The Assassin Game

by Kirsty McKay

  Vaughan tried. He wrote; he called. The first time my mother cut the phone conversation short, I threw a tantrum. But pretty quickly there were lots of new things filling up my life—new toys, new school, riding, and ballet. Basically all the stuff you think you’re missing as a kid, and then you get it and it’s wonderful for a few weeks, and then it becomes normal and boring and you’re already ruined.

  I missed Vaughan madly at first, furiously, with night terrors and hives and just a whole lot of sadness. That gradually diminished into a dull sense of feeling like I’d left my favorite old teddy behind somewhere or forgotten to put on an item of clothing. Then I got used to it, which was worse.

  And now here he is before me in a tree house, jumping around like a confusingly attractive dork. How does he fit into my life now? With my friends, such as they are? Why exactly did he come here? I sense I’m not going to get the answers now.

  But I have to say something.

  “It’s nice to see you.” It’s woefully inadequate and not entirely true. But he stops jumping and beams at me.

  “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. So much.” The smile looks relieved and genuine, but I’m not going to assume he’s let me off the hook yet; the old Vaughan wouldn’t.

  “You just got here on the bus?” I say.

  “Yup.” He grins. “Trunk was sent ahead. I was supposed to be here last week at the start of the term, but Dad took me on a field trip to Honduras and we got lost in the jungle.”

  Oh yeah. His dad did these crazy no-budget trips to the back end of nowhere, so there probably is some truth in that.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly,” I totally lie. I glance at the place on my wrist where my watch should be, then remember it is lost, and feel in my pocket for my phone, but remember I’m at school. Whatever. It’s time to get a move on if I’m not going to totally miss putting in an appearance at lunch. “Everyone’s pretty friendly,” I lie once more. “Anyway, I should be heading back to the Main House.” I shuffle to the edge of the tree house and try not to look too awkward and careful as I make my descent. At the bottom, I cheat a glance up; he’s sitting where I was, swinging his legs and staring up at the leaves, and it doesn’t look like he’s planning on following me. It feels odd to just leave him there, but he found his way to this tree, so he’ll find his way back. I start back on the path through the woods. Shadows are playing on the ground, and the wind is beginning to whip up some of the first leaves of autumn. I need to get a coat on.

  “See you later,” Vaughan finally calls after me. “I’m not too late to play the Game, I hope?”

  I stop in my tracks and stare back at him.

  “You know, Killer.” He throws himself down the tree at breakneck speed and runs up the path toward me, smiling. “Not too late to join the Guild, I assume.”

  “You assume wrong.” My stomach is in my mouth. “How do you know about it anyway? You’ve just got here.”

  He jogs right past me.

  “How do you know about the Game, Vaughan?” I repeat, but annoyingly, he doesn’t slow down, not even looking back at me. “Well, you can’t just randomly join in,” I shout after him, hurrying myself up to try to catch up with him, sounding more panicked than I mean to. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  He stops now, finally, turning back to look at me. “How does it work, Cate?” The wind gusts, whirling orange leaves down around us as I catch up with him.

  “It’s secret.” Wow, that sounds stupid. But it’s all I can come up with. It’s almost like I don’t trust myself to speak.

  “Hmm, let me guess.” Vaughan rubs his stubbly chin. “You get chosen? Dragged from your beds at night? There’s some kind of unpleasant test you have to pass before you are taken into the fold. Kind of…smelly?” He holds his hands out. “How close am I?”

  “How on earth do you know about all of this?” My voice is shaking.

  He walks around me, circling slowly. “And this afternoon there’s a meeting.” He smiles, his voice low and velvety. “Because you’re itching to get away. You want to reapply your smudged mascara and don your sexiest ninja outfit before meeting your fellow assassins. Am I right, Catey-Cate?”

  I push past him, feeling ridiculed and ridiculous, sure he’ll follow, sure I’ll never be able to shake him, and with a gnawing feeling that he’ll mess up everything for me now that he’s here. I break into a run, and I hear him laugh. Once I’ve got a little distance I look over my shoulder and see him standing there, the orange-and-yellow leaves falling all around him, tall and handsome like he’s in some awful sweater catalog. I run on, glance back another time, and he’s gone.

  It’s almost as if I imagined him.

  Chapter 5

  I’m running down the cliff path, and it’s raining, which is a really difficult combination. The path is chalky here, tufts of thick-knit grass holding the earth together. One slip or twist of the ankle and I could be tumbling to my death on the beaten rocks below. I’m irritated to death that I’m late—I had all the time in the world to get down here, but somehow after lunch, I lost an hour or more pacing up and down in my dorm and fretting about Vaughan. Why is he here? How does he know about the Game? Why do I even care? I glance behind me, absolutely expecting him to suddenly pop up behind a gorse bush, having followed me. I have no idea how I’m going to keep him away from the Game. I have no idea how I’m going to keep him away period.

  But that’s a headache for another time, and I won’t let him spoil this for me. I’ve been looking forward to it for too long to let that happen.

  The path is exposed at first, but as it winds down the cliff, the gorse and general fuzzy beach bushes get taller and the path twistier, and I can’t tell who might be following me or who might be around the corner. I’ve been this way before a handful of times, but it’s not exactly a commonly walked trail. There’s nothing much down here apart from seabirds, just a thin strip of sand and shale–scattered beach, a long promontory of rock sticking out into the ocean, and some caves. All forbidden. This is a reckless move on the Guild’s part, because if the school discovered where we were operating out of, they’d come down on us like a ton of bricks. But I know the reasoning behind the choice: secrecy. For a while, the Guild was held in awe by the rest of the school, but in recent years the uninitiated have ventured to crash the party. Kids either wanted to eavesdrop or join in or even play tricks on the Guild, sabotage them. Guild members were sworn to secrecy about the location of the Summonings, of course, but stuff always slipped out. And there were only so many locations on the island that were suitable.

  A gust of wind takes me by surprise. I pull my parka around me tightly and suddenly question my attire. Do I look suitably assassin-y? Should I have fashioned a cloak from my bedsheets? Worn makeup and accessories? Was this a dressy occasion? I do not want to look sloppy, especially in front of Alex. I instantly berate myself for having the thought. I still want him to want me, is that it?

  I reach the beach. There are footprints in the sand, and I feel a shiver go up my spine. I had wondered exactly how to find the caves, because the map is vague, and I’ve never actively looked for them before, just known they were down here somewhere. I’d wondered if there would be a sign or a pattern of sticks forming an arrow. But now I can follow the trail. I look up behind me, but no, there’s no one later than me. I’ll have to hurry. The wind is whipping a wicked spray up off the slate-gray sea, and it clings to the exposed skin on my face. So much for an Indian summer; I hope this cold patch passes and we go back to the mists and mellow fruitfulness.

  I follow the footsteps hugging the base of the cliff, taking me along the stretch of sand toward the promontory. There doesn’t look to be anything like an obvious entrance to a cave along here—no oil lamps hanging, no hooded figure beckoning. But I have little doubt that once inside, it will be a different matter. The Guild will surely be in full c
eremonial garb, and there are probably a whole bunch of formalities to the Summoning. I really, really hope I haven’t missed the beginning, and I hope they don’t kick me out because of it. I scurry, head down, following the scuffs in the sand.

  The footsteps stop. They are the footsteps of the whole Guild, I presume, so I’m not exactly following one trail. They stop at the beginning of the strip of tufted grass that lines the cliff face. I look at the rocks, which are covered in part by longer, hanging grass, with an occasional small tree or gorse bush clinging to the side of the cliff. It’s steep but not sheer. And I can’t see any kind of entrance from here. I walk over the tufted grass in the most direct way to the cliff, figuring that everyone would take the shortest route to the caves. But there is nothing in front of me apart from cliff. I look up, rain falling on my face. Seeing the drops gives me vertigo. Don’t tell me I’m supposed to climb.

  As I have the thought, I notice that there are signs that someone has done just that. Fresh soil has been turned over where clumps of grass have been pulled out; there are stones at my feet that don’t look like they have been there long. A little ball of dread forms in my stomach as I find a foothold and pull myself up a little. I reach up and grasp a rock that comes away in my hand. I jump down. This is seriously dodgy. I look closer and see that the trail stops only a little higher up than I’d reached. Ah, Cate. This is all part of the fun. They wanted you to think this was where the cave was, but it’s not.

  I turn and stride off in the direction of the promontory. Those footprints in the sand are obviously a ruse to confuse us apprentices, or indeed, any outsider who is skulking around. The entrance to the caves will be farther along the grass. I hurry, scanning the cliff face as I go. It becomes sheerer, until the cliff turns a corner and the grass ends, and only rock remains between me and the sea, and me and the cliff face. Now I’m really scratching my head. The water is merely lapping at the rocks now, because the tide is out, but I’m sure that things get really wild around here at other times. There’s an arch in the rock, big enough to allow a rowing boat underneath the promontory, but there’s no boat to be seen. I’m sure they don’t expect me to swim. Is there a ledge or some way of clinging to the cliff face to go underneath the arch? No, nothing. I look up again. Scaling this wall would take serious skill and equipment, and there is no indication of anything. I know this isn’t the right way; I cannot for the life of me imagine Marcia being persuaded to turn the Summoning meetings into some kind of extreme sports exercise.

  I lean my back against the rock, looking back across the little bay, and I feel panic rising. They don’t want me after all. Maybe this was just a meeting place on the beach, and they went on somewhere else. They didn’t wait for me because I was late, and I’ve been dropped from the Guild already. I get my little black book out of my pocket, sheltering it from the rain with one hand while I flick to the map with the other. Could this be a test that only I have failed? Maybe the real Summoning is somewhere completely different? Could the information on this map be in code—angles of locations or invisible ink or a play on words—or something I’m too ordinary and stupid to work out? I curse, shutting the book and staring out across the bay the way I came. I’m doomed.

  And then I see them. The washed-out indentations peeking out of the surf. Right by the water’s edge, more footsteps—not following the cliff this time, but cutting straight across the bay in a direct line back to the cliff path. There, where I descended, is a huge clump of gorse, but from this vantage point, I can now see that there’s a rock behind the bushes and what looks like it might be an entranceway.

  Ha-ha-ha, Guild. You sent us on a wild-goose chase.

  I pick my way over the rocks, heading for the sand once more, following the footsteps of all my fellow apprentices who had the same realization before me. I feel relieved that the Game might not be over for me before it has begun but stung that everyone else probably figured this out together, not alone and late.

  Sure enough, once I reach the bottom of the cliff path and walk around the big bush, there is a dark arch of an entrance, facing out to sea. There’s a thick, oiled rope across the entrance with a small wooden sign hanging from it.

  Strictly Out of Bounds

  Ezra Pendleton

  Jackpot. I step over the rope and into the cave.

  The entrance is almost narrow enough for me to touch both sides, but the cave quickly opens up into a large chamber. The sand sticks to my shoes as I walk; it’s dry in here, which at least gives me some confidence that we won’t get careless and have to swim for it. I walk in carefully, out of the bright light and into the unknown. There’s nobody here, but there are a couple shadowy alcoves on the far wall, indications of possible tunnels into other chambers. I walk carefully across the sand and reach the first one. It is a tunnel, a skinny one—I follow it. It narrows farther then hangs a sudden left. The light doesn’t follow. It is dark here, thickly, chokingly dark. There is a low hum, something mechanical—a generator? I edge forward, feeling along both walls, and then suddenly, I’ve lost the right wall. Ack. OK, just keep going. I can’t help but wonder how Tesha with her claustrophobia is dealing with this. The walls are smooth and slimy. Probably dripping with bat droppings. Yup, totally batty, the lot of us… Oh lordy, there must be a way out of here—

  I stop in my tracks. I can hear it. Music. The ceremony must be in full swing. I head toward the sound, bolder now.

  A faint glow off to my right. The hum is louder too. I take a chance and let go of the wall.

  Ahead, a sickly yellow pool of light, spilling out from behind an edge of rock. The source of the hum is a low, square object, with a thick cable running out of it. I was right; it is a generator. I take a breath and step into the light.

  And there they all are. I’m in awe.

  It looks like a pirate’s lair, lit with candles and oil lamps set into indentations in the rock. This chamber is smaller than I expected, only big enough to allow a little more than a dozen kids to sit around reasonably comfortably on an assortment of boxes, old rugs, and cushions. How did they get all this stuff down here? There are a couple wooden tables at the back of the chamber. A pecking order is apparent by everyone’s position. The somber Elders are at the tables: Marcia sits at the smaller of the two, twirling a strand of liquid hair around a pencil. She has a velvet bag, a laptop, and an old-fashioned desk lamp in front of her. At the second, larger table, there’s Carl, all serious cheekbones and dark-red hair, and Cynthia, whip-thin pretty with sharp eyes, compulsively playing with a bag of chips and not opening it. Alex and his best bud, beefcake Rick, lounge between the tables, on big beanbags. Rick’s almost as wide as he is tall, with short legs, furrowed brow, and inch-long black hair, which he scrubs at with both hands, like it itches him. The Journeymen have bagged the best boxes to sit on: my very own Daniel and Roger, an amiable chubster with glasses. I feel Daniel’s eyes boring into me through the scruff of hair falling over his face, but I avoid his glance.

  Fairy lights are strung from the low ceiling. On the left at the back is a curtain covering an archway, glittering strings of beads hanging in front of a velvet backdrop. Faces look up at me as I come in; there are no masks here, no ceremonial robes or hoods pulled low. Just a bunch of kids sitting around listening to Jimi Hendrix. My fellow apprentices are all here: there’s Martin and Tesha—reunited with her initiate mates: Anvi and “edgy” Whitney. Lastly, there’s Becky, not really part of the circle, but officially the hottest girl in the school, so no surprise the Elder boys wanted her in the Guild. Thirteen players, one Grand Master.

  “Bloody hell, Cate!” Marcia’s voice rings out. “Muy tarde, mi amiga.”

  Before I can say anything, a missile is launched in my direction. Instinctively, I fling out a hand and catch it. A can of drink, cold and fizzing ominously in my hand.

  Well, I wasn’t expecting this. The overall effect is that I’ve just wandered into somebody’s boho
chic study room. The atmosphere is not one of reverence, pomp, and circumstance; it’s chilled in here and rather cozy. I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

  Alex glances at me, deliberately disinterested. He’s semi-reclined on the huge beanbag, but it’s an overexaggerated cool. I’ll bet my life in this Game that he’s psyched to kick things off.

  “OK, Cate, pull up a rock,” he quips. “Folks, we’re finally all here. I’m glad you all found this place. It’s not like it took too much brainpower to figure it out.” He shoots me a look. “At least for most.”

  I open my mouth to explain that I wasn’t really late because I couldn’t figure it out but more because I’ve just been handed a nuclear blast from the past. But I don’t, because it’s only partly true. I find a corner of rug to sit on and plonk myself down between fellow apprentices Tesha and Emily.

  “Marcia put together our little rule book.” Alex leans over to grab one. “Hope you’ve all learned it by heart?” He looks around, amused. “For those who haven’t, Rick will explain all the big stuff.”

  Rick stands, half leaning against a rock, one foot on a box of drinks. I always think of him as Alex’s henchman. Another athlete—a rugby player—but the real reason he’s part of this school is that he has a photographic memory and pretty much excels in anything that involves recalling any kind of data. Pity he doesn’t have the intelligence to go with. You can bet that he remembers every last sentence in the rule book, but he might not understand all the words.

  The music is turned down, and all eyes are on Rick. He straightens up. He’s not as easy in the spotlight as Alex, and he shifts his huge weight from foot to gigantic foot. But he is an Elder, and he is an alpha, and so he’s not going to die of nerves.

  “Welcome to the Game,” he says gruffly.

  I shuffle a little on the rug, the cold can in my hands making my fingers ache, not wanting to open it and risk interrupting.