“You’re too kindhearted for traps,” Lia said, and swung her backpack around. The mesh was terrible for keeping secrets, and Abby laughed before Lia had even finished pulling the water gun free. “Since you’re still alive, I thought you could use this.”
Lia had modded the barrel to be more accurate—hopefully—over long distances, and the tank held just enough for five shots so that it wasn’t too heavy to lift quickly. Her dad had complained about the melted plastic smell that hung around the backyard as Lia worked on it, but the outcome was worth it.
Abby took it with the reverence she usually reserved for dogs and books. “Did you make this?” she asked, and when Lia nodded, she grinned. “It’s such cheap plastic. How did you not just break it?”
“Oh, no, I broke a few before this one worked out.” Lia tapped the neon-blue tip. “It’s way more accurate than normal, and light enough for you to use with only one arm.”
Abby laughed and tucked it into her bag as her teacher walked in. “I wasn’t expecting this. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Lia said. She needed to keep Abby happy for now.
Lia had heard three different accounts of how Abby had hurt her arm before lunch, and all of them featured the game. More than a few students whispered furiously about how breaking the bridge could mess it up for all of them. Lia sank down into her seat at the lunch table.
“How can you be so good at poker and have such a bad poker face?” Gem pulled out their lunch. “What’s your plan?”
“Let’s wait for Devon,” Lia said, pointing toward his lithe frame dodging the elbows and yellow lunch trays of the crowd outside the cafeteria.
“I heard about Abby’s fight with a vandalizing freshman,” he said instead of greeting them.
Lia yanked open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “I thought she assassinated the Council.”
“Obviously not,” Gem said, “because we all know the truth—Omelet’s a werewolf.”
“Okay, I hadn’t heard that one.” Devon sat down next to Lia, his leg a mere few inches from hers, and pulled out a squat thermos filled with soup. Steam fogged up his glasses when he unscrewed the top. “Regardless, people are a bit nervous about the Council canceling the game.”
“They wouldn’t cancel,” Lia said quickly.
“They would if the cops got involved,” Gem said. “One year canceled is better than all future years banned.”
“Abby seems happy to play along so far,” Lia said. Her Cheeto-dusted fingers left orange prints on the table as she fidgeted. “I can’t believe her arm was fractured. The fall tore out some of her nails, you know.”
“I definitely checked out her hand, and she had all her nails unless she’s been hiding extras.” Devon leaned back. “It was just an accident. If anything, whoever is in charge of the park is responsible.”
“Most of the adults in town played Assassins. They know the deal,” Lia said. “We need to decide what to do once our week is up and we can go after her.”
“She’ll change her schedule,” Devon said. “The one you know.”
Lia stared at him. “Obviously.”
Assassins was hers. It hurt that Devon didn’t know she knew that, as if she weren’t able to figure it out. Abby would return to her walks soon, fractured arm or no. She was as picky about her walks with Omelet as she was about her books; she had cried in fourth grade when Sam Allen dog-eared a page in her favorite novel.
“There’s a reason I agreed to her deal, you know,” Lia said. “Even if you can’t figure it out.”
Devon downed the last of his soup, and behind the lip of his thermos, his mouth curled up.
“You liked watching me fail, didn’t you?” Lia asked, frowning.
“Aside from the fact that Abby fell, it was a little funny,” Devon said, smirking. “Admit it.”
Lia groaned. “I only missed because Omelet tackled her.”
“And you didn’t observe the whims of dogs and write them down with a full appendix?” He clutched his heart. “I’m disappointed. I could set up a target in my backyard, and you could come practice if you think it would help.”
He grinned as he said it, and a flickering heat filled her chest till her words felt hot and heavy.
“Are you inviting me over?” she asked.
“Actually, I was planning on betraying you and using you for target practice as revenge for getting me caught up in this.” He looked away. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Lia said, smiling. “I suppose I’ll just have to prove my worth this week.”
On Monday night, Lia made plans instead of sleeping. Her parents had been strict with Mark, but Lia was the second child. They had exhausted all their helicoptering, he used to say, and she was lucky they didn’t watch her like a hawk. They spent more time worrying about her on the Parents of Lions Facebook group than talking to her about her life. Really, Lia knew he just mattered more, so they paid less attention to her.
She left the house at five a.m. on Tuesday. Her parents snored right through it. She wasn’t going to kill Abby. They had made a deal, after all. She was just going to follow Abby and see if she kept her normal routine. She had nothing to fear, but maybe she would scope out new routes or invite a friend to journey out with her and Omelet. It was the perfect time for Abby to experiment with ways to stay alive in Assassins, which meant it was the perfect time for Lia to figure out how to get around those ways. The water gun she had gifted Abby would make it harder, especially now that Abby was on alert, but it would be a good challenge.
If she killed Abby, people would know how good she was. Devon, too, might not feel the need to remind her of obvious things.
Abby lived a good twenty-minute walk from Lia’s, and in the quiet dark before dawn, no one was about. Frosted grass blades snapped underfoot, leaving an inky trail behind her as she cut across yards and little neighborhood parks. No one locked their gates in Lincoln. Lia’s parents had only started locking theirs after binging five true-crime podcasts last summer.
Abby’s house was a peak-roofed shadow backlit by a neighbor’s motion lights. Lia waited across the street, huddled against a brick mailbox. Lia didn’t know Abby’s full schedule, but she knew Abby would walk Omelet no matter what. So she waited.
The motion lights switched off. The wind sliced through Lia’s scarf, burning in her nose. A fence creaked, wood rubbing against wood, and a car passed on the adjacent street. Light flitted through the hedges and houses, washing the windows of Abby’s house white, and the motion lights switched on again. Omelet’s soft ah-woo echoed across the quiet street. A light flickered on behind a covered window of the Ascher house, and a door slammed shut. Abby and Omelet emerged from the dark backyard.