The Assassin Game (19 page)

Vaughan nods. “I need to go back—pick up the can. It's evidence.”

Before I can protest, he's gone. I stand, listening to the starlings chatter in the trees above. Even from here I can smell the food in the dining hall, beckoning us. But I have no appetite. In less than a minute, Vaughan is back.

“It's gone.” He looks furious. “The can. That door slam must have been a distraction. Someone doubled back and took the thing right out of my room.”

“But how?” I say.

“Through a window? Or the fire door at the other end of the corridor?” Vaughan drops his hands onto his knees and sighs. “I'm such an amateur. I don't know why I bother.”

“You read what it said on the can.”

“I did.” Vaughan moans at the ground. “Guess I'm next.”

“Vaughan.” I'm stunned at his self-centeredness. “I was there too.”

“The can was chucked into my room, Cate.” He looks up at me. “Plus, you have immunity.” He nods at my bracelet.

“Only until tomorrow!”

“I'm the target.” His face is cloudy.

I roll my eyes. “Are we really fighting over who is going to be the victim? Besides, where do you rank, ‘in order of fit'?” I pull at his arm. “Come on. We'll go to high tea. Then to the Summoning. There's a lot to think about here.”

He straightens up. “Yeah, like if we should tell everyone about what just happened, for a start. It might be better to keep it to ourselves until we get a handle on it.”

Well, yes. We jog to the dining room together. I still haven't told him about my messages. That's proof enough to me that I'm next on the list.

We're probably last to get to the dining hall. The lines for hot food are short, and most of the tables are full up.

“Ezra's here,” I whisper to Vaughan.

It only happens once in a blue moon. Normally the teachers who are not on duty eat in their own quarters, but today there's a table filled with all the senior department heads. Ezra, Mrs. James the deputy, and a bunch of others. At one end of the table, Mr. Flynn catches my eye.

“Come on,” Vaughan says.

We both skip the spaghetti and veggie lasagna and grab the end of a table that is partially filled with non-Guild kids a year below us. Anything to be sitting down and blending in. A few tables away, most of the Guild fills up three tables with no room to spare. The mood is somber. I think Alex must have decreed that no one gossip about Emily; he knows that the Game and the Guild are walking on the thinnest of ice.

The rest of the school is talking about it, however. It's obvious—the looks that the Guild are getting, the hushed laughter and pseudo-concerned looks.

“Let's get something to eat and get out,” I say.

“Toast,” Vaughan says.

We go to one of the toasters by the wall, where there are still a few slices of brown bread left over. I feed a couple of them into the machine. It's the type that takes the bread for a little ride on a rack, achingly slowly, toasting on both sides and then dropping it out of the bottom. It always takes just too long to linger and wait for it to be done, but if you step away to grab some coffee or butter and jam, by the time you've come back, your toast has fallen off and been stolen by someone else. But today, we loiter, no place to go.

Already, people are finishing their meals. Guild members, anxious to slip away. The rest of the school wants to get away from the huddle of teachers. My first piece of toast is spat out by the machine. I unpeel a little silver pat of butter and leave it to melt. I'm reaching for a knife when there's a scraping of chairs and Alex, Carl, and Rick head out.

“Count to sixty, then Marcia, Cynthia, and Becky will be next,” says Vaughan. “They're so predictable,” he mutters.

We never get to find out. As the three boys get to the dining room's double doors, the doors open inward, there's a little scuffle, and the boys back off, giving the people entering right of way.

Everyone takes in the uniforms, and the room falls silent.

The real detectives have arrived.

“There are dark forces at work here. But I am Grand Master, and everything is under control.”

Alex barely waited for everyone to sit down in the cave. He's standing by the tables, arms spread, handsome face frowning with intensity, addressing his flock. It would be funny if the mood were different.

“Trust in me.” He nods somberly. “I will protect us all. Whoever is doing this will feel the full force of the Guild upon them, I swear. I will find them, and I will stop them. You can be sure of that.”

“Can we?” Marcia is standing too. “Sorry, Alex—I don't mean to doubt you—but this is crazy. The police are here. Whether we like it or not, we need to think about shutting the Game down.”

“No!” Alex stamps petulantly, his messiah act slipping. “Guess what? I have spoken with the Killer, and they have assured me that the whole Emily business was nothing to do with them.”

“And you believe them?” Marcia says.

Alex nods vigorously. “I do. I've good reason to trust them, absolutely.”

Everyone lets that sink in. Alex trusts the Killer; so is it one of his close circle?

Finally, Cynthia speaks. “The way I see it, we have to have a hiatus,” she says. “Let Emily come back to school. Let things cool down before we start playing again.”

“Yes,” says Roger. “That's probably the best way.”

“That's stupid. Not feasible and supremely unintelligent.” Alex is standing firm.

“Yeah, makes us look guilty,” Rick chips in. “Emily was stuck by some Guild wannabe, someone who wants in on the Game. Or”—he gets more animated—“maybe it's revenge—someone we didn't pick for the Guild, and they want to shut us down. Don't give them the satisfaction!”

“More likely this is from within the ranks.” Vaughan is sitting on a box beside me. “We have to face the fact we have a broken arrow.”

“Someone here, right now, has, like, gone rogue?” Tesha says. “Why?”

Vaughan shrugs. “Maybe they're disappointed they didn't get to be Killer. Or maybe…they're just a psycho?”

Tesha does not like this at all. Her face reddens, and there's a glint of tears in her eyes. “Who made robo spider?” she shouts. “Come on! Fess up!”

There's a gulpy silence. We all look at one another. Anvi giggles, but no one joins in.

“OK, well I'm just going to come right out and say it,” Tesha says, taking a breath. “Who is Skulk? Because he or she is clearly claiming to be some kind of big bad wolf, and if they are not the Killer in the Game, then presumably they are suspect number one when it comes to the attack on Emily.”

More silence. Alex looks around. “Anyone want to come forward and claim to be Skulk? I mean, you'll ruin the Game, but you'll satisfy her curiosity.” Nobody says anything, and Alex looks at Tesha. “You always did take things too literally, love. People say a lot of things online. Wise up and don't believe all of them.”

“Nobody here would do that to Emily!” Whitney says. “She has no enemies. This isn't personal, and I agree, it's nothing to do with the Game. It's just some lower school loser who wants attention.”

“Whatever, we should take a break at the very least, I think,” Marcia says. “Just for a couple weeks, until things calm down!”

“Absolutely not!” Alex says.

“This is not just Ezra having a word in our ear,” Carl says to Alex quietly. “It's the police, man.”

“So?” Alex says. “Everyone here is under oath not to talk about anything!”

Carl rolls his eyes. “Alex, yeah. But nobody wants anything bad on their school record. Things will come out—the Game, initiations”—he glances at Vaughan—“the other Kills. Probably Crypt too. There'll be some mud flinging. And this kind of mud sticks.”

There's a noise from the outer cave, and Martin appears in the archway. I hadn't even noticed he wasn't here before. He's holding a flashlight and panting.

“Good news is Emily's OK.” He looks at Alex. “Bad news is her parents want a proper investigation.” He collapses on the nearest cushion. “I ran all the way…”

“How do you know this?” Marcia asks him.

“Alex asked me to snoop.” He nods at our Grand Master. “The cops were in Ezra's office, talking with him and Mrs. James. I listened in.” He smiles a little. “They had to speak up, because Ezra's going deaf. I heard most of it.”

“And?” Carl says.

“Rumors were right. Emily had an allergic reaction to some nut oil on the spider. Her parents flew in from Barbados. She's OK. She's left the hospital and is somewhere on the mainland with her folks.” He takes a breath. “But, bad news is, the family wants to press charges.”

Carl swears.

“However,” Martin says. “The police were actually quite cool about it. Said they thought it was a practical joke gone wrong, no real malicious intent. They said that if the school takes the right actions, they think they can persuade Emily's parents to back off.”

“Right actions,” Carl says. “Find the joker, and kick them out. Great.”

“So what, Carl?” Rick barks at him. “If it wasn't you, then what do you care?”

“Was the Game mentioned?” Marcia says.

Martin sighs. “Ezra didn't say anything, and I thought we were going to be OK, because the police said they didn't have much time tonight before the tide comes in. But then Mrs. James brought it up at the end. She said she had no doubt the Game was connected.”

Rick swears loudly and kicks out at something. Luckily for him it's sand, not rock. Roger and Martin get sprayed, but they're smart and don't protest too much.

Alex's face is thunder. “What happens next?”

“The police said they'd be back early tomorrow when the causeway's passable again,” Martin says. “To talk to everyone. All day, if necessary.”

“What do we do?” Tesha says. “Everyone knows the Game is on. We can't lie to the police.”

“Just answer truthfully,” Cynthia says. “Yes, the Game is being played, but this wasn't part of it. Tell them that it's against the rules to actually hurt someone. None of us know who did this.”

“Do not mention Crypt, people,” Alex says. “There's no need.”

“Well, I'm grateful for that,” Vaughan says. “But, Alex, I think there's one thing we all want to know. Will you be telling the police the identity of the Killer?”

Alex doesn't hesitate. “The police don't know that I know, and there's no reason to enlighten them. I'm sure each one of us will be asked if we're the Killer, or if we know who he or she is, and it's up to you to make the decision as to how you answer.”

Everyone thinks about this.

“Ezra is going to tell us to stop the Game,” I say. “It's stupid to think he won't. If we continue to play, we'll have to act like we have stopped. Kills will have to be private, at least for a while.”

“That has its perks.” Vaughan smiles at me. “Some things are more thrilling when they're secret.”

There are a couple giggles at this.

“All right.” Alex grabs the velvet bag. “Like everything, we put it to the vote. We go to the altar, one by one, write one word on a slip of paper indicating what we want to do. Three choices: red, yellow, green.” He looks over us. “If it's not completely obvious what those words mean, here it is: red for the Game to stop immediately and completely, yellow if you want to put a hold on things for now, or green to continue covertly. Agreed?” He looks over to Marcia, Cynthia, and Carl. They nod. Nobody argues. A vote is fair.

One by one, we go behind the velvet curtain in the order we were harvested. By the time I'm kneeling there with the Pen of Doom in my hand, I've gone back and forth in my mind so many times my head is spinning.

Eventually, I write:

Green

After all, you only live once.

After me, it's Vaughan's turn. I bet my life he'll vote green too. When he comes out, Alex is waiting to go in and read the votes, but Marcia stops him.

“We all need to see the votes this time, Alex.”

He glares at her. “That's my decision. I'm Grand Master. What, don't you trust me?”

“I do. Completely,” Marcia says. “But I don't want to give anyone here any doubt. Transparency.”

“Fine,” Alex says. He gets the bag and brings it back to the table, reaching a hand inside for the first slip of paper. He brings it out and reads it.

“Yellow.” He exaggeratedly holds it up for us. He gives Marcia the paper then delves for a second. “Red,” he says between gritted teeth and quickly goes for a third. “Green.”

“Don't you love the democratic process?” Vaughan quips, relieving the tension a little.

Alex continues to read the slips. Fourteen of us are here to vote, and soon it begins to look like this Game is not ending. After thirteen slips have been opened, only four are red. Alex is looking happier, but he's not out of the woods yet. Five players are in favor of pausing the Game, and there are only four votes in favor of continuing.

He takes the final slip out of the bag. “Green.”

“It's a tie!” Tesha says. “Split vote, hung parliament, whatever.”

“As Grand Master, I get the deciding vote, and I say green for go,” Alex says grimly.

“We did not decide that, Alex,” says Cynthia.

“
We
don't have to!” Alex shouts. “I am Grand Master! This is my Game!”

“What about Emily?” Whitney says. “Shouldn't she have a vote? Should we email her or something?”

“Like she's going to care!” Rick spits.

“This is ridiculous.” Marcia stands up. “We don't have time for it. The Game is on, Alex's decision seconded by me, and I actually voted yellow, so I've switched my vote. Done. As far as the rest of the school is concerned, we've stopped playing. Be mindful: Kills must be private. No throwing down skulls in the dining hall, no wristbands nailed to the bulletin board. No evidence of anything.”

“If anyone has a problem with that, leave now,” Alex says. “You four who wrote down red, if you're unhappy, leave now. And if it turns out one of you is the Killer, the Game is over anyway.”

Everyone is silent. No one moves.

“Good,” Alex says. “Now for heaven's sake, keep a level head out there. All of you. Let's get back to civilization before anything else happens.”

Vaughan gets up first and offers me a hand. He pulls me up and I stand a little too close to him. Everyone is getting ready to ship out, nobody is paying us any attention. He slips a hand under my coat around my waist, and pulls me toward him slightly.

“Oh. One more thing. Vaughan,” Alex says. Suddenly all eyes are on us. I step back awkwardly. “Tracking on Crypt is activated. All users can now be located on the map. If these Kills are going to happen privately, we have to give everyone else half a chance to guess who the Killer is. Make it happen, Vaughan.”

Vaughan gives a little salute. As we leave, he whispers in my ear. “Now things get interesting. We have two Killers, the one playing within the rules of the Game and the rogue. Will either of them have the balls to strike with the police sniffing around?”

I look at him. “Again with the balls. Even now we have two Killers, you think both are male?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I guess all bets are off.”

“Aren't they just?” I whisper back. “All we really know is that one of us is next.”

When we leave the caves, it is dark, and we click on little flashlights to help with the walk back. Vaughan and I climb the cliff path, leaving a respectable distance between other Guild members. Vaughan is slightly ahead of me. When he gets to the top, he stops suddenly.

“Hey.” I push his back gently. The path is too narrow and scratchy with gorse. He has to move or I can't get past him. He stands there with his back to me, stock-still, as if he's spotted something in the distance. “What's up?” I say.

“Hey! Was that…?” he mutters. “I thought I saw…” He looks at me, then back to whatever had caught his eye before, and sets off at a run.

“What?” I call to him.

“Come on!” He sprints back to me, grabs my hand. “Hurry!”

“Vaughan, what the hell?” I run after him, the beam from my flashlight bobbing on the ground. He heads up toward the studios, then makes a left toward the woods. “Where are we going?” I try to catch up, but by now he's too far ahead for me to grab. “Stop!”

“I just saw—you need to be quick!” He doesn't stop but plows on, the thicker grass under the trees not slowing him. I follow as fast as I can, but my legs are leaden, and I begin to lose him, flashing my light up and just catching glimpses as he darts around the next tree. I keep up as long as I can. “Vaughan!” My heart is slamming, my breath short and painful. The woods are thinning out again now, and I stop and drop hands to knees, panting. I should be able to see him. Even if he's quite a way ahead, I should be able to see his flashlight at least.

But I've lost him.

I catch my breath and straighten up. “Vaughan?” I mean to shout, but even spoken, the word sounds too loud in the quiet of the woods. I walk slowly toward what looks like the tree line, every hair on my head standing up, feeling the electricity that only comes from being watched. He's here, somewhere, just watching me. Or someone else is. Maybe the person we were running after.

I clear the woods, look down, and realize where I've come out. I'm at the top of the amphitheater, the semicircle of grass before the stone slabs start, the slabs that make up the rows of seats built into the side of the hill. Below me is the sandy stage, the scene of my initiation.

In the middle of the stage, still switched on, lies Vaughan's flashlight.

I plod slowly, carefully, down the steps toward the stage. “Vaughan?” I say again, almost under my breath, but the acoustics amplify my words. I reach the sand and walk over toward the flashlight, picking it up.