The Thief

by Aine Crabtree

  Maybe if you looked anything like him...

  “A gift?” I cried. My head was reeling. The mirror, Rhys’s broken glass, Camille’s complaints that her hearing wasn’t working at school...at the lumbermill...it was because I was there. It was because everything I knew was wrong.

  “I know, so many fae fear and hate Nulls,” he said, as if that were what I was thinking of, “but it’s okay, they’ll have to listen to me. I’ll keep you safe. You can learn to control it - you said it yourself, this library goes on forever! We’ll find something. Don’t you see, we’re a set. This was always - ”

  “Always what?” I exclaimed, feeling hysterical. “Meant to be? I was meant to be lied to my entire life? I was meant to be ditched at birth by my mother, meant to be jettisoned at fifteen by the man who raised me like a servant, only to find out he wasn’t even my father, and that my so-called ‘gift’ is making things fall apart? I was meant to be pushed into some crazy destiny no one’s prepared me for, meant to - ”

  Then his mouth was on mine, like a plea, begging me to understand something he didn’t have words for. I had never been kissed before, and I don’t think I expected it would be this...urgent.

  He pulled away slightly, looking about as dazed as I felt.

  “I told Bea,” I said involuntarily, as if the kiss had pulled it right out of me.

  “What?”

  “About the mirror,” I said, unable to stop myself. “She knows I’ve been coming here.”

  He stood abruptly, eyes wide. I reached toward him but he backed away from me.

  “I think she could help you,” I pleaded, “she knew the last Mirrormaker - ”

  “Of course she did!” he shouted at me, furious now. “She’s the one who got him killed! I should have known better - Grimm, Tailor, what does it matter - you’re always going to be against us! Get out!”

  “Rhys - ”

  “Get out of my mirror!” he shouted, and I hurried down the steps, eyes blurring with tears.

  Chapter 17

  Camille

  She came in through the front doors of the cafe. It was usually empty, and it was now - it seemed that her prediction that they’d never get any business was proving true. She wandered behind the counter into the kitchen, hearing sounds of baking in progress. She stuffed her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and leaned against the door jamb. He was turned towards the opposite wall, whisking a bowl. He might even be making her favorite melon bread.

  “Gohei,” she said.

  Every muscle in Gabriel’s body tensed, as if he’d been hit. Back still facing her, he resumed stirring the bowl he’d nearly dropped.

  “I hate that name,” he said. “Don’t ever call me that.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me where I heard it?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, tone suspiciously light. “So long as you never say it in my presence again.”

  He was angry. She hadn’t seen him angry in years, not since he’d first taken guardianship of her. He hadn’t liked her at first, that had been clear. But then, she’d liked him even less. He’d been impatient, intolerant, dispassionate. At some point along the way, they’d stopped fighting and become a team. Like the story he’d told, it had happened so gradually she hadn’t noticed when she stopped hating this person who swept in and took over her life. But she knew when the trust she’d placed in him had started deteriorating.

  “It’s me, isn’t it,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m the Wolf.”

  Slowly, he set down the bowl and turned to face her. “Now I want to know where you’ve been.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she echoed him from moments ago, ire truly starting to rise now. “Tell me now. And don’t say ‘ask me later,’ when that fire woman is hunting - ”

  “Yes,” he said. “You are.” His expression was hard.

  She swallowed. All the signs had been screaming at her, but she had still hoped...a distant part had wanted him to keep lying, because it was comforting...

  “So that woman,” she said.

  “Is looking for you, yes. And she will kill you if she figures it out.”

  “Why?” she asked, feeling the icy grip of fear. “Why does she hate me?”

  “Not you, it,” he said. “The power you have.”

  “It can’t be that awful - ”

  “I knew a Wolf once,” Gabriel said. “The most terrifying creature I’ve ever seen. He was wildly unbalanced, and a literal bomb. He destroyed an entire city. And he was so close to so much worse. He was the living equivalent of the worst human weapons arsenal, but he had no allegiance. No goals. No empathy. He loved nothing and no one.” He sighed. “And I trained him to be that way.”

  Camille stared at him. “Why would you do that?”

  “I’m selfish and petty,” he said simply. “I wanted to punish his parents. And when I found out they’d given birth to the Wolf, I knew how to do it. I molded him into the worst monster of them all, and his mother was forced to kill him.” He looked at Camille, his dark eyes impassive. “She ran him through with the Tailor’s Sword. It was the only time I’ve seen it used.”

  She held up her left arm, displaying the iron surrounding it.

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “You said you didn’t steal it.”

  “I lied,” he said easily. “I took it from the Tailors sixteen years ago. And then, when I realized what you were, I had it reforged into the bracer. It seeks to eradicate magic - it always has, like any Null. A change in shape won’t alter its purpose. But this way - it would only limit you, not destroy you. As a feral, you can’t perform magic, but you’re still made of it; it flows through your veins. The bracer siphons it off when you’re in danger of losing yourself.”

  “Siphons what off?”

  He wasn’t quite looking at her anymore, his gaze on her left arm and the iron circling it.

  “My blood?” she realized suddenly. “It drinks my blood?”

  He said nothing.

  “What is wrong with you?” Camille exclaimed, pushing from the doorframe and backing away. “That is sick! How could you do this to me?”

  “To keep you alive,” he said. “To keep you from hurting other people. To save you the guilt.”

  “You think I would hurt people?” Camille snapped. “You think so little of me, that I would, what, get mad and just kill people for no reason?”

  “I know the Wolf,” Gabriel said. “I’ve seen centuries of it. A new one every fifteen or twenty years - every one different, but somehow still the same. They never last long once they reach the age, they’re just too obvious. Too openly violent. And now that the Ender has started hunting it...well.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say that the last one making it to twenty was a miracle I’ll never understand.”

  The thing on her arm seemed horrifying now, like an alien parasite.

  “Camille, please,” he begged, “please listen to me. Don’t ever take it off. Not ever. I won’t be around forever - ”

  “You’re immortal,” she retorted.

  “I won’t be around forever,” he stated again, firmly. “And there’s no guarantee a Null will be able to keep you in check when you turn sixteen, and the worst of it comes crashing down on you. You need this bracer to keep you sane. As long as you can keep your wits, you can beat it.”

  Camille looked up at him, wanting to believe him. “You sure about that?” After all the lies he’d told, she just couldn’t fully believe him anymore.

  “What did you think all the training was for?” He ruffled her hair fondly, but his smile was weak around the edges. “If you quit fighting, I’ll force feed you milk tea and chocolate croissants until you get so fat you have to be rolled around like a giant golden beach ball.”

  Camille pulled a face. “Ugh! Milk tea?”

  Gabriel shrugged, and turned back to stirring the bowl. “Your choice. Now go put some more glitter on that posterboard of yours, that godforsaken festival is
tomorrow and I want the sight of it to sicken Rin.”

  Camille smiled, though her heart wasn’t in it. “That, I can definitely do.”

  It was normal banter, but she felt as if, somehow, something had ended forever.

  The school the next day was a riot of color, with streamers and balloons strung from every corner. Delicate paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Jul reached up a long, thin arm and twirled one on its string. “I think that’s the closest we’ll see to snow this year,” she said.

  Camille chuckled, carrying a box containing their display materials. Jul had the posterboard folded and tucked under her arm, trying not to hit anyone with it as they wove through the crowd in the hall. Even though the festival hadn’t technically started yet, most of the students were there setting up, and some of the families and visitors had already found their way in. Camille was wearing her kendo uniform since she was expected to participate in some exhibition matches later. Truthfully, she was grateful to have the excuse not to dress up, like most everyone else was. Jul was wearing some sort of dark violet sheathe dress that looked like silk with a layer of lace over it, that managed to make her look even taller and thinner than usual. Or maybe it was the heels.

  They followed the flow into the gymnasium, weaving among the tables of half-assembled science projects.

  “Where’s Gabriel? Didn’t he come in with you?” Jul asked, and Camille nodded her chin towards him talking with Ms. Miller off by a table of punch and cookies. He was back to his usual self, if more sharply dressed than usual - none of the temper he’d shown last night was present.

  “Your grandmother?” Camille asked.

  “She dropped me off,” Jul said, finding their table among the lineup and removing the sheet of paper printed with Graham, Ryan, Sakamoto, Teague. “Said she’d come by later, once the festival actually got going. I got the impression this isn’t really her sort of thing.” A half smile quirked her face as she unfolded the cardboard.

  So Bea was at home. And Gabriel was distracted. Her own absence would likely go unnoticed for half an hour or more.

  Handing Jul the box, she said, “I’ll be right back, ok?” Glancing over at Gabriel laughing at something Charlotte had said, she told Jul, “If Gabriel asks, say I forgot something at the cafe.”

  “Okay,” Jul said. She looked confused, but accepted the supplies. “Just don’t make me do this thing alone, alright?”

  Camille smiled. “I won’t.” Her friend’s stage fright was nothing if not predictable. Pulling on her favorite hoodie over her gi, she hurried out to the parking lot and took off at a jog. At this pace, she reached the Graham house in a mere five minutes.

  Camille knocked on the peeling wood door, peering back at the decrepit Cadillac in Bea’s driveway. She knew that Jul was waiting for her, but she didn’t know when she’d get this chance again.

  Bea opened the door, surprise clear on her face. “Camille?”

  “Tell me,” she said, “about Gabriel.”

  Mac

  “Destin can drive us, Mom! It’s right around the corner, you don’t have to go!” I call out, standing in front of the refrigerator. I’m starving, but all I see is condiments and leftover tuna casserole. If she’d let us go to the festival on our own, we could swing through a drive thru...my stomach rumbles at the prospect.

  “How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not riding with anyone who doesn’t have their license?” she calls back, two rooms away. “And it’s not right around the corner, but I don’t care how close it is. No license, no ride.”

  I’m already uncomfortable, dressed in the sort of clothes that are usually reserved for church. Hayley, because she’s on some decorating committee, had needed to be at the school earlier, so she’d been dropped off by Dad hours ago on his way to the airport for a business trip. That still leaves me and Destin needing a ride to the high school for the main festivities, but I still don’t see why Mom has to be so strict about who does the driving.

  There’s a loud knock on the front door.

  My mom calls from the living room, “If that’s another tracter, quote them something nice and long from the Old Testament about judgment and hellfire, and then ever-so-politely tell them we attend church twice a week and shut the door. Why anyone would go door-to-door in the Bible Belt...I swear...it’s like trying to sell candles to a candlemaker.”

  I smile, reaching for the handle, because it would be great if I could remember a huge judgment-y passage from the Bible just to see the look on their face.

  But the person on the other side of the door has enough judgment and hellfire to go around.

  Meredith leans against the frame, grinning. “‘Allo.”

  Reflexively I try to shut the door but she sticks her foot out, heavy boot wedging it open. “You know where the Wolf is,” she says, eyes glinting like flint. “I can smell it on you. It’s not you, but you’re close to it. You owe me, after that nasty spell in the woods.” She’s wearing a brown leather jacket, but the shirt underneath still bears the hole around her midsection where she was impaled. Her skin is pale and unmarked. I swallow nervously. She can’t be here. This is my house. I live here.

  “Charming an imp to do your bidding, that was a nifty trick,” she says. “Did you make the spell that’s hiding the Wolf, too? You’re right young to have talents like that. I may not be able to follow the beast, like I’m supposed to - but I can follow you, and burn everything you touch until you take me to it.” She looks over my shoulder, smirking. “Is it him?”

  I bristle, instinctively knowing Destin’s come out of the kitchen. “No, it’s not,” I say fervently. “Go bother someone else. I don’t know who your stupid Wolf is.”

  “You do,” she states, staring down at me.

  “Mac,” Destin warns, under his breath.

  “No, I’m serious,” I say, hoping I sound serious. “This is my house, you can’t come in.”

  She makes a leering grin. “What, you think I’m a vampire or something, that I can’t cross the threshold without an invitation? Those pulp fiction monsters from the cinema aren’t real. You have no idea what you’re messing with, little boy. I’ve held back thus far because I think you’re funny. Much more of this, though, I’ll stop thinking that. If you want to escape this with your happy little suburban life in tact, you will give me the Wolf. This house is structurally unsound, you know...” she intones, eyeing the eaves and the timbers that uphold the porch.

  “You’re crazy,” I say, repeating, “I don’t know your stupid Wolf. You’re imagining things.” She can’t. She cannot set my house on fire. My mom is in the living room. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

  She laughs at that, hearty and loud. “Oh do, do. I love policemen. They’re usually smokers.” Her voice drops as she says conspiratorially, in her thick British accent, “Lungs full of tar, my boy, they burn like charcoal briquettes. Roast a man from the inside out. It’s quite the spectacle.”

  My hand on the doorknob grips tighter to keep from shaking. What had we done? Is this all real? Freaky crap doesn’t happen at my house. This is where my stuff is. This is the place where I hide my sister’s makeup and play video games and have Thanksgiving with my family and Destin and his dad.

  When you go looking for adventure, it isn’t supposed to follow you home and burn your house down.

  “Are we going to cooperate, then?” she says, smirking at my expression.

  I swallow, looking up at her, hearing Tailor’s warning in the back of my head. What do I do?

  “Meredith?” my mother says, coming in from the living room.

  Wait, what? The disheveled woman on the doorstep looks as confused as I feel.

  “Oh my god, Meredith!” my mother exclaims, running up and throwing her arms around the woman. “I can’t believe you’re showing up here! I never thought I’d see you again! What are you doing out of London?”

  “I’m...uh...” Meredith flounders, “ah...visiting you,” she says un
convincingly, but my mother buys it.

  “I can’t believe you remembered where I live!”

  “Aye, that’s me,” she says. “Remembering things. That’s what I do. Mind like a steel trap.” She taps a finger against her skull.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Mom!” I protest.

  “Oh! Mac, this is an old friend of mine from college. Meredith Ender. Well, I was in college. She wasn’t really in school. It was during the year I was studying abroad in London.”

  “Showed you the ropes, did I?” Meredith says, but it sounds to me more like she’s fishing for information than reminiscing.

  “A little too well,” my mom confirms, with a little giggle. “I wonder if that pub still has us on the no-fly list.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Meredith states with uncertainty.

  My mom sighs. “Don’t remind me. I’m starting to feel my age. But look at you, you haven’t aged a day! Well, are you going to come in or not?”

  “Mom!” I protest louder. How could she possibly know this person and still want her in our house?

  “Mac, she is company. What is your problem?”

  What’s your problem? I wanted to shout back, but Mom clearly has no idea. The tattooed woman grins wickedly at me and follows my mother through the foyer, into the living room. “Nice digs,” she comments.

  “We do alright,” my mother says modestly. “To tell you the truth, some days I wake up and wonder how I got here.”

  “Who do those boys belong to?” Meredith asks, glancing at Destin and I, standing stupidly in the hallway. “They can’t be yours.”

  “Oh, I can only claim Mac,” my mother says obliviously, smiling at me. “Destin lives next door. He’s over here often enough he might as well be mine, though.”

  “Is that right,” Meredith comments, regarding me curiously. I don’t understand the sudden interest. “Well he does look just like you. The hair.” She makes a vague gesture between me and my mother.

  Mom pats her curls self-consciously.