Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

His own soft footsteps were pulsing loudly in his ears. His mind, though, ignored them, focused almost entirely on the location hinted at in the note.

It hadn't been hard to piece together. The back of the page had a sketch of a large and shattered egg laying in front of a castle wall. A row of armored knights stood behind it, oblivious to its ruin. Since the image had nothing to do with the message on the front there was only one conclusion Orrie could draw: go to the room with the knights.

Or, rather, the hall with the armored suits he'd passed through with Siegfried. He entered with wariness and caution; the suits were still standing orderly, not a single one out of place. And there, in the middle of the long corridor, he stood. The Alcor impersonator was grinning, almost proudly, at Orrie, wholly ignoring the crumpled body before him. Orrie felt a weight plummet into his stomach. He just spoke with Siegfried not even an hour ago. Now…now he was lying face-down on the floor, a blunt mace not far from his head, a trickle of blood seeping from the back of his skull. Orrie did his best to ignore it too. He was failing.

"I'm glad to see you solved that little riddle of mine," the fake said, stepping over Siegfried's body. There was a distinct lack of synthetic reverb in his voice; he probably no longer felt the need to pretend anymore. "Though it wasn't all that hard to figure out to begin with, was it?" The boy didn't say anything as he approached. "Still, congrats."

"Why do you want me here?" Orrie forced himself to mutter. He uncrumpled the note from his pocket. "What do you mean by this?" 'Alcor's' smirk grew wider as he read the paper, and despite looking like the few images of the Dreambender, Orrie could no longer find any remote similarities between him and Dipper. It was too surreal how the literal demon had more humanity than the actual human.

"I'm sure you've already figured that one out too," laughed the fake. Orrie kept his eyes away from the body, but the imposter could still infer his held question. "You can go ahead and ask. 'Why did I kill him', hm? The answer's quite obvious."

"B-because," Orrie uttered lowly, hand crinkling the paper once more, "he wasn't…the inside help, was he?" The mocking clap only enflamed the hurt inside him further.

"Correct. See? I knew you figured it out." But Orrie wished he hadn't. Because that meant…

Orrie glanced at the paper, its obscured message now nearly screaming in his mind's ear:

"Poor pussy nearly drowned, her assailant nowhere to be found."

"Now…" The fake reached inside his vest and pulled out a thin booklet. "I believe this belongs to you. It's only fair since you helped solve the hints to find it." He held out the clue, and Orrie froze, spotting the dark red splotches on its spine. "Well?" Slowly, the boy accepted the clue. It was real, which meant so was this dangerous man giving it to him. Orrie took a hurried step away.

The imposter didn't pursue, but he did narrow his eyes. "Alright, now how about a tit for a tat: Is Dipper Sterling truly Alcor?" Orrie fought every muscle in his body to prevent any emotion from betraying him, made certain not one expression—not even a twitch—gave him away. 'Alcor' raised a brow. "Silent treatment? Well, it doesn't matter; I'll have my answer soon enough. And it might be interesting to see his reaction to it all even if he isn't the real deal."

"What are you planning on doing?" Orrie couldn't stop himself from blurting the question. All this terror, all these killings, and he still hadn't the foggiest idea as to what this man was plotting.

To his surprise, the fake Alcor spun on his heel and began to walk away. "You're not getting any more answers from me," he called back "Just make sure you continue to do your part." He rounded the corner and disappeared. What an odd thing to say, but Orrie didn't pay too much mind. He swallowed. The ache in his chest was growing. Because if he could no longer ask the imposter for answers that left…

…But he thought he could trust the man. Out of everyone, he seemed the most determined to actually stop the murderer and protect everyone. He was the most approachable, save Belle and Dipper, and was even the one who gave them their first hint. Orrie couldn't possibly accept that…but the fake had all but confirmed it…

It was the sound of soft shuffling that brought him from his thoughts. Whirling around, he saw Zahia attempting to creep out from a tiny space between one of the suits and the wall. "Zahia? You were there the whole time?" The woman said nothing as she started to back away, fearful eyes keeping constant vigilance on him, and Orrie had a sinking suspicion as to why. "You've got to believe me– it wasn't what it looked like."

But Zahia's panicked gaze never softened. "Do you really expect me to believe that? You and that man must have some sort of arrangement going on where he keeps you alive as long as you, I don't know, spy on the rest of us." Orrie blinked.

"What? No. That's not it at all. Listen—"

But Zahia covered her ears. "I don't care what you have to say!" She turned and ran. "You're helping that murderer!"

"No, I'm not!" Orrie gave chase. This place was simply too dangerous for them to be splitting up, and he really needed to get back to Dipper and Belle as soon as possible. "He told me to come here! I didn't know what he did to Mr. Connolly!"

"Then why didn't you seem surprised!? You just accepted that book without another word. Or was that also part of you doing 'your part'?" Orrie's face flushed with aggravation. So the imposter knew she was hiding there; that's why he said that. "Just stay away from me! Stop following me!"

"But we can help you! If you'll just let me explain every—" His words quickly died as he skidded to a stop. Flynn was standing in the hallway, at first facing away as he watched Zahia flee down the hall, then turned around, stunned, to see it was Orrie pursuing her.

"Why are you—?" But his gaze shifted down toward the bloody clue in Orrie's hand. The silence between them was like dark ink dripping into water, thickening and choking the air until it was difficult to breathe. Orrie took a step back, and instantly Flynn's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you stay in your room?" he demanded.

Orrie didn't respond, slowly inching further and further away from the elf. Flynn took one step forward. "Orrie, did you kill someone to get that?" Now Orrie froze. For Flynn to not only be siding with the murderers but to also be playing along and accuse him of murdering Siegfried—

Indignation spurred inside him. "Why would I need to kill him? I'm not a murderer." He quickly looked about, trying to find something to possibly use as a shield or, if worst case, a weapon. But all that was in this mostly barren stretch of hallway were a portrait on the wall and a giant vase, the latter nearer to Flynn. Maybe he could get away before Flynn caught him? Despite their current distance, Orrie doubted his odds. "I don't even know why you're still acting."

"Acting?" Flynn looked convincingly perplexed, but his accusatory glare returned soon enough. "'Him'? So you mean Siegfried?"

"Why do you keep pretending? You're the one who helped kill him!"

"Orrie, listen to yourself– why would I kill Siegfried?"

"Because you're working with that fake Alcor!"

Flynn paused, staring at Orrie curiously. "…And why would you think that?"

"He pretty much told me."

"Through a note?" Now it was Orrie's turn to hesitate.

"Er, well, yeah…" And he fished out the note from his pocket. He balled up the paper and threw it toward Flynn, who caught it effortlessly and unfurled it to read it. "Wait, how did you know?"

"Because I got one as well." And he took out a note from his own coat pocket. The boy warily approached, and the elf handed it to him. He could read:

"Anything for his pretty little Dutch girl"

Orrie's cheeks flushed. The phrase didn't ring any bells, but he could still tell it was based on a nursery rhyme, just like the notes found by all the other victims. Even his own matched the writing style. "I. Am. Such. An idiot." To think he believed that fake for more than a second; Orrie wasn't sure if humiliation or shame was the more accurate word to describe his feelings. "I'll take it he gave this to you too?"

"Not too long ago, yes," Flynn nodded, taking back the note. "I…I'll admit I also fell for his trick. I was actually on my way to question you and the Sterling twins about your involvement with the killer."

Orrie handed him back the note. "Us?" Orrie thought about it and could kind of understand Flynn's reasoning. He supposed Flynn thought Dipper being blackmailed through Belle and would do anything the killer said to keep her safe. That made sense, though that didn't give Flynn any reason to confront him. Then Orrie thought some more on the note's wording and came to what Flynn likely concluded. He wasn't embarrassed; in fact, he chuckled softly to himself. "Oh. Don't worry; none of us has any reason to be involved. We're safe for now."

The elf smiled a small smile at his honesty. "That's good. But where are your friends now, and why aren't you with them?"

"They're resting in their room. We've had quite an exciting morning." It was obvious from his tone he was understating things. "As for me being alone, I didn't want to get them involved. I figured there was a reason that imposter gave this note only to me."

"Reason or not, it was foolish to come by yourself. Do they at least know you're here?"

"Dipper sort of does. And I need to get back to them." He trusted Flynn, but he didn't trust this hall not to be wired. "See, they're both powerful sorcerers. If we all work together and get rid of the second master rune, I'm sure we can get out."

"Second? Honestly, you children," Flynn sighed, but Orrie could tell he was relieved nothing had happened to them. The man led the way to the foyer, his pace brisk and with purpose. "So is that all you three have been up to?"

"I wish," Orrie said, expression instantly darkening, "Siegfried kidnapped me and forced me to look for a clue. Then he ran off with it before I could read it. And that was after Belle was taken by one of the cultists—"

"You saw them?"

"No. They went down a trapdoor before we could catch them. But Dipper and I were able to find and free her. It was during then I got the note. What about you?" He stared inquisitively at the back of Flynn's head. The man's steps slowed somewhat.

"The bodies," he answered softly. Orrie gave a nonverbal reply. "Be it secret tunnels or rooms, I've been looking for where the murderers might have taken them. You've noticed already that they're missing."

"Yeah." Noticed, definitely. Cared…that, regretfully, had been practically the furthest thing from his mind. Of course he noticed when the Tosettis disappeared and briefly wondered what had happened to them, but that was quickly overlooked in favor for a night's rest.

"There's a reason they're gone. Even Dug's body has been moved. These people, everyone behind these elaborate traps and deaths, they want us dead, but they're refusing to come out and kill us immediately." He paused, hand to chin as he pondered on something. "They're certainly spying on us, so it's most logical to conclude they're waiting for us to do—or not do—something. It appears that whenever we accomplish or fail to do whatever they want from us they'll have no hesitancy in killing us." He glanced at Orrie. "What exactly did you do with Siegfried before he was killed?"

Orrie held up the clue. "Find the hints, then the clue. Other than being forced to do it, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Siegfried then ran off with it, and I went to find Dipper and Belle in an underground labyrinth. We, um, we managed to get out." Obviously. "And the rest you already know. I found Siegfried already dead when that fake gave this to me."

Flynn nodded. "So it's clear that just looking for clues isn't enough for them. It seems the seven of us—"

"Um," Orrie spoke quietly, sadly, "It's…it's only five of us now." The only response Orrie caught was a sharp whisper of that elfen swear word again. Then he suddenly held out his arm, and Orrie nearly crashed into it. The entryway to the foyer was only a few feet away, but Flynn was staring intently at it. "What's wrong?"

The former investigator didn't say anything. Instead, he motioned for Orrie to stay where he was as he took three slow and deliberate steps forward. He waited. He took another step and stopped. He then took one step back. "It's not safe," he murmured loud enough for Orrie to hear. The boy took a subconscious step backwards. "The foyer isn't, I mean," Flynn clarified, turning his head to look back. "There's something waiting to be sprung once we enter. Come here, but do not take a step past me." Against common sense, Orrie walked warily to where Flynn stood. "Listen." He did so and forced himself to shut his eyes and concentrate. It was faint, so very easy to miss, but there was the sound of something mechanical clicking. Or winding. Or ticking. Well, whatever it was doing, it couldn't be anything good. Orrie thought back to the spikes that were hidden in the walls.

"I think we can get around it," the boy said, reaching for his bag. He yanked out his sketchbook and flipped quickly to the sketched map. "Yep. We're in this hall here," he pointed to the southeastern-most hall, "so we can take the long way around to reach the northwest hall here, then creep along the edge of the foyer to get to the stairs."

Flynn studied the map briefly before nodding. "Yes, I agree. Let's hurry." They spun around and were almost immediately greeted by a blazing wall of fire. It—it had appeared from nowhere! And already it had engulfed the entire corridor they'd come down, devouring walls, floor, and ceiling voraciously as it crept eagerly toward the trapped guests. Orrie's mind at first couldn't process the sight, but once it did it forced his body to react without a shred of thought.

The boy flung open the nearest door. "This way!"

"Orrie!" But Orrie had already grabbed Flynn's hand and pulled the man inside. Almost in a daze Flynn followed after him. He slammed the door, but his hand remained on the doorknob. "That…that wasn't normal."

"When did they sneak up on us?" Orrie kept throwing glances toward the door as if scared it would soon open and the flames would race inside. "And how did a fire even get that big? Did they turn off the sprinklers too?"

"Wait—no. No!" Flynn tried turning the handle. It wouldn't budge; it was locked. "NO!" He banged once against it, but it refused to open. Orrie froze where he stood. His heart sank. Were they…

"It was a trap!" Flynn again tried to ram the door down, and again was unsuccessful. "And we fell for it. That fire was strange because it didn't make any sound, its smoke didn't give off a smell; it was—"

"It was an illusion." Orrie finished with a whisper. The coldness of fear made him shiver. "He wanted us here."

"That or the foyer to trigger the trap there." Flynn made one last attempt to force open the door—a kick with all his might—but it just wasn't enough. His frustration was clear, but when he saw Orrie's ashen face he visibly calmed himself. "Don't panic. We'll find a way out." He approached the boy.

"I'm not going to panic again," uttered Orrie lowly, though he found it difficult to actually move his limbs. Flynn saw this, and with a gentle push, helped get Orrie walking toward the back of the room. Though the lights were off there were several lamps that were lit and giving off a soft, dim glow. This appeared to be a play room for really small children and would have been a bit charming in any other circumstance. The entire area was themed like a farm, having play mats with tractors and dolls of farm animals and tables shaped like long, flat horses with plastic haystacks for stools. Dividing the small room between the play area and the "classroom" was a waist-high wooden fence, with two wooden roosters facing them and a gate between the two.

"I recognize this room." Flynn stepped past the gate and into the play area. "I was in here briefly while looking for a hint the other day. There's another room connected to this one." He searched the walls. "There was a sliding door shared between them; it should be around here." Orrie entered the area too and helped look. They found the door soon enough, but it too was locked. Orrie quickly spotted a keyhole.

"What are the odds the key is in this room somewhere?"

"None at all."

Orrie and Flynn both whipped around. The Alcor impersonator was standing in front of the gate, smirking at them with utter pleasure. And the roosters' heads had spun around, now turned directly at them. The imposter took a step forward. "Just like I had no fun at all trying to turn you two against each other."

In a single movement, Flynn grabbed Orrie and shoved him behind him while taking a threatening step closer to the other man. "What reason do you have being here? Are you targeting us specifically? Answer me."

"Truth be told, I didn't care who fell for my ruse; you two happened to be the most convenient at the time." The impersonator grinned. "An idea struck me while watching you all, and I figured why not see what happens if I make someone think another was a killer, perhaps even a mole for me. It amused me enough to try, so I set you up. You, Fairfern, were easy enough to catch alone; and young Orrie here only had to stray away from his pals for a second to get my note."

"So that threat about you having inside help," said Orrie, "was a lie, wasn't it?"

"Oh, no, I do have inside help. But my words were a bit more literal than you thought." A bit more literal? So when he said 'inside' help, was he referring to the secret tunnels, perhaps behind the manor's walls? That had to be it and how the other cultists could commit the murders and escape without getting caught. The fake frowned. "Honestly, it was the perfect plan to get you all paranoid and distrusting of each other. Watch you run around like scared mice. But then you started talking and reasoning, and you sorted out the mess before I could even sit back and enjoy the show."

This really was all a game to him, such sick amusement. Orrie saw Flynn clench his fist and felt the elf's foot push firmly against the tip of his own, and he understood almost instantly. Without any other motions Flynn managed to convey his plan to Orrie: he'd fight off the imposter, and during that time Orrie would have to make a break for the exit. The boy nudged his foot back and took the tiniest step away.

The impostor narrowed his eyes. "Ah ah ah. We have come much too far for there to be any hope of you escaping. And it's really a shame you both spoiled my fun." He held up his hand, his fingers ready poised to snap. "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Time to get rid of you two." Upon the last word he snapped loud and clear, much louder, Orrie failed to notice, than the pair of tiny pellets fired from the roosters' open beaks. He didn't even feel it at first, the burning pierce through his chest, the warm stickiness blooming from Flynn's torso and dripping onto his face as he dove to cover him. The shock of everything happening so violently and so quickly made time itself pause to stand still and watch. Slowly did it resume its eternal crawl forward, but not fast enough.

Not enough…

Orrie was breathless.

Not enough…

His legs fell from under him.

Not enough…air…

"Orrie!" Flynn was on his knees too, his palm pressed hard against Orrie's chest, its warmth and pressure growing steadily dull and distant to the boy. Orrie wanted to respond, but his body seemed entirely disconnected from his jumbled thoughts. It was in panic, desperate to give itself the oxygen it could not for whatever reason obtain. His own shallow breaths sounded thick and heavy to his ears. "I need help! Is someone out there?" Flynn was shouting. The shouting kept Orrie grounded. Kept him assured. Calm. But still out of breath. Like his lungs couldn't fill…

"Zahia!" Flynn was repositioning Orrie to lie on his front side, his hand never leaving the hole in the boy's chest as he laid his upper body in his lap. Orrie coughed and choked at the movement, and spurts of blood-mixed spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "Dipper! Belle! Someone!" Orrie's breathing grew more irregular as his eyelids started to close. "Orrie!? Stay with—!" He coughed and buckle, his adrenaline no longer able to keep most of the pain of his own bullet wound at bay. He whispered an elfen spell under his breath, something to mitigate his internal bleeding. But it was a slow process.

Flynn started to slouch forward. The pain was excruciating now; maybe the bullet punctured his stomach or his liver. It'd definitely shattered a rib. But his injuries were nothing to Orrie's: the second bullet had clearly torn through the boy's right lung. If help didn't arrive shortly, he was going to asphyxiate. Orrie's breathing faltered. "Some—SOMEONE, PLEASE!"

Footsteps pounded outside, and the door nearly flew off its hinges with brother and sister barging in. Dipper, wings flared to keep him airborne, landed on fours beside them in an instant, his disguise utterly abandoned as he took in the sight of the two. Belle was less than a second behind him. Her eyes were wide as she stared at their injuries, like this was all too impossible to even be happening. "Help them, Dipper," she urged, her eyes glistening with pleading tears. "You can fix this, can't you?" Dipper bared his teeth, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I…can't. Not without a deal. Their injuries are too severe."

"I can offer—"

"There isn't anything you can offer," her brother cut her off. "The price is too high. I'm sorry." His eyes, though so dark and inhuman and turned away, held the greatest amount of sorrow Flynn had ever witnessed in his fading life.

"…My life." Dipper's eyes shot back to the elf. "Will you accept my life to save Orrie's?"

"You're—"

"If one of us has to die, let it be me. I swore that I'd get you all home to your families. I've lived a long and decent life; I have no qualms making the offer." He stared directly at the deceptively young teen. "A life for a life. Is that a deal, Dreambender?" Dipper, hesitating but a second, nodded and grabbed his hand. Blue fire raced down their arms.

"Deal." Immediately the blood on Orrie began to evaporate like ash carried by the wind. The wounds started to delicately mend themselves closed. Color seeped back into Orrie's face, and his breathing, just ago hardly a whispery rattle, grew more even. Flynn groaned, his grip weakening in Dipper's.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of better help sooner. But maybe you all can still make it. I found a clue earlier; it's in my pocket. Maybe it'll help you find whoever's behind all this." The fire binding them receded. "Take care…and…get home safely…" Flynn's hand fell from his hold, landing almost quietly next to Orrie. The twins stayed silent—a weeping Belle respectfully bowing her head while Dipper fought back the roar rippling in his throat—until Orrie began to stir. He didn't say anything, but warm tears were flowing from his still closed eyes.

"This isn't your fault," Belle tried to assure him, but he shook his head and let out a heartfelt sob.

By not telling his friends about the note, this was entirely his fault.

Or at least that was what he was so convinced. So he needed to atone. He needed to find those cultists alongside Belle and Dipper, and he'd help the two take them down. Belle was right—he could break down later. Now he needed to concentrate on escaping with the other survivors.

As he dried his eyes, Orrie watched as Dipper rummaged through Flynn's coat pocket until he pulled out a clue. Orrie reached inside his backpack and pulled out the clue he found with Siegfried. "We have no time to waste," said Dipper, opening both booklets for them to read. Orrie read the one he found first to himself:

"Edgar, brilliant as he is, is crazy. Who in their right mind doesn't bring a weapon with them into the woods where they're going to be conducting illegal activity? And then convince everybody else not to? Traps are only so effective against intruders—and that's assuming they're sprung. At least the foreigner (Keller, I believe was his last name) had the same idea as me, bringing his own bow and arrows. Told Neil it was a good idea to bring someone who knew how to hunt into the group."

"IT WASN'T ME!

Howard was annoying, yes, with his constant teasing of me and Mary being a couple because of our codenames, but I didn't kill him! Someone's framing me! But Edgar won't believe me. And he won't give me back my gun. He keeps telling me that he trusted me and I betrayed him, but I DIDN'T. We have a traitor in our midst, and I refuse to go down without some form of protection. The ritual to summon Alcor is in a week's time, but at this rate only the double-crosser will survive long enough to have all the power for themselves."

Orrie closed his eyes after reading the two pages, concentrating and then mentally storing the information for later. This clue was yet another key in determining who wasn't the killer, but for now he couldn't go deeper into the thought. He turned to the second booklet and its pages:

"Whoa, never heard Mr. E raise his voice before. But Mr. S has more backbone than I gave him credit. Their yelling match could be heard all the way upstairs. I can sympathize with Mr. S– I'd be pretty pissed too if someone snapped all my hunting arrows in half. From what I could hear, the guy was only trying to get us a sacrifice to offer to Alcor. But Mr. E was scared he was drawing unwanted attention? Who else is out here, mate? I think Mr. E is becoming too paranoid for his own good."

"There is no way this is all a coincidence. Overdose I can see, but accidental gun discharge? I don't blame Mr. E for putting Mr. M on probation; his weapon shouldn't have been unlocked in the first place. But I fear his suspicions are directed toward the wrong person. It's too soon to point fingers, but I'm starting to doubt the one Mr. E holds high regards to.

R.I.P. Dean Kohl. May God have mercy on your soul."

Orrie sat back once he finished reading. So the second clue was a lot less interesting than the first. But clearly it had some importance if it was vital for solving the mystery. He closed the booklet, Belle having already finished it as well, and stuffed them both in his bag.

"Alright, we're kicking this into overdrive, people," Belle pounded her fist against her palm, her expression determined and fearless. "Orrie, is there any place we haven't been to yet? A room in the manor you haven't sketched?"

"Yes," Orrie said, his map by this point practically memorized to the smallest detail, "There's a hallway on the other side of the mansion. Down there is the only place I haven't been to yet."

"Gotcha. Bro, how do you feel about dealing with any obstacles we might come across? I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them."

"Way ahead of you," Dipper replied, his wings dissolving but his eyes remaining demonic. "But first." He snapped his fingers, and Flynn's body was engulfed in blue fire. Orrie let out a cry of alarm, but Dipper's otherwise solemn face told the boy this wasn't out of callousness. It was out of respect. His fire burned quickly, efficiently, completely. In just under a minute nothing remained, not even ash. The cultists had one less body to use for their nefarious deeds. "Lead the way."

Orrie instead hesitated. "The quickest way is through the foyer. How're we going to make it past the trap?"

"We just came from the foyer; we didn't see any traps." Orrie nearly couldn't believe Dipper's words, but he knew he was telling the truth. So what was the noise he heard earlier? Regardless, he guided his friends through the foyer and down the most direct path to the hall. As they ran, all the open doors they passed by closed shut, leading them further, and solely, toward their destination.

They rushed through the only door that did not bar itself shut. It looked like a room for seamstresses and tailors to work in as there were numerous mannequins scattered about the room, all of them wearing clothing styles of old and new. They split, pushing aside and checking anything and everything they could. The last hint or clue had to be in here.

"Hey! Guys, over here!" Belle was waving to them from one of the mannequins. It was outfitted with hunting apparel– shoes, gloves, fake gun, and all. One of the gloves was removed, showing the dummy's jointed hand. Except one of the fingers didn't quite look right compared to the others. The segment showing where the right pinkie bended was different. Belle pulled it, revealing it to actually be a long key disguised as a finger. And when she lowered the hand back to its proper position, a tightly wound scroll fell out of the hole, which Dipper snatched before either could register the movement.

He unfurled the slip of paper, squinting slightly to read the small text. He read it aloud for them:

"The devil's bird has a secret to tell you."

"That's both specific and incredibly vague," sighed Belle, "I mean, seriously– the devil's bird? Like, an evil bird?"

"There is the Ulama, which is often called the Devil Bird outside of its native land, but they're not so much 'evil' as they are annoying," muttered her twin, "Plus, I don't think the hint's referring to them."

"Can you think of any evil birds?"

"None inherently so, no."

"What about birds representing evil?" Orrie asked. At this, Dipper scoffed humorlessly.

"It'd take all day to list them all. The most well-known, though, would have to be the crow."

Belle bit her lip. "Do you remember if we entered any rooms with crows? Saw anything with them? I don't recall seeing any pictures."

Orrie shut his eyes and imagined his map of the manor. Though his sketch had few details, they were enough to trigger memories of the much more major particulars of each room he simply chose not to include. Like the paintings in the hall. And the busts in the parlor.

"There's…a trophy room," he said slowly, picturing the location in his mind, piecing together the details. It was a bit of a struggle since he really only peeked inside. "It's not far from here. I remember seeing a line of birds by the side wall. They might have been crows."

The twins nodded. "It's the best shot we have," Belle told him. Now with a key in hand, they rushed once more through the halls. Orrie's head was starting to pound. The fear of activating a trap and the desperation to find the last clue in time was beginning to make his head hurt. He grimaced but ran forward anyway. They were so close.

The three reached the trophy room with no problem. And, just as Orrie said, to the left side of the room—opposite the wall with numerous mounted animal heads and taxidermic predators—was a large display of several birds poised ready to take flight. But they weren't crows.

"Magpies." Dipper said it like he should have realized that was the answer. Orrie thought the birds looked too pretty to be associated with evil, then reminded himself he needed to focus. With them being so close to the end he needed to concentrate, hard as it was starting to become; he couldn't let his excitement cloud his judgment.

Belle took half a step forward before pausing. She looked oddly confused. "Um…what was the hint again?"

"The devil's bird has a secret to tell you," her brother reminded her, approaching the stand. The long table had the ten magpies in a line. "And this actually makes things easier for us." He walked slowly down the table. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral, four for birth." He neared one bird in particular. "Five for silver, six for gold." He stopped walking. "Seven for a secret the devil won't unfold." He inspected the seventh magpie from afar before stepping forward and slowly beginning to turn its head. It twisted almost mechanically, and the three heard a metallic grind. Turning, they spotted a giant bear—upright and ready to strike down on a poor soul—open its mouth, a revealed booklet tumbling out.

Belle shuffled forward, getting to her knees to pick up the booklet. She inserted the key, and the other two peered over her shoulder to read the final clue:

"I don't know who to trust anymore. I'm terrified to leave my room. Stephen…Dean…Howard…Monty…my friends, I'm so sorry to what has happened to you. These last few days I've been wishing we never started this plan to trap Alcor; what we've done to each other is worse than what any demon could. I'm scared of Edgar; he hasn't been himself lately. I have my doubts about him. Maybe I should confide with Neil my worries…"

"Alright, I'll do it. I'll speak with Edgar in his room. Neil gave me his word he'd keep watch over me and come running from his own bedroom if he hears me shout for help. But I don't think I'll have to. I trust Edgar. He's my best friend, after all. We can talk. We can be civil. We can fulfill our dreams together."

Despite the weariness draining him, Orrie felt relieved. Their final clue! Now all they had to do was piece everything together. He pulled out the other clues and sat beside his friend. "Alright, so how should we go about doing this?" He opened them and pulled out all the papers. He stared at them intently, eyes heavy. "So…from this last clue we found we can rule out Stephen, Howard, Dean, and Monty as being the killer since they're dead. Meaning it's either Edgar, Neil, or Mary."

"I don't think that's enough," said Dipper, frowning, "I think we need to know the betrayer's full name to solve this, at least to satisfy our current killers." He closed his eyes. "We've known for a while that the names on our bedroom doors are the surnames. And by piecing together the clues, we now have all of their given names. So let's start from the beginning." Dipper reached for the very first clue they found. "We learned from this the existence of the Blue-Stripped Arachnids, and despite Mr. M's—or Monty's—level of magic, they managed to get inside the manor."

"Yeah," Belle nodded, and she pointed toward a sheet of paper from the third clue. "And here we learned that Sarkozy was terrified of them, so it's highly unlikely she used one to kill Monty Jans, the only other person with as much knowledge on magic as her. And since she's the only female mentioned, she has to be Mary Sarkozy."

"Then we learned the new guy, Stephen, was killed by medication overdose. Or that was how his death was framed." Orrie looked at the papers from the fourth clue. "Edgar Pierce seems to be the ringleader behind all of this based on this clue's writing. And we know Stephen and whoever wrote this clue don't have the last name Lemaire."

"Stephen's last name is Keller, if the fifth clue is anything to go by." Dipper held up the papers from said clue.

Belle rubbed small circles over her temples. "Right, right, meaning Stephen Keller had to have written the third clue because he mentioned the others as being the closest of friends. And…And Edgar wrote the second clue." She moaned, and Dipper stared at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. This is all just so much to process. Geez, I wanna' take a nap now."

"Later," Orrie tried to encourage her, though he too felt the same. "The fifth clue was written by Monty since there's a brief mention of Howard's teasing of him and Mary…and by everyone else's names mentioned in the fourth clue, that one had to have been written by Neil Not-Lemaire."

"…Mu-Monty was the one who b'ought the gun, righ'?" slurred Belle, and this time Dipper didn't ignore how out of it she looked. He dropped to his knees and placed a hand over her head.

"No fever, but—Belle!" His twin slumped to the side and landed in his lap. She could have been mistaken for dozing, but her breathing was too slow and shallow to be comforting. "Belle, wake up!"

"…Tired…" was all she mumbled. Orrie, exhausted, attempted to shake her only to find himself collapsing too. He was too sleepy to care that he was lying face down.

Dipper was starting to panic, his eyes darting in alarm between the two. Then he froze and sniffed the air. It was the faintest whiff of sour-sweet acid– impossible for the human nose to detect. But he wasn't human, and he could tell immediately what it was.

He grabbed Orrie and hoisted him onto his back before grabbing his sister and carrying her bridal-style in his arms. "Hang on!" he told Orrie, who only half-heartedly wrapped his arms around the teen's neck. This was bad. He should have noticed; he should have been paying attention! But those cultists had been pumping carbon monoxide into the air, gradually so as not to be noticeable. He charged out of the room, smelling the gas even stronger in the hall. Dipper audibly growled; what Orrie thought was a trap must have been that machine starting to release the gas.

Dipper raced for the foyer, desperate to reach the manor's front doors. But on the way he saw movement. Against better judgment he slowed. "Wha– Zahia!?" The woman was tottering away down another hall, stumbling violently with each step. She didn't seem to have heard him at all. "Zahia! We need to leave! There's carbo—" The woman fell. Dipper cursed loudly as he ran over to her. But he slowed before reaching her. Zahia had been exposed to the high concentrations for too long. No aura of colors surrounded her. She would not be getting back up.

With a mighty roar and burst of power surging through him, Dipper continued racing toward the foyer, the start of void-black bricks coating the edges of his skin. He halted once more when he reached the area. On the ground before him was a seemingly ordinary bingo card; there was nothing oddly marked on it or anything. He bent down to pick it up, but it wasn't his hand that reached forward. Orrie held it up for him, loosely and barely able to keep his grip, so Dipper could look at it without having to put Belle down. He twisted it around:

"If you solved the mystery that's come to a head then this hint will save your life. Otherwise, sweet dreams in five minutes."

"Wha'…duz i' meen…?" Orrie nearly fell asleep right then, but the sudden movement as Dipper aimed away from the doors roused him just enough. "Bingo…Bingo…B…I…N…G…O…" He dozed off.

"Don't you dare fall asleep, Orrie," Dipper growled. "You too, Belle." He flew up the stairs—literally so as he materialized his wings for speed—and rushed into what was once the Lionharts' room. He slammed the door shut and, after carefully lowering Belle and Orrie, locked it. A metallic plate slid down in the space beneath the door, sealing the room. Without missing a beat he started CPR on Belle, pinching her nose and breathing out pure oxygen he created in his body before pressing her chest rhythmically to get the blood moving. He repeated this twice more before she started to stir. With her waking, he shifted his attention to Orrie and restarted the process. Soon he began to wake too.

"…Where are we?" The boy sat up slowly, recognizing the interior design. But this wasn't his or the Sterlings' room. "Why're we—?"

"This is the only room that is safe," Dipper said lowly, sitting back to catch the breath he didn't really need. But that had been a terrifyingly close call, and he didn't even want to think about the outcome if he'd been wrong. Orrie looked over at him, confused.

"But how did you figure it out? That looked like a normal bingo card to me."

"It was," said Dipper. He gestured to the room at large. "But the hint was right: if we figured out the culprit then we would be safe." He stared directly at them. "Bingo. Be in Gogh." The other two let his words wash over them. They all rested in silence, in the deathly quietness that now permeated the entire manor.

When at last she couldn't take it Belle stood. She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm…I'm ready," she said, "I'm ready to face these cultists. We owe it to Flynn and the others to make it out alive."

"Yeah. And to take their murderers down," Orrie added as he rose too. His arms and legs trembled with fright, but his soul was near bursting with righteous determination. Dipper studied him carefully, scrutinizing him with sharp glowing eyes; was he judging whether he'd actually be up to the task? Orrie felt an unnatural coolness that had little to do with his anticipation.

But the teen smiled grimly. "You're right. We are getting out of here. And we are definitely going to make them pay." Now the question was how were they going to do that. But once again Dipper seemed to have an answer for that. He inspected the bed's headboard until he found a tiny switch on its backside. A patch of carpet shifted and slid away, revealing a tunnel and slide that led down into darkness.

Dipper snapped his fingers, and a burst of flame ignited in front of Belle. She reached forward and grabbed inside the blue fire, pulling out a nail-ridden baseball bat as the flames scattered. Orrie stared in awe at Mizar's infamous glittery weapon. He himself had nothing but the grappling hook, but perhaps he could make that suffice somehow.

"Let's do this." She lowered and pushed herself down the metal slide. Dipper was right behind her, folding his wings just enough to fit. Orrie inched forward, took a deep breath, and plunged himself into darkness.