The Assassin Game Page 22

  We reach Main House and walk through the big oak door and into the foyer that leads to Ezra’s office. Ms. Lasillo points to some chairs outside the room.

  “Sit there. You’ll be called in one at a time.” She knocks on the door, opens it a crack, and leans inside. “The final two. Ready for you,” she says to whoever is in there.

  Rick sits, grinning at me, chocolate still around his lips like he’s a toddler.

  I sit carefully, watching Ms. Lasillo happily scuttle off, now that she’s done her duty and deposited us.

  Rick doesn’t seem to be ailing at all. He manages a highly tuneful burp, then slumps back in his seat and scratches his groin, contemplatively. “You’ll be first,” he says to me unnecessarily. “Wish I had another cake to keep me going, yum-mee.”

  Actually, if Rick is Skulk, and the whole batch is yucky, wouldn’t this be a great way to divert suspicion?

  The door swings open. A gingery young man in a police uniform leans out. “Catherine?”

  I stand up. “Cate.”

  “Cate.” His Welsh accent makes my name sound much nicer. He gives me a slightly tired smile and disappears inside.

  I take a last backward glance at Rick—who has slid so far down the chair his huge legs sticking out make him look like some kind of modern art chair-boy hybrid—and then follow the policeman inside.

  I’ve only been in Ezra’s office twice before: once during my interview for the school, and once when Marcia, Daniel, and I did the graffiti talk and got crazy with the spray cans. It’s cozier than I remember, filled with bookshelves and a series of overlapping Turkish rugs. There’s a high painted ceiling depicting some kind of holy war between fat, cherubic babies and six-winged seraphim. The ceiling was created by art students a couple decades back. Wish I’d gotten in on that gig, must have been fun to decorate Ez’s ceiling with copious little willies. Although if it had been up to me, I would have opted for a flying spaghetti monster.

  The room is dominated by a huge window, which has a spectacular view over the rolling lawn, down toward the cliffs and sea in the background. Two policemen are blocking the view today, however. They are both perched uncomfortably on wobbly wooden chairs. The younger one who came to the door is balancing a notebook. An older, very tall policeman looks me up and down as he clutches a tiny cup of tea on his knee. Mrs. James is beside them, and she gives me a brief smile.

  “Hello, Cate. Come in.”

  Ezra sits to the left of the window, barely visible behind a large desk. He flaps a welcome with one papery hand.

  “Ah, it’s Catherine. Sit down.”

  He has glasses balanced on his thin nose, and static is making some of the long, fine gray hairs stand up on his head, floating in the air as if we were all sitting at the bottom of the sea. I fight the giggles.

  “Here.” A voice comes from behind me, and I turn around, mouth open.

  It’s Mr. Flynn, proffering a chair. Suddenly I lose all desire to laugh. Oh no. This makes me nervous. Lie in front of Ezra, Mrs. James, and two random cops? No problem. But Mr. Flynn is a different matter. Why is he here? It’s not like he’s particularly senior. Maybe it’s because he dealt with Emily when it all went down? I really hope he’s not going to throw me under the bus with the whole beach thing with Vaughan. But that has nothing to do with this, and if it were the case, then Vaughan would have given me the heads up. Surely.

  Mr. Flynn shoots me a look I can’t read as he places the chair down and retreats into the shadows to one side of me. I sit on the chair, not sure who I should be facing. I shift my gaze between them all, probably looking like the epitome of dodgy.

  “We will keep this as quick and as painless as possible.” The older policeman flashes a chunky watch. “There’s no messing with these tides, and we’re all a little peckish.”

  I nod, trying not to look too pleased.

  “So, Cate, you were in the ballroom when the incident of Emily’s assault occurred, were you not?”

  I nod. Wow. Just like Clue.

  He nods back and smiles. “And would you say you were a friend of Emily’s?”

  I nod again. The young policeman’s pen is hovering over his pad expectantly. Oh—I’m expected to actually answer.

  “Yes,” I croak, then clear my throat. “I mean, a bit. We weren’t—aren’t—close or anything.”

  “But you would say she’s in your circle?” he presses.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “The Assassins’ Guild, you call it?” he says. “And your friends have already told us that this term you were playing a Game.” He leans forward slightly. “A Game called Killer.”

  I swallow. OK, are we going there already?

  “Yeah.” I glance at Ezra and try to think of something else to say. Ezra appears to be dozing; this morning must have been a long one for him. Outside the door, I can hear Rick coughing. I look at the door. He’s coughing quite a lot; what did he do, light one up? I wouldn’t put it past him, the idiot. The coughing stops; there’s a thump.

  “Cate?” The policeman looks at me questioningly.

  “Inspector Yates asked you a question.” Mrs. James looks pointedly at me. “Was this incident connected with the Game?”

  “Um…” I can’t help but look back to the door. “No. Definitely not. It’s against the rules to actually hurt anyone.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would do this to Emily?” Inspector Yates says. “Had she had any arguments with anyone lately? Trouble over a boy?”

  There’s a sort of tapping out there now. What the hell is Rick doing? I look back at the teachers and the cops—aren’t they hearing this?—and then the tapping becomes much louder, more of a thump, thump, thump, and I hear a low moan. I stand up.

  “Cate?” Mrs. James frowns at me. “Sit down.”

  I glance at her and point at the door. There’s a scratching, and that moan again. Suddenly, as ridiculous as this is, I’m frightened. Is that Rick out there? Or is it the thing that’s eaten him?

  Thump.

  “Is that a knock?” Ezra squawks, suddenly awake.

  I move over to the door, mesmerized.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Mr. Flynn?” Inspector Yates says. “Can you check that for us?”

  Mr. Flynn is already at my side, and he moves past me and puts his hand on the doorknob, face grim. “Just give me a minute.”

  He opens the door, and Rick falls into the room and lies there, facedown on one of the Turkish rugs.

  My first thought is, Rick you utter, utter prat. So what if you’re bored out there? This is a stupid thing to pull with policemen in the room.

  But then Rick rolls. Over onto his back he goes, trembling from head to toe. His eyes wide, face aghast. Mrs. James gasps, the policemen move forward as one, and Mr. Flynn puts a hand out to stop me getting any closer.

  “What’s going on?”

  The thumping is now coming from Ezra, who is penned in behind his desk, trying to move his wheelchair out to get a better look.

  Mrs. James has regained her composure. “Rick, get up off the floor, you fool!”

  There’s a slightly embarrassed second, when everyone else around Rick wonders how to break it to Mrs. James that this isn’t a joke. But then Rick does it for us, the trembles turning to convulsions, his whole body jerking on the floor like he’s wired to the mains.

  The two policemen kneel to hold him.

  “Eyes dilated, sir,” the younger one says.

  “Son!” Inspector Yates says. “What did you take? Answer me.”

  Rick can’t answer, except to convulse some more, as if he’s trying to kick off his shoes.

  “I’ll call the ambulance!” Mrs. James utters. But before she can move, Rick sits up, opens his mouth, and projectile vomits all over her lower half. She squeals as chocolatey bile drips off her tweed
skirt and onto her patent court shoes.

  Rick slumps down, gasps, and stops moving.

  The edges of the room close in on me, and as I back away, I almost tumble over Ezra in his wheelchair. Mr. Flynn and the policemen are pumping Rick’s chest and breathing into his sick-coated lips, but it looks like Rick has left the building. I see it in his eyes, his floppy hand, his already-gray skin. The men continue, regardless, pumping him. I want to tell them to stop. It’s obscene.

  “I think we’ve…lost him, sir,” the young policeman says finally, with a catch in his voice.

  “He’s still breathing,” mutters Mr. Flynn, but I think he’s kidding himself.

  “Give him a drink of water to bring him around!” Ezra says helpfully. “I’ve got one, somewhere.”

  “I’ve called the ambulance.” Mrs. James is standing at Ezra’s desk, dabbing at her dripping skirt; there are chunks of something on her legs and a blob of chocolate on one toe.

  Inspector Yates looks up at me, sweat on his brow. “Does this lad do drugs? Tell us, Cate.”

  I shake my head slowly.

  He turns back to Rick, and they make a few more halfhearted efforts to rouse him, but Rick’s not interested. Right about now it looks to me like he’s knocking on the Pearly Gates and annoying Saint Peter with a dirty joke.

  Back here on earth, things are definitely not funny. Inspector Yates stands up, looks at his watch, and moves to Ezra’s desk, picking up the phone. The younger policeman is trying not to sob.

  Mr. Flynn sits back on his heels, finally, and leaves Rick alone. He looks up at me desperately.

  “What did he take, Cate? What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But I do know what he took. He took my cupcake.

  My body flushes cold.

  Marcia.

  Before they can stop me, I sprint out of the office.

  Chapter 22

  I run to the dining room first, because it’s nearest, and that’s where Marcia was heading last time I saw her.

  Rick said she had taken a bite or a piece had come off the top of the cake when she was icing it, and she had eaten it.

  When I reach the dining room, only a few kids are still eating. I scan faces quickly. No Marcia. In fact, no Guild—except Daniel, eating in the corner on his own, scooping huge spoonfuls of something gooey into his mouth. He looks up and sees me and smiles sheepishly, midmouthful. My stomach flips, and I turn right around and head out of there.

  I run down the corridor toward the door to the courtyard, and as I near it, I hear a shout.

  “Cate! Come back!”

  It’s Mr. Flynn. I don’t stop.

  She won’t be in her room. She’ll be in the Loathsome Toad office, I bet. It’s a more concealed getaway for me too. I cross the courtyard and dodge behind the large hedge, then make my way down the path that leads to the studios.

  OK, she ate a small piece. She ate a crumb, that’s what Rick said. She looked fine when I saw her, so whatever was in the cake, maybe it wasn’t in the piece that she ate, or maybe it was in such small amounts that it won’t harm her. I run faster, past the art studio and the photography studio, the kiln and the toilet block. Just a little farther down this path, and then I’ll be there.

  No lights on in the office. Hard to tell if there’s anyone home, but I’m sure she’ll be here. She almost always is.

  I arrive, panting, at the door, and try to open it, and as I do, I see something in the corner of the room through the window. Marcia’s legs on the floor, sticking out from behind a table.

  “Marcia!” I twist the stiff doorknob, then push it with all my might. “Marcia!” I remember the trick, lift the doorknob up and push again, and I’m through, almost falling into the room not unlike poor Rick fell into Ezra’s office. “Marcia!”

  She’s lying on the floor. Alex is half on top of her, as if trying to do mouth-to-mouth.

  “My God! Is she OK?”

  Alex looks around at me. Marcia sits up and looks too. Same guilty face on both of them.

  “Oh,” I say. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  “Cate, listen…” Marcia begins, getting to her feet. “I know this must look bad, and I know you probably hate me, but—”

  “Are you all right?” I walk up to her. “Are you feeling OK?” I hold her face in my hands, looking at her eyes. Her pupils are dilated as hell, but it’s hard to know if that’s because she’s been poisoned or because she’s been smooching Alex.

  “Am I feeling OK?” She moves my hands off her face but gently. “Of course!” She frowns. “Are you being sarcastic? Look, I never wanted you to see us like this, to find out this way, but—”

  “Marcia”—I bite my lip—“shut up.”

  “I know you must be upset with me—”

  “I don’t care!” I shout. “Not about him.” I fling out an arm in Alex’s general direction. “Do whatever you want with him for all I care, goodness knows he’s tried everyone else—”

  “Cate…” Alex growls at me.

  “You can shut up too!” I fling out a finger at him. “You’re nothing to me and you never were, and that’s pretty hard to take, isn’t it, Alex? What is this anyway? Some kind of payback?”

  “Cate!” Marcia says.

  “Urgh!” I cry, turning back to Marcia. “It doesn’t matter anyway. All I care about is are you feeling OK?” I hold Marcia’s shoulders. “No dizziness? Nausea?”

  “What?” Marcia is looking at me as if I’m totally crazy.

  “You might have been poisoned!” I yell at her. And that shuts her up.

  “No,” Marcia says, trembling a little, backing off.

  Alex walks up to me. “What is going on, Cate?”

  I stumble backward, searching for a chair and dragging it up to meet me before I sink into it. “The cake. The cake you made me, Marcia. It was spiked with something, something bad.”

  Marcia shakes her head. “No! I didn’t!”

  “Not by you, by our rogue Killer,” I say. “By Skulk.”

  “Ay, ¡Dios mío!”She looks at me concerned. “It made you sick? Are you OK now?”

  I sigh, the tremors rising up in my body, all that has happened beginning to bubble and threatening to burst through me. “I didn’t eat the cake.”

  Alex speaks. “Who did?”

  I don’t look at him. A single, uncontrollable tear itches its way down my cheek.

  “Who ate the cake, Cate?” Alex says again.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex. I really am.” I turn to look at him. “Rick did. I think…I think he’s dead.”

  “Cate!”

  Marcia sounds so shocked, but as I turn to her, I see her frown and realize it’s because she thinks this is a sick joke I’m pulling to get back at Alex. I shake my head.

  “It’s true, Marcia. Dear God, I wish that it weren’t, but I swear.” The tears start to flow freely now. “I saw the whole thing. He collapsed on the floor, right there in front of me, had some sort of spaced-out fit and threw up… The police and Mr. Flynn tried to help him, but then…he just stopped moving.” I start to sob.

  “Where?” Alex hisses in my ear. “Where, Cate?”

  “Ezra’s office.”

  He runs out of the room and the door slams and swings open again, the wind blowing a bunch of leaves in. Marcia hugs me, and the two of us cry, clinging to each other until the sobs run dry. I hear the distant siren of an ambulance through the open door. Time to move.

  “Come on.” I detach myself gently from Marcia’s arms and stand up, shakily. “I fled the scene. They’ll be looking for me.”

  Marcia nods. “I’ll get my bag.”

  “I’ll wait.” I leave the studio and walk out into the cool air, letting it dry my tears and cool my face. The ambulance siren has stopped now, and I can hear nothing but the distant crie
s of seabirds. I’m not sure why they bothered with the siren anyway. It’s not like there’s any emergency if he’s already dead.

  I begin to walk slowly up the path away from the studio, breathing the sea air, seeing the colors of the leaves so vividly, shivering, but relishing every sensation, enjoying still being alive, and feeling bad that I’m enjoying it. I stop by the first tree and lean against it, shutting my eyes and resting my head against the rough, damp bark. I shove my hands in my pockets and feel a crinkle of paper there. It’s the cupcake wrapper. I take it out carefully and unfold it, looking at the brown crumbs as if they’re going to leap up and bite me. This is evidence. I should totally give it to the police.

  I refold it, put it carefully back in my pocket, and wipe my fingers on my jeans.

  I hear the slam of the studio door back down the path, and Marcia comes up behind me. She looks up at me with a pale face and big, scared eyes.

  “We should hurry. I’ve just thrown up.”

  She throws up again before we get to the courtyard, and as we struggle across the gravel toward Main House, she’s shaking, my arm around her, holding her up. The ambulance has already gone—presumably with Rick inside it—but luckily there are still plenty of responsible people who rush to us as they realize something’s up. Nobody will tell us anything about Rick. Another ambulance is called for Marcia, but by the time it arrives, Marcia’s sweating and gibbering in Spanish and won’t go in the ambulance. From what little I understand, it’s because she thinks Rick’s ghost is in there.

  Eventually, they get her in, and they get gone. I stand in the courtyard and watch the ambulance zoom off, biting at my nails, and then remembering touching the cupcake wrapper and spitting frantically into a herbaceous border.

  The police talk to me in Mrs. James’s office. I tell them about the cupcakes. I’m quickly ferried off to the sick bay for observation. They wanted me to go to the mainland hospital with Marcia, but I told them I didn’t eat anything. So they stick me down here to keep me away from everyone else.

  The nurse produces oversized pajamas and makes me get into bed, which is entirely unnecessary. She smiles as she gently places a couple gossip magazines down on the bed for me to read. I have my tablet with me, and I try in vain to get on to Crypt. We’re not too far from the science labs, and I can see the wireless show up on my settings page, but there’s no consistent signal here. My mind is too buzzy to do anything; I can’t even play Kreepy Klowns. I try to lie back and close my eyes, but every time I do, eternal gifs of Rick play in my head. Rick throwing his guts up; Rick convulsing; Rick suddenly still. In desperation, I pick up the mags and try and disappear into them.