Opus Sectile

The Competition is over, but so what? My ex is still dead, and now I lay awake in the castle awaiting his wee killer. "Come and get me," I shouted to the world days and days ago.Kill or be killed should be made into a rule in the Land of the Fair−my grandfather would approve. The anticipation alone may be the death of me.I've thought up a new motto. Hunt or be hunted, old and new lovers be damned.After I escape my grandfather's kingdom, Jaz catches up with me. The damn referee didn't win the game twice by being stupid; he knows I'm up to something. But the killer is mine and mine alone. I'll risk the journey to the island of the witches for Kendrick's notes. They may hold clues to the wee killer's identity. Then again, so might Jaz."What did you ever see in the guy?""We grew up together." I shrug derisively even though the covers hide my movement. "We love each other by habit.""A habit that proved addictive. You're hunting a killer for the dead bastard." How did Jaz know that? Did I confess during my sleep? "If it's any consolation, the jerk was nuts over you.""Did you guys share feelings?"Jaz laughs at my sarcastic tone. "Nothing like that. He flashed your picture around. Said he had grand plans and was gonna marry a princess while the rest of us would languish in the underground."Sounds like Kendrick. Grandiloquent bastard. "What's your excuse then? You're a two-time winner and a referee. You have it made.""Some asshole's offing guys like me for fun. You don't think that's motivation enough?"Jasper's explanation doesn't satisfy me. "I believe that's only part of the reason.""Like Kendrick's memory is not enough to engage you in a hunt?"He's right on that count. My referee is too perceptive for my comfort. "Whatever. Throw me my clothes and go fetch the coffee you promised.""Right away, oh my queen.""Asshole."Once dressed, I sneak out of the place while Jaz is busy cooking in the kitchen. Morning-afters suck. But after this little impromptu tryst, I need to get back to the plan. Next on Kendrick's list is a twenty-five-thousand-day-old game winner. Mercifully, Kendrick did not screw the odd geezer. They drank tea and talked about, as Kendrick's companion put it in the journal, "the black magic of the targets."Tea and magic. Piece of cake. I raise a family, work, eat, drink coffee and red wine, and I read. I've started writing… Well, in truth, I've always been imagining one story or another in my head. The only difference now is that I commit the words on a page. For better or for worse. My ex-lover Kendrick was the Competition's winner two years in a row and now he's dead. He warned me something was going on about the game, about the winners. He documented four murders−before his.When we were kids, we were promised to each other. I'm an adult now, and I've long ago turned down my tiara, but I'll keep my word and find Kendrick's killer. The wee killer of the Competition's past winners.Rule 1: Have fun!Rule 2: Catch the highest number of spheres and win! Yellow spheres (visual targets) are worth 1 point. Blue spheres (heated targets) are worth 5 points. Black spheres (vibrating targets) are worth 15 points.The rules are simple enough.Rule 15: Players should conduct themselves in a civilised fashion. Physical contacts and/or weapons are strongly discouraged.My plan is simple. Win. Try not to die doing so. Once the game is over, the killer will come after me, and I'll catch him in the act so to speak. I'll steal, lie, fuck, drink my way to the top if I have to. What have I got to lose, anyway? And if that plan fails, I'll come up with a new plan. Or play again.