The crowd grew into an uproar as party guests began panicking. Many wanted desperately to get downstairs.

“We need to go down there, Cristobal,” one man, Mr. Oakheart, yelled over the crowd. “The killer must still be down there! I haven't felt any presence trigger the seal but Mr. Red Rock when he went to check on the body.”

“Calm,” Cristobal cried out. “Mr. Red Rock, did you see anyone else down there when you went to check on Ms. Monarch?”

“No sir, I didn’t,” Mr. Red Rock said. “But I didn’t stick around too long. It’s possible the killer found a place to hide before I got to the body. There’s no way to know.”

“How could someone get into the cask room without permission?” a woman cried out.

“That's right,” another cried out, “What about the consensus of the living body? How could they get in and out through those protections?”

As they asked questions, the crowd continued to work itself up into an uproar.

“If they’re still there, we could all be killed!” one of the women realized aloud.

And just like that, a room of polite, concerned citizens became a mob. The team and I just did our best not to get run over.

Off-Screen.

As soon as we went Off-Screen, we were pulled aside by Grace and Chris.

“Pay attention to everything the NPCs say,” Grace said the moment we had separated from the mob.

Many of the NPCs had run off down the halls. Some stayed behind and watched us. It was like they were waiting for something in the script, Mrs. Cloudburst, Jack Goforth, and Mrs. Opaline AKA Mary Lee Parrish were among them.

“Anything could be important,” she continued. “How many murder mysteries have you all done?”

We looked at each other for a moment.

“Just one,” Antoine said.

“Don’t tell me you’ve only done Ranger Danger?”

Antoine nodded.

Grace took a deep breath. “Stay calm and listen. We don’t know how long we have between scenes.”

Antoine, Kimberly, and I nodded our heads.

“This is a murder mystery first and foremost,” Grace said. “There's magic involved with this one which means that without some constraint, anyone could have killed the victim. Luckily Carousel only does fair play murder mysteries. That means as time goes by, the rules of the mystery will slowly be revealed, usually through NPC dialogue. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

Kimberly didn't look as certain.

“Everything we learn for the rest of Rebirth and maybe even a little longer than that will be important for figuring out the mystery. We will be given enough information to understand what happened. In fact, collectively, we may already have the information we need, however obscured.” She eyed each of us, making sure that we understood. “Now tell me everything that you know.”

Kimberly and Antoine started to relay the information they had learned during the party.

“We found this hidden room,” Kimberly said. “It was really old; everything was covered in dust. It looked like nobody had been in there in decades. We found this,” she reached her hands over to Antoine, who retrieved a small book from his jacket pocket. She took the book from him and handed it to Grace. “It fell off a shelf and opened up right in front of us, so we figured it must be important. It's got some weird pictures in it.”

The book turned out to be a photo album, and its pictures told a story.

I did my best to get a good look as Grace flipped through it. The first picture in the album had three people in it. I recognized two of them, One of them for certain. It was Cristobal and Mrs. Midnight. The third man wore a mask identical to Mrs. Midnight. I assumed that he must have been Mr. Midnight. It looked like their bodies were the same, but the masks could have been tricking me. Cristobal, though, didn't have a mask.

“Well, that confirms it,” Grace said. “He doesn't look like he's aged a day.”

The photograph had a small inscription under it that read June 1st, 1906.

“That was almost 100 years ago,” I said. “It's 1992 right now.”

Grace flipped the page. The next picture was very similar. It had the same three people in it. The only difference was that they were standing in front of a building under construction--the Mansion itself.

And they weren't alone.

Behind them stood 12 other people--both men and women--each wearing masquerade masks similar to the guests had that night.

“November 12th, 1922,” Grace read.

She turned to the next page. The mansion was fully built in this one, and the 12 people behind them had grown to several dozen.

“1938.”

She turned the page again.

“1945.”

As she turned the pages, it became obvious that the people behind them were changing. Not only were they getting more numerous, growing to the numbers that they had in the present day, but they were getting older. More and more grayheads started to show up in the pictures. Soon, there wasn't a person in the picture under sixty if you didn't count the three up front.

“1972,” Grace read off one of the more recent pictures.

This one had even more people, but something was different. There were no more old people in the background. It was Cristobal, Mr. and Mrs. Midnight, and a collection of young fit people dressed in tuxedos and dancing gowns.

“Must have been after the time they started doing the body-controlling thing,” I said, looking over at the NPC that was still leaning over like a rag doll after the person controlling her had been killed. “The lady I was talking to said something about having to ship herself over oceans and continents. I'm guessing that she was being literal. I assume that the old folks from these pictures are still alive, and most are downstairs.”

“I think similarly,” Grace said. “Remember, just because this story has magical nonsense in it does not mean it isn't a straightforward murder mystery. If you find NPCs operating under an assumption, then you need to explore that assumption. It won't always be true, but it will always be enlightening.”

“Riley, did you get anything?” she asked.

Antoine gave me a weird look that I didn't understand.

“Yeah, I could see some of that guy's tropes, the one without the mask. He's so high level I couldn't even see half of them, though.” I told them all about the tropes I had seen, including the one that worried me the most: Bottomless Bag of Tricks.

“Oh yeah,” I added, “There are a lot of guest bedrooms upstairs and a bunch of rooms downstairs that are important, I think, and there's also an aquarium room, but my Location Scout ability didn't get much more than that.”

“I was meaning to ask,” Antoine said, “How are we supposed to beat that guy when his plot armor is 60? Are you going to be able to beat him by yourself?” He asked, looking at Chris.

“I've fought worse,” Chris said. “We may have some luck on that department, though. Riley said that this storyline was tough but not the worst. Right, Riley?” He asked me.

I nodded. “It wasn’t the highest difficulty. I don't know how we're up against someone that strong.”

“Well, if Riley’s right,” Chris said, “We may be in luck. Enemies that have a suspiciously high level for the storyline they're in usually don't have to be fought, or else they have some really easily exploitable weakness. In a way, his high level could be a blessing, but I'm not sure how yet.”

The conversation went on, and much of it involved Grace reiterating her points about us paying attention to what NPCs were saying.

Apparently, a murder mystery could really go off the rails if it wasn't for the fact that the mystery would continue to be refined further and further as the story went along until eventually, the player would know all the limitations, and hopefully, if they were paying attention, they would know exactly which threads to pull. The problem was that clues often presented themselves for a time and then disappeared forever. Finding them before they did was crucial.

"If we were going for perfection," Grace said, "We might try an escape attempt because our characters would be scared right about now. Of course, it wouldn't work for some convoluted reason. We can't escape this storyline. The attempt would end up getting one of us killed--"

"Or turned into a puppet," Chris added.

"Or more likely turned into a puppet," Grace agreed. "I say we just skip that part and focus on solving the mystery. With three under-leveled players, I don't feel like getting fancy. Sound good?"

The three of us nodded.

After a little more coaching and encouragement from Chris and Grace, it was time to move on.

On-Screen.

Mr. Flamingo (AKA Jack Goforth) approached us in a hurry.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Is this some freaky murder mystery rich person bullshit?”

He gestured over at the husk of Ms. Monarch, who still stood limp, like a puppet.

“Is this a story for the magazine or my therapist?” Jack asked. His eyes were wide with frenzy.

“Let’s not panic yet, Jack,” Grace said. “There has to be a logical explanation for this.”

“A woman told me I had a nice body earlier, Grace. Then she asked me if I chose it or if it was chosen for me.”

“Jack may be right,” Chris said. “Did you see these pictures that Antione and Kimberly found? Weird stuff.”

“What pictures?” Grace and Jack asked at the same time.

Of course, Grace knew exactly what pictures he was referring to, but now that we were on screen, we basically had to go over everything we had just been over from the point of view of the characters we were playing.

That didn't take too long. Luckily, Grace, Jack, and Chris covered most of it. But I did get a few lines in.

“You're not saying what I think you're saying,” Jack asked.

“I'm saying everything up here is a puppet and that the real people are downstairs,” I said.

“Why did we bring this kid? You're freaking me out,” Jack said. “OK, I snuck into the party in one of the catering vans. I think I could get us back to it, and we could find a way out of here. What do you say?”

“Jack, we came here to find a story. We may have just found one. You want to leave now?” Grace asked.

“We work for a celebrity gossip magazine, Grace!” Jack said. "We do not handle things like this!"

“I thought you said we were more than that.”

“I was very wrong. We are tabloid journalists. Let’s go home.”

Grace shook her head. “I need to figure out what’s going on here, Jack. Weren’t you a serious investigative reporter once?”

“I have a tendency to exaggerate,” Jack said. “Even if we did stay, what’s the story? Rich people are body-swapping in the Carousel Hills? There is no amount of proof that could substantiate that.”

“I need to know,” Grace said. “And you are going to help me. You are technically qualified whether you would deny it or not. Now we need to go over and see what these people are discussing downstairs. Come with me and play it cool. You’re Jack Goforth. Pretending to be rich and important is something you’ve practiced your whole life. You’ll be fine.”

Grace then walked away from the group, and toward the direction the NPCs had traveled.

Truthfully, as Grace had explained, we couldn’t escape. We didn't know if escape was a viable win condition. Even if it was, we couldn’t do it until the Finale. The only way forward was to solve the mystery and, as per Grace’s trope, “expose” the truth, whatever that meant.

As we went forward, the Off-Screen light triggered sporadically as the camera captured footage of us and random NPCs making our way through the crowds to get downstairs.

“Do you really think someone is killing us down there?” Mrs. Cloudburst asked in a panic after rejoining me further down the hallway.

“I have no idea,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

The direction that all of the NPCs were headed turned out to be the door that Mrs. Cloudburst had referred to as the wine cellar. The door had not been opened. Cristobal and Mrs. Midnight stood in front of it.

“Enough!” Cristobal screamed. He lifted his hands, and a bolt of neon blue electricity shot from his fingertips, making a wicked crackle and getting the guests' attention.

Jack gave Grace a wide-eyed stare but stood firm.

“The cask room cannot be entered or exited without our permission. Flooding our way in will serve no purpose. Mr. Red Rock said that he saw no one, and I would like to believe him,” Cristobal said. “I understand you are all worried about your bodies. That is reasonable. I tell you the truth: we will find the person who did this even if we have to search every square inch of the Mansion to do it.”

He continued trying to placate the crowd to mixed levels of success.

“Now he likes Mr. Red Rock,” Mary Lee Parrish, AKA Mrs. Opaline said under her breath to Grace, but also loud enough for everyone around to hear.

We had stayed toward the back of the crowd.

“What do you mean by that?” Grace asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Mary Lee said.

After a few seconds, she continued anyway. “Fifteen years ago, Cristobal tried to exile Red Rock from the Society. Red Rock had brought some outsiders in. Cristobal was furious. If Mr. Midnight hadn’t stepped in to save his neck, Red Rock wouldn’t be here. Now Red Rock’s punishment is to be the steward of the Carousel Mansion for the next forty years or so. Suddenly Cristobal trusts Red Rock?”

“People change,” Mrs. Cloudburst said. “Cristobal is very understanding. He’s just protective.”

“I never said to the contrary,” Mary Lee said. “Guess we wouldn’t be surprised if Red Rock makes a move to be the Third. Seeing as they’re best friends now.”

Mrs. Cloudburst turned to me. “That woman is so obnoxious.”

“Yeah, well…. Maybe she’s just stressed from the situation,” I said.

“Maybe,” Mrs. Cloudburst suggested. “But the Third must be chosen by the collective. Cristobal knows how important the rules are. For her to suggest someone could sway his judgment... It’s infuriating.”

“I hear you,” I said.

“The Third will be a knowledgeable sorcerer from the collective. Not some halfwit who would expose our secrets to the world.”

“Maybe you should be the Third,” I said.

She smiled and playfully smacked my arm. “I am not a knowledgeable sorcerer. Truthfully, I only joined so that I could keep living, continue the ride, you know. I never really cared for much else.”

“Same,” I said. I just kept agreeing with her, and she kept telling me things. I wondered if that was how women were in real life.

“Though it would be nice to be walking around in my own body,” she said. “I really was beautiful once, you know.”

That was a strange thing to say. Most of the people at the party were, objectively, very good-looking. Mrs. Cloudburst (or at least her host body) included.

“You still ar—” I started to say. “Wait. So the new Third does get to keep their original body?”

This was an obvious extension of the photo book that Kimberly found. The Main three didn’t need hosts because their bodies didn’t age.

Mrs. Cloudburst looked at me like I was an idiot. “Of course. All of the Three do. They don't have to vegetate in casks like we do.”

“I’ve never really thought about it before,” I said. Hoping I didn’t blow my cover.

Having an NPC friend was quite useful. I would have to try it more often. The more we learned about the strange puppet spell, the better we could solve the murder.

I was certain I would learn a lot more because, as we finished talking, Cristobal started letting people into the wine cellar to check on their bodies.

It was time to meet the Society face to face.