The Assassin Game by Kirsty McKay

Author:Kirsty McKay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2016-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Monday morning, Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning…and I’m breathing easy.

I love being safe. The little red snake around my wrist feels wonderful. Guild members eye it, some with envy. One of them is looking at it and mentally crossing me off their hit list—for this week.

The Game is buzzing. I begin to live for screen time. Crypt is the place to be. Players are posting stuff constantly—jokes, theories, even pictures. Analyzing clues. Having fun. And part of that fun is keeping in the loop while keeping your username private and not letting any non-Guild in on the secret.

Suddenly, no Internet is no big deal. My personal devices are connected to the school intranet and I can get on to Crypt whenever I like, as long as I’m in range of the Umfraville Wi-Fi. There’s a mad increase of Guild members carrying around tablets at all times, chuckling at them in lessons, lounging around with open laptops in the quad, trying to pick up a signal in the pottery studio or in the toilets. The staff must think we’ve all become very industrious. We’ll have to be careful.

But Vaughan is on point. By Tuesday afternoon, there’s a post on Crypt from him.

Greetings, assassins. This is your webmaster.

Please click on the link below to download this simple yet highly addictive game onto your personal machines. Once downloaded, in the event of an emergency, this game can be toggled to hide any Game IMs or Crypt page you might be viewing.

Yours prophylactically, Vaughan

I have to smile. He’s smart, that boy. I click on the link, and before long I’m playing a bright and obnoxious matching game called Kreepy Klowns.

The days pass with no Kills. Perhaps the Killer is too busy matching lines of clown faces and bantering online on Crypt. Perhaps one of us with immunity is next on their list, and they don’t want to waver from the plan. Perhaps they’re enjoying heightening the fun by lulling everyone into a false sense of security.

But then on Thursday, the fun starts to sour.

I don’t see it coming at all; I’ve had a good day. Swimming has been replaced by a choice of yoga or hockey, and I’m all about the om. I have double art, and art history winds up the day with the batty but charming Miss Biddulph. I’m coming out of class, chatting to Whitney and laughing about which Kreepy Klowns level we’re on, when Anvi comes running up to us, peroxide blond hair bouncing in her usual ponytail.

“Where have you been?” Her brown cheeks are flushed scarlet, dark eyes wild beneath the long fringe.

“Art history.” Whitney looks at her friend as if to say, er, duh.

“Not you. Her.” Anvi nods at me. “Have you seen it yet, on Crypt? Everybody’s talking.”

My heart sinks. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

“Spill the beans, you tease!” Whitney says.

Anvi doesn’t answer, just grabs my arm painfully, looks from side to side and marches me around the corner of the main block of classrooms.

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