The Assassin Game (20 page)

“Vee?” I whisper.

Hands touch my shoulders from behind. I gasp and spin around, dropping the flashlights, and feel his arms wrap around me, his lips kissing mine. I enjoy it for a moment, then push him off me.

“You weirdo!” I hiss at him. “What were we chasing anyway?”

He moves in again. “Only this moment.”

“You are so unbelievably corny,” I mumble through kisses.

• • •

Later that evening, alone in my study, I log on to Crypt and lightly stroke my lower face. Ow. Stubble rash. Vaughan was going to have to shave more often if we were going to be doing this regularly.

The intranet is quiet; I suppose no one wants to risk being caught doing anything against the rules now the stakes have suddenly been raised. Tracking is activated; when I log on, a little red skull appears, hovering over the quad on the map. I move my cursor over it. It reveals my username, Clouseau. Blimey. This does feel risky.

As I sit looking at it, another red skull pops up alongside mine. Another foolhardy soul is somewhere in the quad:

Skulk

If the blue meanies are going to get me they'd better get off their asses and do something. (So said the Zodiac Killer. He's never been caught.)

Then, a private IM pops up:

Skulk

Wipe that smile off your face, Cate. Need me to spell it out, bitch? You're next.

My hand drops away, and my head whips around; the curtains are drawn. Nobody can see me. But two things are sure: Skulk knows my username, and Skulk rolled that can into Vaughan's room.

Saturday, and although my red snake bracelet has disappeared along with my confidence, my signs are still vital.

Ezra graces us with his presence in Morning Exchange. There are two police cars outside Main House, and Mrs. James is no doubt keeping the fuzz happy with weak cups of Umfraville tea while Ezra gives us the pep talk, or prep talk, as it will probably turn out to be.

He gives a thinly veiled reading about integrity, then updates us with what we already know: Emily is doing fine, and the police are here to try and get to the bottom of what happened to her. Class is canceled this morning, and we are to be confined to our studies and the common room to wait to be called in for an interview. He urges each of us to speak openly to the staff in the first instance if we know anything about the matter.

The subtext is: if you know anything, keep it in-house.

We hit the quad and our studies. Technically, it's supposed to be work time, but there are no teachers overseeing us—yet—and everyone's too hyper to open a book. Crypt is still nervously quiet; even Skulk's not posting this morning. Most of my classmates are hanging out in the common room or in the studies closest to it, doors open, music on. There's a weird excitement in the air, and I find myself enjoying it, even though this is serious, and Emily was hurt. There's safety in numbers. And after all, it's not every day that something actually happens here, and it's not every day that you get interviewed by the police. I have nothing to be guilty about, do I?

I spot Vaughan lugging some kind of boxed hardware down the corridor to his study, spilling those funny little polystyrene peanuts as he goes.

“Hi.” I walk up behind him. “Got a moment? I need to talk.”

He puts the box down. “Uh-oh. Dumping me already?”

I smile. “Nooo.” I lean on the wall, slightly self-conscious. “I didn't know you were mine to, er, dump.”

He doesn't say anything, just affects a serious face. It's intended to make me giggle, but I am all business.

“I got a message from Skulk last night.” I keep my voice low. “Telling me my time is nigh. And being kind of nasty about it.”

The serious face is real this time. “And you believe it?”

I nod. “Truth is”—I lean toward him, lowering my voice—“I've had a couple real world messages before the smoking can in your room. Little notes telling me I'm being watched or I'm running out of time, all of that.”

Vaughan looks puzzled and slightly angry. “And you're only telling me this now?”

“Yes.” I shut up as a couple kids squeeze past us, stepping over Vaughan's box with some sighs and tutting. When they're gone I lean toward him again. “To be honest, before, I thought they might have been from you. Having a laugh. Or your idea of…affection. In a slightly scary way.”

“Really?” Vaughan says. “But you don't think that now.”

“No. Not unless your idea of affection is calling me a bitch.”

“What?!”

“When in doubt, bake goodies!” Marcia shouts down the corridor. “Who's in?” There are whoops and hollers from the general direction of the common room.

“Listen,” Vaughan whispers. “I need to get this box in my room. Then I'm up with the boys in blue over at Main House.” He pulls a face at me. “The glories of having a last name at the beginning of the alphabet. I'll catch you later, and we'll talk more. Hang on in there.”

I nod and let him go, watching him stagger off down the corridor before turning and following the noise into the common room.

Marcia is standing by the counter and the oven at the back of the room with a big mixing bowl. Most of the Guild is here, lounging, making coffee or toast, messing around. Notably, no one is touching the computers.

“So are you making brownies?” Rick shouts at Marcia. “What are you putting in them, eh?”

Much laughter at this.

“Only yummy stuff.” Marcia smiles, mixing furiously with a spatula. “I think cupcakes are the order of the day.” She reaches for a glass bowl of chocolate that she has melted over a pan on the cooktop and pours the thick stuff into her mixing bowl. As I watch the gloop, I have a flashback to my initiation. Marcia obviously doesn't. “Mmm,” she says, dipping a finger in and licking it. “They're gonna be so good!”

“Didn't know they had cupcakes in Spain,” Rick says, trying to lean over and dip a finger in too.

“Hands off!” Marcia smacks him on the behind with the spatula, and cake mix splatters.

“Oi!” Rick shouts, turning around to look at his bum. “Now what does that look like I've done?”

Everyone is howling. If I ever found Rick funny, I certainly don't now. Even if Vaughan forgives him for pushing him off the cliff, I'm not sure I can. I linger in the doorway, not wanting to join in and yet really not wanting to go and sit in my room by myself.

“How are you holding up?”

Daniel has joined me in the doorway. For the first time in recent history, I'm actually glad to see him.

“Yeah, great,” I lie.

He gives me a look. “I'm exhausted. Just came out of my interview.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Come to my study?”

“Yeah, of course!” I glance at Marcia, who is pouring mixture into little paper cupcake holders while trying to dodge Rick. He's got chocolatey hands and is creeping up behind her and trying to grab her white T-shirt. I have a feeling this is going to degenerate into an all-out chocolate battle—and soon. I'm pleased to escape.

Daniel's study is as far away from the common room as it is possible to be, and that's the way he likes it. We walk there in silence, his violin case our companion, as ever. He unlocks the door, and we walk in. The room is immaculately tidy; he shares with a kid in our year called Geoff—another musician, who's currently on tour with some youth orchestra and won't be back in school for another couple weeks.

“Nice having the place to yourself?” I sit down on the edge of his sofa.

He sets the violin down carefully on his desk. “Wonderful.” He sits on the chair facing me. “Geoff's not bad, but he's always tapping out beats on his desk while we're trying to work. Drives me crazy.”

I laugh. “Sounds like someone I know!”

Daniel frowns. “What, me? I don't do that.”

“Daniel, you do,” I say. “You
musos
, you're all the same.”

“Cate, I don't think I have ever done that.” He's serious and annoyed. “And don't class me with Geoff, please. We are not on the same level, at all.”

“OK.” I hold up a hand. “I only meant it as a joke.”

Daniel stares at me. There's an awkward silence as I sit there and try and think of a way to change the subject. Nothing smooth comes to mind.

“So, how was the police interview?” I smile. “You're not in handcuffs, so that's good.”

Luckily, this time he cracks a small smile.

“Yes, well. I hardly think they were interested in me.” He rubs his hands together, as if trying to warm them. “I'm barely friends with Emily, and it's not like I'm up on making a robotic spider or whatever that thing was.” He shakes his head. “They're not Scotland Yard either. I don't rate their chances of catching the culprit, particularly.” He crosses his legs and puts his hands on his lap rather self-consciously. “But I really wanted to ask you how you are.”

“Oh.” I pull a face. “Why? I mean, I'm fine. A bit shaken up with all of this, of course, but totally fine.”

“Good,” Daniel looks at me. He uncrosses his legs, stands up suddenly, and moves to the window. “And are you in love with Vaughan?”

“What?” I look up at him sharply, totally blindsided. “Where did that come from?” I struggle to find words. “No!”

He laughs, strangely, shaking his head. “So it's just lust with Vaughan, is that what you'd say? And what about Alex? Because last term, around the same time that we, you know—well, I heard that he was flavor of the month with you.”

“Bloody hell, Daniel!” I stand up. “Stop it. You're making a fool of yourself—and making me sound like some desperate flirt in the process!”

“Well, are you?”

“What?” I try to swallow my anger. “Even if I was, what of it? Guys like Alex, Rick, and Carl kiss their way through the school, and everyone thinks they're the big dogs, but if a girl does it? Different story.” I shake my head. “Seriously, is this still the world we live in? Who I…kiss…that's my decision. Not even a friend—which is what you're supposed to be—gets to tell me what to do.”

“Not even Mr. Flynn?” Daniel says, watching me. “Doesn't he get to tell you what to do? Whispering in your ear, sweetly?”

“Are you totally mad?” I feel like I'm about to choke. Daniel leans in, a hand snakes around my back, his breath hot in my ear.

“Teacher's little pet.”

“Get off me!” I push him hard, heels of my hand jabbing into his collarbone. He laughs, as if in shock, and shoves me back with a surprising ferocity. As I topple onto the sofa, he falls on top of me, forcing a kiss, his lips smooshing up against my lips, teeth knocking teeth. I make a smothered noise—telling him no—but I just sound like an indignant elephant. Wriggling, I try to twist my head away, not feeling frightened exactly, more embarrassed for both of us. Finally I manage to free a leg and my foot kicks the edge of his desk, jolting his precious violin onto the floor. He looks up, for a second, and that's all I need.

I bring my right arm back, make a fist, and with as much force as I can muster, punch him on the nose.

He cries out, rolls off me and onto the floor by his violin.

I stagger to my feet, adrenaline pumping, waiting for him to come at me again.

But he doesn't. He curls into a ball, weeping. His nose is dripping blood through his long fingers, and he is wailing, and suddenly I know who it was in the caves that day. Not Vaughan, but Daniel. That's the cry I recognized. I don't know how I could have mixed them up before now. I suppose I must have been blinded by the guilt I felt for both of them.

He wails on, his power gone as quickly as it arrived; he's just a small, pathetic thing on the ground, howling and dripping blood. I give him a moment, and no more.

“Get up,” I say to him quietly.

He looks up at me, almost shocked that I'm still there.

“Go and clean yourself up.”

He nods, pulls himself up on the desk, then tries to bend over and retrieve his blessed violin case, which only produces a further stream of blood.

“Leave it. I'll pick it up.”

He eyes me through his hands and staggers to the door.

As he shuts the door behind him, I start to shake—with relief and also with the urge to go another nine rounds with a punching bag. I breathe, the adrenaline trying to leave my body. It's OK, it'll be OK. I pull at my clothes and scrub at my mouth the same way I did after I was face down in cowpat. What just happened? How far would he have gone? The little voice in the back of my head is asking me lots of questions I don't want to answer… Why aren't you running the hell out of the study?

But I don't run.

I bend down to pick up the violin case. It has blood on it, running all over the stickers, and the catches have popped open. I try to shut the case, but the violin is wonky inside. I open the case to try and nestle it into its velvet so I can close the stupid thing.

I'm about to shut it all back up again, but then I see a little corner of black pushing its way out of the place where the purple velvet inner meets the hard edge of the case. I pull it out slowly.

It's a folded card, black on the outside, with red inside just visible. I unfold it slowly.

Killer

The word, written in black.

I read it again, because I might not be seeing straight. Daniel is the Killer? Daniel is the Killer. I'm flooded with the weirdest mixture of disbelief, disappointment, and relief.

I find my legs. I put the card back in the case, and I leave. As I shut the door, I hear a noise in the corridor.

The boys' toilet door opens. He's standing there, handkerchief up to nose. I turn and head the opposite way.

In the common room, they are clearing up after the messy fight I'd predicted. Alex is washing his hands over in the corner. My heart is still pumping fast. I go up to him.

“Are we having another Summoning this afternoon, as usual?”

He nods. “Soon as the interviews are over. I'll post something on Crypt. Lots to talk about.”

“And we'll vote on the Killer?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” I turn on my heel and head to my study. No Marcia, as usual. I shut the curtains, log on to Crypt, but no one is online. I lock my door, lie down on the sofa, and shut my eyes, a plan forming.

If I make it alive to the Summoning, I'll have my revenge.