She concentrated. She could hear the wasp buzzing around the back of the car. The engine cooling down. The wind in the trees across the lot. She closed her eyes. The heat radiating off the shingles. The motorcycle two miles away. The two people arguing inside the church/cafe. Her senses were unusually dulled. She should have been able to hear them crisply from this proximity, but instead she had to strain to pick out their conversation. Voices new to her, but she could place them.
“You don’t need to be here for this,” a man was saying.
“You’re going to try to run him off, and I’m not going to let you do that again,” a woman replied.
“You think I had anything to do with the last time? You’re fooling yourself.”
“It’s Tailor and Miller,” Camille murmured. She could almost smell them, underneath the harsh exhaust smell that permeated the parking lot, and the fragrance of shaved wood and fresh paint that flowed out of the main door. Tailor smelled like old books, coffee, and iron. Miller smelled like oranges and acetone.
“You’d do anything to get rid of him, John. For the hundredth time, I’m not stupid.”
“And for the thousandth time, Charlotte, I’m flattered you think I have any influence over that walking disaster,” Tailor snapped. “Gabriel left because he was done with us, not for any other reason. Not you, not me, not Simon or Kyra. He was bored, so he left.”
“They, ah, they’re...” Camille filed the comment away. “They’re having an argument. About you. Tailor said you’re...a walking disaster?”
“From his perspective, I’m sure I am,” he said coolly. “I guessed it would be them, I just wanted to be sure.”
“I can’t hear them very well,” Camille admitted. “Can something interfere with that?”
“Hmm,” Gabriel remarked. “Call it...one of the side effects of this town. I just wasn’t sure how strongly it would affect you. Well, let’s not keep them waiting.” He exited the car, slamming the door shut loudly. Camille heard the conversation inside cease. She gathered her bag and climbed out of the car as well.
“They’re going to ask you to leave,” Gabriel said lowly, as they approached the door. “You can protest if you like, but do it. You should be able to hear everything from your room anyway, if you care.”
“Why wouldn’t I care?” Camille grumbled, and he patted her head.
Their feet crunched in the gravel as they approached the door. Gabriel opened it, and looked convincingly surprised. “I wondered who would ambush me in my own space, but I suppose I should have expected,” he said.
“No one’s ambushing,” Charlotte said.
Tailor’s expression was sour. He regarded Gabriel with the sort of vitriol Camille chalked up to words like ‘arch enemy’ and ‘nemesis.’
“I appreciate the thought, Charlotte, but John and I are both adults now. I believe we can be civil.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t,” she stated. “Camille, I’m very sorry to ask this, would you mind going upstairs? This is some very old, very boring grownup stuff.”
That was a lie, and a poor one at that, Camille noted. Charlotte Miller was weak at deception.
“It’s alright, kiddo, this won’t take long,” Gabriel said, offhand.
“Whatever,” she muttered, in English. Camille climbed the steps, feeling superior. She and Gabriel could outsmart anyone. She shut the door to her room with an audible click, but she wasn’t inside. With her diminished hearing, she wouldn’t take any chances; she wasn’t missing this for anything. She stood in the hall, waiting for the conversation to trickle up the stairs. Eyes closed, she listened with ears perked.
She heard a huff of breath. Frustration. Tailor.
“If you wanted to talk to me alone,” Gabriel said, “have the sense to do it when Charlotte can’t follow you so easily.”
“How dare you come back here,” Tailor seethed.
“How dare I?” Gabriel copied lightly. “Such a dramatic turn of phrase. How dare I. Sounds like Shakespeare. I’m not sure we’re quite on that level yet.”
“We’re well past that level, old man.”
Old man? Camille frowned. They looked the same age.
“Keep blaming me all you like, I don’t care,” Gabriel said calmly. “The reason I’m here has nothing to do with you. It didn’t before, and it doesn’t now.”
“And I suppose you’re just here for the excellent school system, now that you’re a responsible parent?” Tailor bit off. “What on earth are you doing with that poor girl? Rin Umino will eat her alive. Is that why you brought her here? You’re bored with her, and decided it was time to get rid of her?”
Camille’s blood pounded in her veins. She wanted to vault over the stairs and kick Tailor right in the face. Gabriel would never do that. He knew nothing.
“She has to get into the world sometime,” Gabriel stated. “Maybe I waited a little too long, but I’m selfish that way. You want to attack me, Tailor? Why are you still here? I seem to recall you swearing to get out of Havenwood the first chance you got.”
A beat of silence. Camille assumed Tailor was faltering at the sudden turnaround. “That’s none of your business,” the English teacher said lowly.
“What did the Uminos promise you?” Gabriel asked. “What could possibly have kept you here?”
“Gabriel, please,” Charlotte intervened. “That’s enough.”
Silence again. Camille imagined Tailor glaring at her guardian. She anticipated Gabriel’s expression - infuriatingly pleasant and unruffled.
“You want to know what I’m up to,” Gabriel said coolly. “You came to ask me what it was, even though you assumed I wouldn’t tell you. If I was secretive, you would be justified in distrusting me. I have bad news for you, Tailor. Times have changed, and my plans are really very simple. I want Camille to graduate high school, grow up, and do whatever she wants until she’s quite old. That’s the plan. Camille is going to survive all of you, no matter what happens. Right now that means walking into that school and handling whatever you, or Rin Umino, or anyone else dishes out to her. That girl can outlast the gods if she puts her mind to it.”
Camille’s eyes widened. What on earth was he talking about? Outlast the gods?
“You’re really going to claim that all of this is about her? And expect me to believe it?”
“I won’t say I expect you to believe it, but yes.”
Guilt panged in Camille’s chest. She had been selfish. She hadn’t realized all the trouble Gabriel was going to, all for her.
“Fine,” Tailor said. “Then I only have one question. Where is the sword?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t play stupid with me!” Tailor shouted. “My father’s sword vanished the night you did. What did you do with it?”
Gabriel sighed. “Some things really are just coincidence. I had nothing to do with that.”
More silence.
“You may be set on staying,” Tailor said lowly, “and I can’t stop you. But don’t expect to be welcomed. Everyone still remembers the county fair.”
“Oh, do they still hold that every year?” Gabriel asked lightly.
There was the scuffling sound of shoes on the tile. “John don’t!” Charlotte snapped.
Camille risked a peek around the corner. Charlotte stood between them, her hands on Tailor’s shoulders, keeping him at bay. “It’s time to leave,” she told him. Tailor glared at Gabriel, who just shrugged.
“Now,” Charlotte snapped.
“Didn’t you want to ask him something, Charlotte?” Tailor said bitterly, though he backed off some.
“No, I don’t,” Charlotte said firmly.
“You sure? You didn’t wonder why Simon went missing the day before he turned in his ward’s enrollment papers?” Tailor accused, pointing at Gabriel. “Or was that a coincidence too?”