whoever is at the bottom of it by the next Darkening will die. We know this sounds scary, but this is what you need.

  We ask that you do not share our Volx with anyone. If you tell anyone, you will die before the Darkening can even arrive. And what a shame that would be! No fun for us.

  Sending you good luck,

  DEFED.

  They don’t know who DEFED is, nor what their name stands for. They sent them their list, and then their note, and then nothing else.

  “Wait, so they’re fans?” I ask. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they try to kill you if they loved you?”

  “They don’t love us,” says Chapter. He points at a few words on the note. “They love the entertainment.”

  “They’ve got nothing going on with their lives, so they think they can play with ours,” says Till bitterly.

  I’m struck with how similar this is to Brandyce’s old complaints about Famoux fans. How they’re too stupid to live their own lives. Even I can see myself in DEFED’s beginning sentiments. A dull life. A perpetual Darkening. I depended on the Famoux just as much as this group. Something about it fills me with dread.

  “But—but I thought Bree’s death was an accident,” I say. “She wasn’t killed. She fell down the stairs.”

  “Meals are the only time when outsiders are allowed in the Fishbowl,” says Foster. “The place was crawling with servers and maids before the power outage.”

  “So she was pushed when the lights were out?”

  This seems implausible. The power surge had affected all of Notness. If someone had planned to kill Bree in that exact moment, they also would have had to cause the surge.

  “The whole Fishbowl went black, anybody could have done it,” Foster says.

  “I remember the stairs were all wet when I found her,” Kaytee stares off, wracked by the memory. “They were glistening. She either slipped, or someone wanted it to look like an accident.”

  “A mole in the staff is our best guess,” Chapter tells me. “It would also explain why they were able to figure out our past names for the Volx. You’d have to be on the inside to get those.”

  “And I’m sure they weaseled their way into that room of documents,” says Foster. He shakes his head. “Either that, or they could’ve blackmailed a guard into telling them. They’re obviously more than willing to make a threat.”

  My mind fights to process all this information. I glance over at the ornate walls. So many secrets are being held in this mansion—more than I ever would’ve thought. Kaytee and Race. Foster and Finley. The Fissarex and the members’ pasts. And now this. The persistent threat of being killed off.

  They share their old names to give me context for the list, and I share the placements I saw. In first place is Chapter, Roman.

  Till is in second, Quinn.

  Kaytee, Odette, is third.

  Foster, as I knew, is ranked fourth, Scott.

  Which makes Race Holden. He is ahead of me in fifth, which put me at a tentative sixth. I say tentative, because mine and the other names were wavering so much, there’s no telling where they might be now. Even so, being in sixth place doesn’t even make me at the bottom of this Volx list. There is still the name Tiffany at the bottom, with a dark, bolded line crossing it out.

  Bree.

  When I share with the rankings, Kaytee addresses her boyfriend with gravity. “Race …”

  “You’re in a great spot,” he tells her, deflecting. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Do you think we should tell Norax?” I ask. But judging by the ransom note in my hands, I know it’s a stupid question.

  “If you want to tell her and die, be my guest,” says Till. Upon everyone’s shocked faces, she shrugs. “What? That’s what would happen.”

  All this information coming at me is bewildering. I can’t even wrap my head around how much weight they’ve been carrying. Is that what Kaytee meant when she told Till not to feel guilty about Bree at my tea party? Was her name, Quinn, at the bottom of the Volx before they entered the Fishbowl, sure she’d be the one to go?

  “But why is this happening again?” Kaytee cries. “We had a whole other Darkening, and no one died then! Why would they come back now?”

  All eyes fall over in my direction, and it’s clear I’m to blame. A flare of shame streaks through me. “Wait,” I say. “If I had known—”

  Chapter grabs my hand. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It could be her fault,” Kaytee whispers to herself. She doesn’t mean for me to hear, but of course I catch it, and it festers in my brain all the same.

  I stammer. “I don’t want—I wouldn’t—”

  The words are hard to find. I’ve only just officially met these people, but I feel as though I know them. How could I not, after these last two years getting to know them in the spotlight? I don’t want to see them dead any more than I wanted to see Bree die.

  “Maybe we should help each other out,” Chapter announces. “Instead of getting competitive.”

  This gets an eye roll from Till. “That’s easy for you to say, most-popular.”

  “You’re just behind him,” Foster mentions.

  “And you’re just behind me!”

  “And this is the kind of behavior they want from us,” Race says. “Comparing each other. Getting in our heads about it.” He regards Chapter. “Maybe we should work together. Try to be equally popular? That could work.”

  “Oh, like that’s possible!” Till snorts. “No matter what we do, one of us is going to die.”

  “But there has to be a way to stop them,” Race says. “I mean, there has to, right?”

  For a moment, no one responds. Is there a way to stop DEFED? One name on the Volx is already crossed out …

  “I guess I’m gonna check the Analytix for myself,” Foster finally says.

  Till hops up from her seat. “Me too.”

  Leaving Race’s room feels like moving through a crowded street—heads lowered, arms turned in, no acknowledging anyone. Following Kaytee down the hallway, I feel helpless. “Do you want to do another coffee run tomorrow?” I ask. “With Cartney? Wes Tegg’s?”

  She goes to say something, but stops herself, her face changing. I can’t read the expression. “Sure,” she says. “That sounds lovely.”

  Kaytee assures me she’ll come up with a time and place for us to meet, and we part ways. But then, the next morning, she’s already out of the house when I wake, and I don’t see her at all for the rest of the day.

  I see her picture later, though, in paparazzi shots at a nice new restaurant downtown with Cartney. Right next to them, on the other side of their booth, is Race and a girl I don’t recognize, but whom the tabloids call an emerging figure in the art world. A fake double date like this must’ve been excruciating for them, but they don’t show it on their faces at all. They clink their champagne glasses together and beam.

  And when I check the Volx, both of their names are several spots higher.

  × × ×

  The next couple of days see a titanic rise in Famoux member productivity. Everyone seems to be undercutting the other with big announcements and reveals.

  Kaytee’s high ranking on the Volx takes a dip when, the same afternoon that she heads out for coffee, Foster announces a new line of clothing he’ll help design and model in Bree Arch’s honor. To get back at him and raise her boyfriend’s ranking, Kaytee has Race announce he’ll be painting a portrait of Bree to be the cover art of her new single, For Bree. Using nostalgia to get a better ranking seems to be the key: the three of them spar for second and third spots on the Volx like a death match.

  Since all this infighting pushes Till to fifth place just above me, she gets desperate to return to a higher rank. She’s spotted at numerous tennis courts, which takes her fans by delightful surprise, as her jaunt into filmmaking with Riot! was supposed to mark a hiatus from sports. Her Volx ranking skyrockets, and the name Quinn circles up comfortably near the top again.

  Chapter hasn’t gone as frenzied about the whole thing as the others, but even he’s busier than usual—on a small media blitz for Key, which is getting more and more momentum as we near the premiere date. He doesn’t need to worry about overflowing his schedule like the others. No matter what they do, Chapter always remains somewhere within the top two spots on the Volx. He seems to have the largest subsection of fans. Or at the very least, the most dedicated.