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 a*****e’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.