and the lives of others in the process. And the fairy tales, well...” He regarded the tome of stories but seemed reluctant to leaf through it. “Tale after tale of those who chose wisely, and cautionary tales of those who chose poorly.”
Camille’s chin lifted. “You think I chose poorly.”
“I don’t think you’ve chosen yet,” Tailor said, folding his arms and sitting back again. “Right now all the choices have been made for you. You do what Gabriel says without question, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t sound so proud of that,” he said, grimacing. “Don’t you know how to think for yourself? Do you know the reasons behind anything he tells you to do? That hunk of metal,” he gestured at the bracer, “do you know what it is?”
Camille took her arm off the table self-consciously. “Do you?” she challenged, even as part of her was dying to know.
“I don’t,” he said. “But if I had something that was probably unnatural permanently attached to me, I’d want to know what it was.”
“It keeps me safe,” she said defensively.
“How convenient,” he said. “That might even be true. Gabriel does like to mix his lies to make them go down easier.”
Ire bubbled up. “He warned me,” she said. “About you.”
Tailor laughed at that. “Gabriel? Warned you about
“He saved me,” Camille insisted.
“Yes, but for what purpose?”
Camille stood up, shouldering her bag. “Are we done?”
Tailor caught her wrist, and she looked down at him, defiant.
“Monsters are made by their choices, not their abilities,” Tailor said. “Whatever you can do - whatever you think you’re capable of - you can help people, or you can help yourself. The choice is yours. Do you know what they call a monster who helps people?”
“Confused monster?” Camille said bitterly.
“A hero,” Tailor said. He handed her a dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities. “Your reading assignment.”
She regarded it with a frown, then stuffed it into her bag. “Now we’re done?”
He sighed, sitting back. “Now we’re done.”
She started to walk away, then stopped, and turned.
“Why can’t Gabriel come in the library?” She couldn’t explain it, but somehow this was what was burning a hole in her perfect resolve.
Tailor regarded her silently for several moments. The hushed sounds of people browsing the aisles of books and typing away on laptops suddenly seemed quite loud.
“There’s a spell on the building,” he said at last. “You can’t get in if you’re immortal.”
Immortal. Camille nodded slowly.
“You don’t look very surprised,” Tailor noted.
She wasn’t. Not really. But hearing someone say it out loud, confirm what she’d always guessed at...
“There’s nothing more dangerous than someone who can’t die,” Tailor said. “They have nothing to lose.” He returned to scribbling in his notebook.
Camille stood silently, still absorbing the information. Nothing to lose, was that it?
“You’re wrong,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Tailor looked up.
“You’re wrong,” she repeated. “He has me.”
Chapter 8
Mac
Ten o’clock on Saturday, and my mind is split. Half of my brain is focused on finding that ninja-thing, glad we’ll finally have the time and daylight to trek into the woods and check out the abandoned lumber mill. The other half of my brain is still at school.
“Did you see him? Did you? He was practically groping her! Isn’t Kei supposed to be dating Hayley?”
“They’re not dating,” Destin says, sullenly. We’re in my kitchen, swiping food for our trek into the woods.
“As far as she’s concerned they are! He’s creepy, and he should just stick to Hayley and leave Jul alone.”
“He’s creepy,” is all Destin admits.
I glance sideways at him. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m worried we’ll end up doing all the work on the project,” he says evasively.
“Not a chance. Hayley never does her own work when she can con someone else into doing it for her - but that’s probably why Miller put her with us. She knew we’d hold her to a line.” I nod to myself.
That doesn’t seem to comfort him. “I’m also worried about wandering around in a rotted out building in the middle of the woods. Why aren’t we telling anyone where we’re going?”
I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “Because adventure is its own reward.”
“That...has nothing to do with what I just said.”
“Oh! Grab that last sandwich, I forgot to put it with the rest.”
My sister's voice comes from the hall, right outside. 'I think there's some juice leftover from - ' Hayley and Amity walk into the kitchen and we freeze, holding an open backpack full of sandwiches.
Hayley raises an eyebrow.
“We’re hungry,” I say.
“The last time you made eight sandwiches, I found a note on your bed saying you were going to the Sahara, and would send me a postcard when you found King Solomon’s treasure. You were also nine. Aren’t you a little old for this?”
“You’re never too old for adventure,” I say dramatically. “And that state trooper totally brought us back in one piece, for the record. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be - ”
“Scouting for a tree fort?” Hayley says, condescendingly.
'Playing cowboys and Indians?' Amity tacks on.
'Maybe some cops and robbers?' Hayley laughs. 'Oh no, wait, or is it mutants and...whatever it is mutants fight? I wouldn't know, I'm not trapped in kindergarten.'
'Survival training,' I glare at her.
'For what, DragonCon?' Amity derides, naming Atlanta's yearly comic convention.
Hayley gives her a look of mild horror. 'How do you even know what that is? I have an excuse, I live with that,' she waves a hand at me.
Amity flounders slightly. 'I...heard...'
'Never mind.' Hayley gives a longsuffering sigh, and turns back to me. 'You know there's no way Mom and Dad are letting you go into the woods. We've never been allowed out there.'
'Well then maybe they should have picked a house that wasn't
'Did you even ask Mom if it was okay?' Hayley says loudly.
'Keep it down!' I hiss, but I already hear the sound of the office door opening, and my mom comes in, paint flecks in her dark blonde hair and a wide paintbrush still in hand. She has this thing for repainting rooms, but she
