“Hmm.” Susan seems to be giving this a lot more thought than I intended. I had been kidding. Mostly. Luckily, we have now arrived at breakfast, and I head off to find Ryan.
Along the way, I notice Peter walking toward a table in the back. Toby is walking beside him. They are talking and laughing like best friends. At least four other campers lurk behind them, clearly intending to follow them to a table but trying to appear as though they are not doing that. Many other admiring eyes are watching Peter make his way across the dining hall.
Ryan’s eyes are on Peter as well, but I would not describe them as admiring.
Maria follows his gaze. “Looks like Toby’s making a play for the playwright.”
“Are you still a playwright if you write musical theater?” Craig asks. “Or is that just if you write straight plays?”
Discussion ensues, but I can’t pay attention. I sit and try to act normal, like I’m not at all worried about Toby getting too close to our new demon friend or about myself and how I’m supposed to talk set design with Peter now that I know what he is, but Ryan keeps giving me concerned glances over his waffles. Finally I have to kick him under the table and hiss, “Quit it!”
Jules (who is, of course, sitting right beside him) can’t help but notice this exchange.
“What’s up with you guys this morning? Lovers’ quarrel?” She smiles to show that she’s joking.
I want to punch her.
“Everything’s fine, Jules,” Ryan says unconvincingly.
I steal a bite of syrupy waffle from Ryan’s plate (that’s right, Jules, because he’s my boyfriend and I can eat off his plate anytime I want) and chew slowly, giving myself time to think of something to say.
“Yeah,” I say at last. “Ryan just hates when I get distracted with set stuff.”
“Well, that’s your whole job,” Jules says. “It makes sense you get distracted with it sometimes. Don’t mind him; Ryan just can’t stand not being the center of everyone’s universe at all times.”
“Hey!” Ryan says. But he’s kind of laughing.
I laugh, too. But I don’t like having my boyfriend explained to me by other people.
Finally it is time to go to morning rehearsal. I walk with Sasha, who is gushing excitedly about the show. I make encouraging noises but can’t really add meaningfully to the conversation. This is the longest walk ever. I don’t know what to hope for or expect at the end of it.
As we approach the theater, Sasha skips on ahead. A giant bear-shadow-boy leans out from under a nearby tree and glares at me. In the daylight I can see that he has really unfortunate acne. I roll my eyes at him and walk inside.
Peter grabs my arm and whisks me toward the stage.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I told Michael we’d be working backstage the whole time today. And probably from now on, really. He’s more than happy not to have me out there watching. Also, you probably need to get the tech crew started on things to do while you’re working on the design. Do you have any ideas yet?”
“I’ve been a little distracted,” I say pointedly.
He stops when we get backstage and turns to face me. “Well, stop it. Whatever your personal issues are with me, you have a job to do. One that affects both of us. I know you want that Tony. Not that the camp award means anything in the big picture, obviously, but I know you want to be the best, and to be recognized for it. So do I. And I want this show to be amazing. In every way. Including the design. So if we need to talk about . . . things . . . let’s get it out of the way right now so we can both get on with what we came here to do.”
I notice that his halo is masked again. I don’t know why he bothers, although I am secretly glad he does. Seeing it just makes everything worse. The color . . . brings back too many memories.
He waits while I stand there staring at him, trying to think.
Can I do this? Can I believe him? Can I work with him even if I’m not sure I can believe him? I told Ryan that staying on the show was the best course, and I meant it . . . but it’s not like I can just pretend that everything is fine now. He’s a demon! He doesn’t belong here. He’s screwing up my best summer ever!
But. So far, he hasn’t done anything demonlike. And he does seem really, really devoted to his show. And the show is really, really good. And what are my other options? Stay here to keep an eye on him but not work on the show? That wouldn’t be possible even if I wanted to do that — Michael would kick my ass to the curb, and they’d find someone else to design the set.
And . . . I want to design the set. I was so excited yesterday, before I found out about Peter.
He’s still watching me, waiting for my decision. Which makes me wonder: what would happen if I refused? If I said I wouldn’t work with him? Would he just be disappointed? Or is there some more important reason he needs to keep me close by? Maybe he’s afraid I’d try to leave camp entirely, which would mean he’d have to come along, because of the tether.
Or that he’d have to find a way to stop me.
“Please, Cyn. I know we can do an amazing job on this show, working together. Don’t let a little thing like nonhuman DNA get in the way.” He’s trying to be funny, I guess, but he mostly seems nervous. He keeps pushing his glasses up on his nose, reframing those big blue eyes. Which are currently giving off just the slightest hint of puppy-dog pleading. It’s kind of adorable, really.
Don’t forget what he is, Old Cyn whispers from the back of my brain.
I won’t. I just wish I knew for sure whether demons could ever be trustworthy.
Probably not, Old Cyn says. So don’t trust him. Not all the way. Also, stop thinking about him being adorable. Only Ryan is adorable!
“All right,” I say finally, not really knowing what’s going to come out of my mouth until I start talking. “I’m going to believe you. For now. I’m going to trust you that you’re not evil, and you’re just here to do theater. And we are going to work on this show and make it awesome. And also, you are going to tell me what needs to happen for this tether thing to be broken so that I can eventually be rid of you. Sound like a plan?”
He gives me a radiant smile so engaging and contagious that it almost has me smiling back before I catch myself.
Dammit. He really is as charming as he thinks he is.
“Yes. Thank you, Cyn. You won’t regret this.”
“We’ll see. Oh! And call off your bear-boy.”
“What?”
“I got a visit from Hector last night. You didn’t mention that he was here at camp.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’ll tell him to back off. He can be a bit overprotective.”
“Thanks.” I pause, then can’t help asking, “What’s he doing here, anyway? Aren’t you afraid someone is eventually going to notice him lurking in the shadows? He’s not exactly inconspicuous.”
“He only lurks occasionally. He’s registered as a camper. It seemed the best way to keep him close by in case I need him. He’s doing backstage stuff on Brigadoon.”
“Couldn’t you have arranged it so that he was on your show? I mean with your magical demon powers?”
“Sure, but . . . well, look, I love the guy, but honestly, there’s such a thing as too much Hector-time, you know? Plus, you saw how he gets. He’d be hovering over my shoulder all the time. Or yours. Anyway, it’s better if no one catches on that there’s any connection between us. I told him to keep his distance as much as possible.”
“Hmm.” I’m trying to picture Hector painting flats with the other set kids and am having a very difficult time. I give it up; my poor brain doesn’t need any extra challenges right now.
Peter touches the sleeve of my T-shirt lightly with one finger. “So . . . are we good? Focus on the show and not on our respective backstories or places of origin? Yes?”
“Yes.” But then I give him my best steely glare. “Unless you give me a reason to doubt you. The slightest reason.”
“Yeah, yeah. But don’t worry. I won’t. Really. I’m nothing like
the other demons you know, I swear.”
“Hmm.”
“Okay!” he says, clapping his hands excitedly. “Let’s talk backdrops.” He whips out a copy of the score plastered with sticky notes and bookmarks, then plunks down to the floor and gestures for me to join him.
After a second I do. This is what I came here for in the first place; if I’m not going to ditch, then I might as well get started.
We talk backdrops. And risers. And lighting. Before long, despite everything, I feel myself starting to get swept up in the excitement of envisioning the stage and how to bring this show to life.
What else am I supposed to do?
Before I know it, camp life begins to fall into a pattern. The sleeping part of this pattern is not very awesome, because I keep having those demony nightmares, but I guess that’s not so surprising. Obviously, encountering another demon, even a (probably) non-evil one, is going to make my subconscious start coughing up all its dark and terrible memories of Mr. Gabriel. And anyway, that’s only when I’m sleeping. The daytime parts of the pattern are much, much better.
The rest of the set crew actually have a few days of technical-skills classes before they need to start working on the set construction, which gives me a little time to figure out the plan. Peter and I spend morning rehearsals discussing the ideas that I’ve sketched out the night before. We’ve got several aspects of the set design in rough form already, and I have to say, I’m pretty pleased with how things are shaping up.
And Peter . . . is proving to be a lot of fun to work with. When I let myself not think about the whole demon thing. He knows every part of the show by heart, of course, and he’s ridiculously entertaining when he acts out little snippets while we try to decide on design ideas. He’s not a performer; his voice doesn’t carry anything like the power and intensity of Ryan’s, for example, but it’s sweet and clear and relentlessly on key, and he does an adorable falsetto whenever he sings the girls’ parts.
Stop thinking he’s adorable!
Oh, relax, Old Cyn. I’m just saying.
Peter and I are in agreement that minimal is probably best for the overall design; it’s a desolate postapocalyptic cityscape, so we’re thinking dark shadows and angles and corners and very little color. There are lots of scene changes, so we need to build in easy transitions and make sure everything is portable and quick to move around. The story has many layers to it, and I want to reflect that in the set, incorporating different levels into the vertical construction and using rotating set pieces that reflect the different angles of events that take place within the musical. Peter is on board for all of this. He’s super quick to get what I’m talking about, every time, immediately seeing what I’m going for and jumping in with ideas to help clarify or expand on what I’m thinking.
I don’t want to admit it, but we actually make a pretty good team.
Hector doesn’t make any more late-night appearances, but I do sometimes see him out of the corner of my eye, loitering passive-aggressively.
Speaking of the corner of my eye, I finally figured out that the tether is the thing I was catching glimpses of in the days leading up to camp. It only happens when Peter’s at a certain distance and a certain angle . . . like our relative placement to each other occasionally makes the tether almost visible, and my almost-seeing it is what kept making me so jumpy. Because really, how often do things you almost-see out of the corner of your eye turn out to be happy surprises, like cake or bunnies? Far more often they are spiders dangling from the ceiling. So jumpy is totally reasonable. But knowing what it is helps a lot.
I still don’t like it.
“When are you going to tell me how to dismantle that thing?” I ask the next time I catch almost-sight of it.
“Once we’re done with the set plan,” Peter assures me. Again. “I need to do some research, and you know I’ll have a lot more time once we’re all done with the initial decision-making part and I can just set you loose to work your magic in physical form with all of your . . . what do you call them? Minions?”
“Yes. And quit it with the flattery.” Although of course I don’t really mind the flattery. “Just promise me you’ll figure it out as soon as you can and set me loose for real.”
“I promise.” He pushes up his glasses and smiles at me.
“Hmm.”
After dinner one night, Peter comes up to me at the canteen. I am sitting with Ryan and Jules and Craig and Maria and Sasha and Lisa R. and Susan, discussing everyone’s most- and least-favorite types of chocolate. Maria has just shocked everyone with her revelation that she doesn’t like chocolate at all. “Not even Reese’s?” Sasha asks, unable to accept this confusing position. Sasha has an enormous stash of mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in the cubby beside her bed. Her mom sends her a fresh supply every week.
“Cyn!” Peter says excitedly, ignoring everyone else. “I just had the best thought about Act Two. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” I squeeze Ryan’s hand. “Back in a sec.”
“Hi,” Ryan says past me to Peter. He hasn’t released my hand. “You must be Peter.”
“Yup,” says Peter pleasantly. Very pleasantly. He smiles at Ryan, and everyone gets a little quiet.
“I’m Ryan,” Ryan says. “Cyn’s boyfriend.”
“I know who you are,” Peter says. Then he turns to me expectantly.
I introduce him to the rest of the group as quickly as possible and then pull him away before things can get any more awkward.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper at him furiously once we’re out of earshot.
“What?”
“You were . . . I don’t know. Trying to provoke him. Or something. Cut it out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. He glances back over his shoulder. “Who’s the blond girl?”
“That’s Jules.”
I try to say it absolutely neutrally, but something must come through in my voice, because Peter’s attention is instantly focused on my face. “Oh? And who is Jules? Old girlfriend?”
“No! They’re just friends.”
“Really. They look . . . pretty comfortable.”
“Yeah. Like friends. Did you actually have an idea, or did you just come here to make trouble?”
He grins, and I have to look away. It’s not a Ryan-level smile, obviously, but I still don’t like the way it makes me feel. Or that it makes me feel anything. I mean I’m not feeling feelings, nothing like that, just . . . somewhat fluttery in the stomach region. Or possibly a little lower. It’s something about the glasses, I think. And the eyes. And the cheekbones. He’s a demon, I remind myself.
And you have a boyfriend! Old Cyn shouts from the back of my brain.
I know. Shut up.
“So?”
“Right.” He looks back once more, though. “They’re both very attractive.”
“Peter,” I growl.
“Okay, okay.” He gets down to business. I forgive him when I realize it is a pretty good idea. We’ve just started set construction for real, but only really just started, so there’s still time to make changes to the plan. I whip out my notebook, which I keep with me pretty much all the time for just this sort of reason, and we grab a seat on the bleachers to sketch out what he’s talking about. I don’t realize how much time has passed until Ryan comes over.
“Hey. It’s almost last call. You guys almost done?”
I glance up, startled. “It is? Oh, wow. I had no idea. Sorry, sweetie. We just got caught up.”
“I guess you did,” Ryan says, looking at Peter.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Peter says. “I didn’t mean to steal your girl for this long. We can finish up tomorrow.”
I give Peter a what-the-hell? kind of look and stand up. “Yeah. See you tomorrow,” I tell him, pulling Ryan away.
“I don’t like that guy,” Ryan grumbles as we walk off.
“I don’t know why he was acting like that,” I say. “He’s usually really nice.
”
“I’m sure he is,” Ryan says. “To you.”
I stop walking and turn to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryan gives me an exasperated look. “He likes you.”
“What?”
“It’s obvious, Cyn.”
“You’re crazy. Also, he’s a you-know-what.”
“So? Have we not learned, to our great sorrow, that you-know-whats can develop inappropriate romantic attachments to humans? And vice versa?”
“And vice versa?” I repeat, staring at him. “Are you seriously suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting?”
Ryan meets my gaze for a second, then drops his eyes.
“Sorry. No, of course not. I just . . . I just don’t like that you have to spend so much time with him.”
“Well, get over it, please. I have to spend time with him to work on the show.”
“Fine, but you don’t have to like it so much.”
“Argh!” My expression of frustration is apparently a little too loud, and several heads turn to look at us. “Are you jealous?” I ask him. “Of Peter?”
“No!” Ryan says, also a little too loudly. “I just thought we were going to be spending more time together this summer, and instead, it seems like every time I turn around, you’re working with him on the show.”
My mouth literally drops open. “Seriously? You’re going to complain that we’re not spending enough time together when you have had Jules glued to your side since the second you got off the bus?”
“Jules has been my friend for practically my whole life!”
“Just your friend? The whole time?”
Now it’s his turn to stare. “What? Where is that coming from?”
“Why does everyone I talk to express shock that you’re my boyfriend and not hers?” I ask him. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”
“No,” he says firmly. He takes a breath and looks me in the eye. “I don’t want to fight about this. I don’t want to fight about anything. I just . . . I just want you to be careful. I’m worried that you’re forgetting what Peter is.”
Revenge of the Evil Librarian Page 7
