The Thief

He sat back in relief. “I knew you weren’t Hulking out on us.”

Except she had been. If Sakamoto hadn’t replaced the bracer...

“Oh, this is unfortunate,” said an unfamiliar voice. “I’m going to have to start over completely from scratch.”

Summoning all her energy to turn her head, Camille saw a strange man standing on the edge of the forest, not far from them, looking up at the burning cafe. He had long, tangled green hair and threadbare, outdated clothing. His expression was petulant as he looked at them.

“Well, John, how did you talk Meredith into burning my cafe?”

His cafe?

Tailor voiced her question. “Who the hell are you?” he said, standing to face the man.

“I’m exactly who you always thought I was,” he grinned, a smirk that Camille recognized from the paintings Jul had revealed. The third immortal.

“I’ve gotten used to you calling me Gabriel, so you can keep that up if you like,” he said, “but now that I have my real body back you may as well know that I also answer to Hemlock. Or the Thief. Hmm,” he considered, tapping a finger against his chin. “Gabriel Hemlock. I like the sound of that.”

Camille’s mind whirled. No. No, it couldn’t be. It was his expression, his stance, his cadence, but the form was all wrong. The narrow face, the wide cruel mouth, the glittering green eyes. He had the sort of beauty that was harsh enough to cut yourself on. He was not Gabriel.

Tailor’s eyes were wide and disbelieving. “A body switch? You mean you were hiding in that form for - ”

“Nineteen oh six,” the green haired man said lightly, “was the last time I was fully myself. It’s been a rough century, I’ve got to tell you.” He stretched his long limbs. “And I’ve got your Juliet to thank for fixing me. Ah, that’s right, I should tell you - Simon went and ran her through with that infernal sword of yours.”

Everyone reacted.

“An utter waste, I agree,” the man claiming to be Gabriel said, “but what’s done is done. I thought I’d left something here...” his face twisted in confusion, “but whatever it was, no doubt it’s burnt up in the fire. Ah well. Good news for you, John, you won’t be seeing me for some time. I’ve got so much work to do. I’ll let you get back to,” he looked at Camille curiously, “the blonde girl.” There wasn’t even a hint of recognition on his face.

That proved it. It wasn’t Gabriel.

“Give my best to Charlotte,” he said, waving as he disappeared into the trees, without a look back. She wanted to get up and follow, yell at this stranger, demand answers, but her body would not respond.

It wasn’t Gabriel.

Tailor’s cellphone was in his hand and he was dialing. “Bea?” he said into it. “Bea, did you get home? Tell me - ” He was silent for several moments, expression going distant as he listened. “We’ll be right there,” he said, finally, and hung up.

“She’s found her,” he said.

Chapter 22

Mac

We burst through the door at the Graham house to see Ms. Bea pacing in the living room.

“I found her in the orchard,” she says, “lying at the foot of the tree. The mirror is gone.”

I’m not sure which she sounds more upset about. Me, I couldn’t give a crap about some mirror. Jul is dead on the couch.

Camille, somewhat recovered, immediately stumbles to her side, but I’m frozen. The front of Jul’s dress is coated in dried blood, cascading from the tear in the fabric by her heart.

Camille gasps. “There’s no - uh - ” She puts her hand over her own heart, trying to telegraph a word she’s forgotten.

“No heart?” I exclaim. Oh God. I’m going to be sick.

“No wound?” Bea says tersely. “Yes, I know. She has a pulse, too - an incredibly weak one, but it’s there. She just won’t wake up. Her body is there, but she’s not.”

She’s not dead. Relief floods me.

“What does that mean?” Tailor demands. “Gabriel said Simon killed her!”

“Gabriel?” she says. “Gabriel can’t even speak. Found him in the orchard too, he helped me bring her in. There’s some kind of spell on him, but I can’t even get a good look at it because the blasted imp won’t let me anywhere near him.”

“Wait, what?” I demand, but just then he comes through the doorway from the kitchen. Camille’s guardian - well, the guy who looks like him - moves a little stiffly, looking at each object around him as if it’s foreign. He gives a slight bow of the head to us. There’s a new spiky acid-green tattoo-looking thing covering his entire throat. There’s also the imp perched on his shoulder, its long tail flicking as it squints its lamplike eyes at us all.

Tailor gives him a hard look. “Bea, we saw the real Gabriel at the cafe just before I called you. That’s whoever he switched bodies with.”

She gapes at the man. “Animus mutatus? Why on earth would he do that? That spell has horrendous side effects!”

The man is staring at Camille, forehead creased in confusion.

“Gohei,” Camille says hollowly. “You’re Gohei. He was Hemlock.”

Gohei inclines his head in a single long nod.

Camille sits down, hard.

Bea and Tailor exchange a look. Apparently something dire is afoot, but honestly, right now, I don’t care. I go over and sit in the chair next to the couch and take Jul’s hand, no longer intimidated by the idea. Her skin is cool, but Bea is right - she has a faint pulse that beats every five seconds or so.

“I found where you hid your whiiii-skey,” comes a voice from the kitchen in sing-song.

“I forgot to mention...” Bea groans.

Oh, great. Not her again.

“What is with all of these gloomy faces?” Meredith says, breezing in and flopping into a chair. “It’s like someone died.”

“I’d think you wouldn’t want to drink other people’s liquor after the day you’ve had,” Bea says, giving her a wide berth.

The imp on Gohei’s shoulder hisses, tail flicking angrily. He puts a hand up to hold it in place.

“Sweetheart, after the day I’ve had, I need all the liquor,” she sighs, drinking straight from the bottle.

“You burnt down a building,” Tailor says coldly. “You almost killed Camille.”

“And now I’m perfectly harmless,” she grins, displaying the spell marks on her upper arm like a hall pass.

“You still want to kill Camille,” Tailor snaps.

“She’s a time bomb, I’d be nutters if I didn’t,” she shrugs, taking another swig of the bottle. “Surely you’ve heard of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? Here’s your opportunity. I can either stay here, or go team up with your favorite boy Gabriel. There’s a man with a plan.”

“Why not go straight to him, then?” Tailor asks. “Why bother with us at all?”

“Because despite how I’ve behaved today, I want this world to be ordinary. I like ordinary,” she says fondly. “It has happy hour and chili cheese dogs and American padded rugby featuring muscular men in shiny spandex pants. I only misbehave to keep it that way. The Wolf will ruin you all,” she points around the room, “and I’m certain you’ll learn to see things my way. So!” she smiles, enjoying the antagonism. “Anyone got a spare room?”

“Like we need more complications,” Tailor grumbles.

“Hey, you’re the one who bound me to the munchkin,” she states, pointing to the rings around her arm. “You