Free The Assassin Game by Kirsty McKay Page A

final three, Killer or not.
    â€œEnough talk!” Alex says. He stands, holding the large, dark velvet bag tied at the top with a ratty gold cord. “Time to choose your destiny.”
    Everyone straightens up a little. I’m holding my breath. Alex unravels the golden cord and opens the bag just wide enough to put a hand in.
    â€œNo reading your card until everyone has one.” He offers the bag to the Elders first. Each solemnly takes out a folded matte black card. Then he moves into the group, everyone taking turns to cautiously dip in a hand. I’m one of the last to get the bag. Before I reach in, I wonder if this puts me at an advantage or a disadvantage, but not being a math genius, I can’t work out the odds. I stretch out my hand toward the bag, feeling like it might be bitten off by something hidden in there. I feel around for the cards; just two or three remain. I toy with them for a second then choose one, pulling it out and in close to my chest, as if it will jump out of my hand and reveal itself unless I hold it tight.
    The last few take their cards. Alex moves back to his place and sits, looking at us, smiling. He doesn’t speak. We wait. We wait a little longer.
    â€œDelicious, isn’t it?” Alex’s voice is hoarse and thick with pleasure. “The anticipation? This is one of the best moments, the moment before, the moment when no one is the Killer and all of us are.”
    No one giggles. The generator hums in the background. The lights flicker a little, prompting a ripple of noise, half-muffled screams, and nervous laughter.
    â€œYes.” Alex nods, smiling. “The spirits of assassins past are with us! On my count, open your cards. Three, two, one…”
    I hardly dare to. I’m not only afraid of what is written there, but also of how I will react when I see it. I mustn’t give the Game away. I cup the card in my hands and slowly—oh, so slowly—unfold the stiff card. The inside of the card is bloodred, and there is black writing. I see the large capital K and feel a rush of adrenaline shoot up my spine into my head. As the lights flicker again, I squint at the card:
    Kitten
    Disappointment, then huge relief, then fear.
    I look again, just in case I’ve read it wrong. But no, I’m a baby cat, not a murderer. Funny, Alex. I wonder how many different K words he could think of that would give everyone the same heart attack. I suppose I should be thankful I’m not “Kisser” or “Kipper.”
    Of course, as soon as I’ve looked at my own card, I’m looking around at everyone else to try to read reactions. And that’s exactly what everyone else is doing too. Alex is chuckling away to himself. How very amusing we must look to him. I wonder if he can tell who got the Killer card, because whoever did won’t be looking around at everyone else to see who got it. Probably only a split second, but Alex would have been looking for it. One of the myriad ways he makes this all entertaining for himself.
    â€œOK folks, cards away,” Alex says. “You need to keep your card so I can check the Killer is for real. But don’t keep it anywhere anyone else can find it.”
    â€œIt’s getting late,” Marcia says, leaning over onto a rock ledge and blowing out some candles. “We need to show up for high tea, or they might send out the search parties.”
    I shove my card, burning hot, into the inner pocket of my parka.
    â€œOK, we’ll move out,” Alex says. “Staggered, not everyone at once.”
    â€œYeah, girls,” Rick sneers, looking at Tesha, Whit, and Anvi. “You do know you don’t have to do everything together.”
    Alex and Carl snicker. The girls sneer back at Rick. More candles are blown out. Martin and Anvi start to extinguish the oil lamps, and Martin knocks one down, smashing it on a rock.
    â€œThink stealthy, people!” Alex moans, and looks at