Page 1 of Romance Is Dead

Chapter One

If people knew how horror movies were made, they wouldn’t be scared of them.

That actress running terrified through the woods? Bored and exhausted from reshooting the scene a dozen times.

That abandoned hospital those teens are trapped in? Actually a warehouse filled with carefully curated vintage medical equipment from a supplier in LA.

That bad guy chasing them? Just some dude named Todd who will be hotboxing and eating Doritos in his trailer once the director calls cut.

The point is, movies are very different behind the scenes. On-screen, stylists have made everyone look otherworldly gorgeous, editors have coaxed the story into perfect shape, and composers have crafted scores to depict just the right sense of impending doom. But in reality, actors are often tired, hungry, or uncomfortable.

Or, if they’re anything like me on the first day of filming my last horror movie, all three.

Bursting out of my trailer into the early September air, I double-checked that the buttons of my candy-pink cardigan were straight as my stomach grumbled. Thanks to a misread call time, I’d arrived on set an hour late and there’d been no time to grab a snack from craft services. I’d never screwed up a shooting schedule before, but my subconscious must have been trying to protect me.

I was absolutely dreading making this movie.

Production assistants whizzed by as I wound through base camp, the community of trailers that would be our home while filmingHouse of Reckoningon the outskirts of the Virginian mountains. Wardrobe assistants shuttled costumes to the actors’ trailers and crew members hollered for people to get out of the way as they swung props and equipment into the backs of tiny golf carts that would transport the objects to set. Because the house we’d be filming in was located a half mile away in the middle of the woods, I’d need to find my own golf cart to get there.

And judging by the time, I needed to find it now.

I swept through camp, looking for the line of carts I’d been told would be waiting. Thankfully, there was one left. A young, gangly PA with shaggy, sand-colored hair and an eager smile on his face waved from the driver’s seat.

“Need a lift?” he asked, reaching for the ignition.

“Yes.” I gratefully hopped in next to him. “I do.”

He steered us onto the dirt path that led through the woods, leaves that were just starting to turn orange rustling pleasantly on either side of us as we bumped along. The PA kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, opening his mouth but never saying anything. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Excuse me for asking, but you’re Quinn Prescott, right?”

My stomach sank. After more than two decades of making movies, I was used to being recognized. But in the three months since my disastrous previous film, it usually came with either a snide comment or look of pity. I couldn’t decide which was worse.

“Guilty.” I braced myself for what was coming next.

The PA’s face broke into a grin. “Wow, it’s amazing to meet you! I’ve seen all your stuff. Your performance inThe Exorcism of Luna LeGrand? Genius.”

Some of the tightness eased from my chest. “Thanks.”

“Gosh, I was so excited when I learned I’d be working on one of your movies. This sounds so lame, but can I get your autograph later?”

“Of course.”

“Amazing, thank you. Seriously, you’ve got a fan for life. Anything you’re in, I’ll be watching!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that after this, there wouldn’t be any others.

“My name’s Trevor, by the way. I’m so rude.” He took one of his hands off the wheel and reached for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” As I shook his hand, I noticed a brightly colored friendship bracelet on his wrist. “I like your bracelet.”

“Thanks! My niece made it for me a few weeks ago at camp and I haven’t taken it off since. She’s the best, just the cutest kid.”

My mind wandering as Trevor chatted away, I scanned the landscape for any sign of the set. In the movie, four college students rent an Airbnb where they accidentally conjure the spirit of an evil witch, who then proceeds to slaughter them one by one. The setting and atmosphere would be one of the most important aspects of the movie.

At first, all I saw were trees as we wound through the woods. They leaned close, their branches brushing the cart like they might snatch us if they had the chance. Finally, a weathervane peeked above the treetops, twirling in the wind and spinning lazily as though by an invisible hand.

Then we rounded a corner, and the entire house lurched into view. With sides of gray stone and a roof of black shingles, the towering Gothic mansion looked straight out of a Hitchcock movie—complete with turrets, creeping vines, and shadowy windows. It had been nicely maintained, clearly loved, but still had the air of a house with secrets.

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