The Assassin Game (14 page)

“What?!” I am—I'll admit it—all at once terrified and pleased.

“Oh yes.” Vaughan gets up, paces, muttering. “I mean, it's terribly subjective, of course, but by a popular standard, I'd expect you to be next in line. Arguably, you should have been before Tesha, but then we don't really know who those bloody balls were supposed to be aimed at. You were right with what you said in the clock tower. This Killer has a theme: blood.” He fiddles with his mouse absentmindedly. “He likes to get messy. Remember what I said about marking his territory? It's like he's spraying his victims.”

“Oh, bring me a new breakfast,” I moan, not able to look at him. “Please do not elaborate on that train of thought.” I don't give him the chance. “Well, if this ‘hotness correlation' is correct, then maybe it's not a boy—it could be a jealous girl who's the Killer or, for that matter, a gay girl.”

“No, no, no,” he mutters. “Not the jealous girl, because—as I think I have explained, very well indeed—these kind of messy Kills are very male. Oh—and of course the Killer's not a gay girl, because otherwise you would have been Killed first.”

My eyes widen, but I don't give him the satisfaction of responding.

He continues: “You'd be top of their list.”

“Thank you,” I say carefully. “You being the expert on these things.”

“Oh, I have studied ‘these things,' believe me.” He's serious. He looks me dead in the eye.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said.” I don't let myself blush.

Instead, I think hard about telling him about the messages, the watch, the writing in the mug. If it is him leaving these little love notes, he'll be wondering why I haven't mentioned it. However, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure it wasn't him, because he takes this Game too seriously to joke around with it. And if the messages are not a joke, then “I'm watching you” is not a friendly thing to leave at the bottom of someone's coffee cup. It's an intimidation. Maybe it has nothing to do with the Game, maybe it's just someone's idea of putting the frighteners on me? Or maybe Vaughan's right, and I am next?

“Oh! We have a new post.” Vaughan points to the screen.

INVOKE YOUR SAFETY!

THINK YOUR TIME IS NIGH? THIS WEEK ONLY, WIN THE CHANCE TO HAVE INVINCIBILITY. THIS HAS TO BE EARNED; PICK UP YOUR RED WRISTBAND BURIED IN THE SAND IN THE ENTRANCE TO THE CAVE. ARE THERE ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE? IF YOU FIND ONE, WEAR IT WITH PRIDE AND THE KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU ARE SAFE…FOR NOW.

YOUR VERY OWN GRAND MASTER XOXO

“Nice.” Vaughan nods approvingly. “Safe all week? There will be a rush to grab the spoils. Shall we go digging?”

“No.” Somehow I can't quite face going down to the beach yet. Or maybe I just can't face going down there with Vaughan. “I—I'll maybe leave it up to fate. I need to have a shower and do some work at the art studio.”

His face twitches. “All righty.” He closes down his workstation and pushes his chair back. “Be nice to me, Cate. I'm going down there, and if I find two wristbands, I might give you one.”

I can't tell if he's being sarcastic. “Thanks,” I say. Now he can't tell if I'm being sarcastic. I change the subject. “How are the feet?”

“Shredded.” He shuffles to the door. “But I like a limp. Very Keyser Söze.”

I smile at him. “You would like that film.” I try to remember the exact line. “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.”

He smiles and nods, delighted with me. “And like that”—he blows on his fingertips—“he's gone.” He vanishes through the doorway.

As I watch the empty space where Vaughan was standing, I decide that if he is OK with what happened last night, I have to be too. I have a hunch he's right about Flynny; I don't think there will be any repercussions beyond a lecture. And the Game is still on, and Vaughan is part of it. I look at the screen, click on Create New User. A box jumps up, and I begin to type in it. If I'm honest with myself, I'm stoked to still be alive in the Game and excited about Crypt.

I type. Log in as the new me. The list of users refreshes again, two new users joining the bottom of the list:

Clouseau

Skulk

Ooh, somebody else has just registered at the same time as me. I scan the full list and spend a few minutes wondering who is who, reaching no particular conclusions beyond what the others were saying just before I broke up the party. Maybe it will become more obvious once everyone has signed up.

Some instant messages start to ping in response to Alex's announcement of the invincibility bands buried at the caves.

CharlotteCorday

Can we keep as many of the bands as we find?

Grand Master

Be my guest. Get digging, my pretties.

General Disarray

Grabbing my bucket and spade!

In spite of my earlier reservations, I feel an urge to run down to the caves right now. I finish what I'm doing. Just as I'm about to log off, a new message pops up.

Skulk

Watch out, watch out; the Skulk is about

I chuckle. This is going to be fun.

I leave it as long as I can before venturing down to the caves. I really do not want to be there with Vaughan. But after an hour of hanging out in my study alone, thinking about working in the studio and then deciding I am too preoccupied to achieve anything, I can't hold back any longer.

Arriving at the caves, I thankfully find myself alone. The floor of the first cave is a total mess. It looks like a pack of dogs has gone crazy digging for bones, the sand in furrows and piles as far as my flashlight can see.

I kick at a few holes in the ground, with little hope that there will be any bands left. Looking at the cave in full daylight for the first time, I realize that it stretches back farther than I thought it did. I begin to walk the perimeter, looking for any patches of undisturbed sand, but it doesn't look like my fellow players have missed a single spot. I pass the entrance to the tunnel leading to the Place Most Holy, and then go farther around the rock, the bright arch of light to the outside world diminishing the more I walk. I pause by the unexplored passage that runs deeper under the cliff. Nope, I'm not going to venture there. Alex's post said the first cave only, and I'm happy to stick to it. That passageway was where I'd heard the weird crying noise coming from yesterday.

I continue to walk the perimeter, finding no more passages, and no patches of undisturbed sand. Whoever has been here before me has truly gone to town with the excavation. No doubt there had been a big gang of Guild members here all at once, and it was probably a whole lot of fun; I feel a pang of regret for the laughs I've missed.

Might as well leave. But there's an urge that's been itching away at me for the last few minutes: I have to check out the “crying” passageway. Could there be a band hidden just an inch or two in there? I walk to the back and flash the light into the passageway.

The diggers have taken Alex at his word; the sand in the passageway is completely smooth. But I know that Alex can be sneaky. Maybe it's his idea of a challenge. Should I go farther?

“Sod you, Alex.”

I step in. The sand quickly gives way to rock, uneven and slippery. I walk on, carefully, the ceiling of the passageway suddenly lowering. I have to duck my head to continue forward, but as I flash the light up, it looks like the passage opens up a few feet ahead. I walk on. This is not just about immunity bands. It's about that noise. I need to see the spot where Vaughan—or whoever it was—was sobbing so wretchedly. I crouch low in the tunnel, and then after a couple feet, the roof falls away upward, and I am able to stand up again.

A huge cavern—I fling out my flashlight but the beam doesn't find any far walls. High too. Echoey, like walking into a church. I shiver in my parka. There is no natural light in here, and in spite of the feeling of space above and before me, it's claustrophobic, like being buried in a bubble, far below ground.

Noise comes from behind me somewhere, and I spin around, looking back through the passageway.

A shuffling? I click off the flashlight and hug the wall. The noise came from the first chamber—it is probably just another Guild member looking for a band, too late to the party like me. I strain my ears to hear footsteps, a voice, the sounds of digging, but there are none. And then something else: a laugh. Soft, high-pitched.

Fear presses on my shoulders, cold and heavy. Someone—or something—is between me and the sunlight, and that is not what I want. Suddenly I realize what a stupid move it was to come here alone. The Killer knew that everyone would head down here to try and get immunity. It's the perfect place to get someone on their own, make the Kill.

The cold fear starts to flush hot, adrenaline coursing up through my body, willing me to flee. Vaughan said I'd be next on the list, and I hadn't listened to him. I'd had those damn messages! Why the hell hadn't I come down here earlier with the crowd and got myself a band? Stupid, stupid, stupid. In front of me, someone is waiting in the shadows, and behind me, the despair of darkness and the unknown depths of the caves. No escape.

I'm buzzing, but I'm like a fly stuck to the wall. I wait. Breathe. Try to calm down.

No more sound. My ears are so attuned now that I think I can even hear the sea outside and the very distant cry of a seagull. Maybe that's all I heard before? Just another minute, got to be sure.

Finally, I can wait no longer. If nothing else, I need to pee so badly I'm beginning to think of digging my own hole in the sand and squatting right here, right now.

OK, I'll do this. Leg it. I'll switch the flashlight on, point it to the ground to find my footing through the low tunnel, then when I can see the archway of daylight at the other side of the first chamber, I'll sprint for home and never stop. I'm nimble, and I have the element of surprise on my side. Unless the Killer rugby tackles me to the ground, I'll make it past them and out of the hideous, dark cave. And if they get me in the open air, at least it won't be as horrible as being Killed in this tomb.

Or maybe there is nobody there after all.

I chuckle lightly to myself. Talk about spooking myself out.

I bend low, click the flashlight on by my feet, shielding the beam with my hand a little. I only have to get myself clear of these rocks in the tunnel, and then I can run like hell.

There by my left foot is a red snake.

I jerk back with a yell, dropping the flashlight on the rocks. It dies instantly, and the dark takes me, smothering my face, leaping down my throat, and pressing on my chest. How different it feels to be in darkness now I don't have a light in my hands. I fall forward onto the hard, cold rock, shooting out my hands for the flashlight. Please, please, come to me. I can't stand to be without you. I don't know which way is up. I need you.

My hand closes around the flashlight, and I turn it on, feeling foolish now that I have the luxury of light.

That cannot have been a snake. Skola probably doesn't have so much as a slowworm. I find my feet, and I find what I'm looking for. It's a red wristband, a double length of braided red plastic, with a snake's head on one end. In place of the snake's tongue is a catch; the snake's tail has a loop. I wind it around my wrist twice and fasten it.

Ha-ha, Alex. Bet you gave the sane members of the Guild a good old giggle when they dug these up.

I have no idea how this wristband got here, if someone put it here on purpose or by mistake, or if I dragged the thing in on my shoe somehow. I cannot get rid of the nagging feeling that Vaughan left it here for me. He said he'd try and get me an extra one. Maybe he knew that I'd heard him crying in this cave before and maybe he knew I'd come in here to check it out. It's a ridiculous notion, but it's wriggling away in my brain…like a snake in the sand.

I extinguish the flashlight, scrabble through the tunnel on hands and knees, and as the passageway opens up to the outer chamber, I rise up and run, taking huge, exaggerated leaps over the churned-up sand, my feet scrambling and ankles twisting on each landing, but I keep going, heading for the light. I'm nearly there. I can feel the fresh air on my face, and I'm nearly out when the Killer brings me down. I fall flat onto my stomach, the wind knocked out of me. I claw the sand, pulling for breath that isn't there, dread filling me, and regret that the Killer has got me, has won.

But then nothing happens. No stab with a rubber knife, no dousing with a grenade of blood. Breath rushes back in painfully, and I roll over, blinking.

I am alone.

Stupid piles of sand! I've just barreled through a huge one, and that's what felled me. No secret assassin, waiting in the shadows, just an almighty sand castle. I would laugh out loud if I had the breath to spare.

I get up, brush off the sand. My flashlight has died for good with the last clonk it received, but it doesn't matter now, now I'm back in the light.

“Are you OK?”

I shriek. A full-on, girlie one that embarrasses the hell out of me.

Martin is standing behind me, grinning and toothy. He has a trowel in his hand.

“Were you in the cave?” I snap at him.

“Yeah.” He looks a little hurt. “I saw you running and trip on the sand. Are you all right?”

“Yes!” I bark back. “Thank you. I am.” I look behind him, back into the darkness. “How long were you there?”

Martin shrugs, puzzled. “Four or five minutes. I was looking for a wristband, but I think they've all been taken already.” He looks really disappointed. “You've got one though. Where did you find it?”

My hand flies to my wrist. “I—it was just on top of the sand. At the very back of the cave,” I sputter.

Martin sighs. “Lucky you.”

“Yeah.” I want to go, but I have to ask him. “Martin, did you laugh?”

He looks blankly at me. “When?”

“Four, five minutes ago, when you first got here. Did you laugh at all?”

He looks at me as if I'm deranged. “I'm here alone. What would I laugh at?”

“I don't know,” I say. “But you didn't?”

He shrugs again.

“So…” I'm confused. “You might have laughed? You don't know if you did?”

He laughs now. It's soft and a little high-pitched for a boy, but I have no clue if it's the same laugh that I heard before. He shakes his head. “There's nothing funny here, Cate.”

The way he says it creeps me out. I realize that while we have been talking, he has edged around me, so that now he is between me and the outside. I sidestep, and he mirrors me. I frown at him, and he tilts his head to one side, questioningly.

I hold up a wrist in front of me, like I'm Wonder Woman with her bulletproof bracelet. “I have a red band.”

“Yes, I know that. You told me,” Martin blusters, suddenly losing his swagger. “I suppose I'll keep looking.”

“You do that.” I walk around him and out of the cave.

That afternoon, I hide in the art studio all alone. I plug my MP3 player into the music system, thumbing through my playlist until I find something cheery, and start work. For the first half hour, I'm watching the door for Flynny, certain he'll be coming to find me, but after a while I lose myself in my screen printing, and three hours pass before my stomach and the clock tells me I'm going to have to run to make it to high tea.

As I'm clearing away the final things, the door opens. It's Mr. Flynn.

I was sort of prepared for it and inclined to believe what Vaughan had said about Mr. Flynn not acting on what had happened the night before. But as soon as I see him, looking ridiculously handsome and disheveled in a Sunday way, and wearing the most thunderous look I've ever seen on him—apart from the one he wore last night—I'm immediately reduced to Pathetic, Quivering Schoolgirl.

Of course, I don't let him see this. I walk toward where he stands in the doorway.

“I'm going to be late for high tea,” I say.

“Sit down.”

I sigh. “Ms. Lasillo is on duty. She definitely will notice I'm not there and would just love to give me an absence mark.”

“Lucky you, it's Mr. Churley tonight.” He nods to the nearest table. “Find a chair.”

I teen-shuffle to it, slugging my bag down and looking up at him.

“Vaughan is OK.”

“I know he is,” Mr. Flynn says. “I've just finished talking to him.”

This makes me sit up a little. “You have?”

Flynn nods. “He assured me that nothing untoward was going on last night. Beyond kissing and skinny-dipping.”

I can't help the sharp intake of breath. Oh, sweet cheeses. I have to fight the overwhelming urge to put him right, but of course I instantly realize that this is the best scenario by far. Flynny thinks we were having a bit of reasonably innocent tongue-tussling down on the shore, followed by a dare to jump in the sea? Perfect. The Game is safe. I stay silent.

“Vaughan tells me you used to know each other as kids?”

I nod.

Mr. Flynn nods too. “This is not like you. I couldn't smell anything on either of you last night, but if there was booze—or worse—involved, I suggest you do not do it again.”

“There wasn't.” Ah. At least that part is true.

“Fine.” Mr. Flynn walks up to the table and sits down beside me. “Cate, I've seen it happen time and time again. Girl is ambitious, clever, focused. Girl meets boy, falls in love or lust or whatever—”

I blush and look down.

“—and loses ambition, loses focus. Becomes one half of a couple and little else. Lets it hold her back from jumping into all the other things she has to do with her life.”

“That's a bit sexist, isn't it?” I mumble. “You saying it never happens the other way around?”

“Sometimes, it does,” Mr. Flynn says. “But rarely, because most teenage boys don't let a silly thing like love hold them back.”

I look up at him sharply. “Are you kidding me? That's so completely misogynistic.”

“No, it's not,” he says equally sharply. “Often in life, not thinking about anyone else but your own sweet self is a major flaw. But not when you're in your teens. Now is exactly the time when you should be thinking about you and you only.”

I roll my eyes.

“I know this”—he leans forward—“because I lived it.”

“What,” I say sarcastically, “someone was so infatuated with you that they ceased to function?”

“No,” he says simply. “I was the lovestruck one.”

I look at him, shocked.

He nods. “It's true. I had an offer from an art school—Saint Martins, no less—and I didn't go because of a girl. Chose a part-time college instead to be near her and did a teaching degree. Started working to support her. She wanted to be a jewelry designer, and she was, for a while.” He shifts his weight, and the chair creaks. “Now, I love being a teacher, but who knows what would have happened if I'd gone to Saint Martins instead of dancing to her tune and doing everything for her at a time when I should have been focused on me? I don't want you to repeat my mistake.”