Prologue
Three weeks before that night, in the east wing of Blackwood Manor, an old woman sat up in bed and asked her butler for good paper.
“The heavy stock,” said Vivienne Blackwood. “And the wax. If I’m going to ruin somebody’s life, I’m going to do it properly.”
The butler brought the paper. The cat watched from the foot of the bed. Outside, the mountain wore its evening fog like a borrowed coat.
She wrote for an hour. She was not a woman who did drafts — she had said, more than once, that second drafts were for people who didn’t mean it the first time — but this letter she wrote three times, and burned twice.
It was not the money that made it hard. The money had stopped being interesting years ago, around the time she noticed it leaking. Slowly. Politely. Through paperwork so clean you could eat off it. She knew who was doing it. She had known for thirty years. Knowing had cost her a sister’s family, a Christmas, and every quiet dinner since.
No. What made the letter hard was the person it was for. The last of her sister’s line. A stranger with unpaid rent and — if the photograph her investigator had sent was honest — her chin.
She sealed the envelope. She pressed the wax with the family ring. Then Vivienne Blackwood leaned back on her pillows, folded her hands, and said the sentence that set the whole night in motion:
“Mortimer. I’d like to plan my funeral. I intend to attend it.”
The butler did not blink. Thirty years of service had retired his blink.
“Very good, madam,” he said. “And the guests?”
The old woman smiled. And the cat, who had never once been wrong about a person, moved up the bed and settled against her hip — the way you take your seat early, when you know the show is going to be good.
“Invite everyone,” said Vivienne Blackwood. “Let’s find out who they are.”
How to Read This Book
Don’t read this book in order. It won’t make sense that way — and yes, every choice sends you somewhere new, so peeking ahead will only spoil somebody else’s fate.
Start at section 1. At the end of each section, you make a choice. Follow the instruction — turn to 14, turn to 32 — and keep going until you reach one of 28 endings.
Some endings make you rich. Some get you killed. One makes you famous in a way you will not enjoy.
Somewhere in this house, one ending explains everything. Nobody finds it on the first try.
Good luck.
— 1 —
The eviction notice is stuck to your fridge. Fourteen days. That's how long you have to find three months of rent, or start living in your car.
Then the letter arrives.
Real paper. A wax seal. Inside, in sharp, old-fashioned handwriting:
To the last of my sister's line —
I am dead. Try to contain your grief.
You are named heir to Blackwood Manor and the sum of $4.2 million. There is one condition. Come to the Manor tonight. Stay under its roof from midnight until dawn. At six in the morning, my will shall be read. Leave early, and your share goes to the others.
They will be there. They always show up when money does.
— Vivienne Blackwood
You have never heard of Vivienne Blackwood. Your mother never mentioned her. Your mother never mentioned anyone from her family, actually. You always wondered why.
$4.2 million. One night.
» Pack a bag and go → turn to 19
» No way. Nothing about this is normal → turn to 75
— 19 —
The road to Blackwood Manor climbs the mountain in sharp turns. The storm starts halfway up. Rain hammers the windshield. The GPS gives up and just says Proceed, which feels like a dare.
Then your headlights find her.
A woman stands at the edge of the road in a soaked gray coat, one arm raised. There's no car behind her. No driveway. No reason for anyone to be standing out here.
Every horror movie you've ever seen starts yelling at you at once.
» Pull over and pick her up → turn to 25
» Keep driving. You have enough problems → turn to 42
— 75 —
You put the letter in the junk drawer, where suspicious things belong.
The phone rings an hour later.
"Mr. Finch," the voice says. "Lawyer for the late Ms. Blackwood. I understand you got the letter."
"I'm not coming."
A pause. "Ms. Blackwood expected that. So I'm allowed to offer you ten thousand dollars just for showing up. No conditions on that part. Call it an appearance fee."
Ten thousand dollars is three months of rent, with money left over.
And yet. Something in his voice is too eager. Lawyers don't chase reluctant heirs at nine at night. Not unless the heir matters to them.
» Fine. You'll go → turn to 19
» Still no. Trust your gut → turn to 26
— ? —
The gates of Blackwood Manor open for you.
What waits inside is in the full book.