The Thief (13 page)

“
Do I ever have snacks?”
Rhys grumbled.

“
Hope never dies,” Kei said.
“C’est la vie.” He wandered to the door.

“
Class is still in session,”
Ms. Miller reprimanded him.

“
Snacks,” he shrugged. “I
might come back.”

Ms. Miller sat back in her seat, clearly
frustrated with him. Mac was looking after him suspiciously.

I slumped back in my seat, depressed at the
state of my mother’s journal. The curled pages were tinged with
chemical stains. It was ruined. Why would he treat my things so
carelessly? Did he think that little of me?

“
Oh, calm down,” Rhys said,
with a disdainful glance. “He’s only doing it because he’s bored.
It has nothing to do with you.”

My heart clenched up. “O-oh...” I said,
pretending to resume working on the equation, but I felt numb. His
words were like a slap in the face. Even if it was true, it was a
cruel thing to say.

Camille spared a glare at Rhys, laid down
her pen and pushed out of her chair. She stalked out of the
classroom as well.

“
Camille...” Ms. Miller
warned.

“
Bathroom,” she replied
tersely, the door clicking loud behind her.

This was just going badly all around. I
would at least finish the experiment.

I reached for another vial that Camille had
prepared, but my eye caught on the list of instructions. Ammonia.
It called for a cotton ball soaked in ammonia to turn the ink
visible. I hadn’t smelled anything that strong when Kei had doused
the journal. I picked up and sniffed the empty vial, and smelled
nothing. I took another from the rack Camille had made - the bitter
aroma was strong. Had Kei used the wrong vial?

I glanced at Rhys, but he was preoccupied
reading a book. Well, what did I have to lose? I took a cotton ball
and dipped it in the ammonia. I opened the journal to a page that
was mostly dry, and swiped a corner. Blue-black ink bloomed to
life, curling designs across the page. My heart beat fast, and I
closed the journal quickly, before anyone else could see.

This was just for me.

Camille

Camille strode down the hallway. Sakamoto
was standing in front of another lab door, inspecting the lock. He
glanced at her approach and returned his attention to the
windowless barrier. “It’s a perfect seal,” he said, running a
finger along the door jamb. “Couldn’t squeeze a molecule in there
without the ice queen’s permission. What do you think she’s got
locked in there?”

She didn’t care about any of his momentary
obsessions. “Leave Jul alone,” Camille said. “She hasn’t done
anything.”

He whistled. “That was almost a speech,
coming from you. Your angst is misplaced, though. I mean no harm, I
come in peace,” he said, raising his hands innocently. A tiny smile
played on his lips. “I like Jul, I really do. She blushes easily. I
like everyone, really. Some people are just more interesting than
others. You, for example. Why do you care? She’s a complete
stranger to you.”

Because she looks sad, and
lost, and alone, and I know what that’s like,
Camille thought. But she wasn’t about to go spilling her guts
to this idiot. She took a step closer, effortlessly falling into a
relaxed stance, just in case.

He noticed, and took interest. “I saw what
you did to Hyde the other day,” Sakamoto said.

“
You weren’t
there.”

“
I saw. Poor bastard. Is
that your idea of conflict resolution?”

“
Yes,” she said simply. What
did he mean, he saw? He hadn’t been in the dojo, she was certain of
it.

“
Dear me,” he said with
perfect calm. “That’s too bad. I’m not allowed to fight, you know.
I really, really wanted to, but Ikeda just won’t teach me. Said I’m
all wrong,” he smiled. “Whatever that means.”

He was being vague on purpose. Camille
frowned. “You’re warned,” she said, turning to walk back to the
classroom.

“
You may have to warn me
again,” he called after her.

When she got back to the classroom, Jul was
already finishing the experiment. The journal, she’d put away. That
was disrespectful, what Sakamoto had done. She bent over her own
worksheet and scrawled out a cartoon image of Sakamoto saying ‘I’m
an ass,’ and passed it to Jul.

Jul covered a short laugh. “Thanks,” she
said, and returned to finishing an equation with a smile.

Kei Sakamoto was the least of her problems.
She had remedial English with Tailor at the public library later
that day, after school. Gabriel dropped her off in the parking lot.
She looked out of the windshield at the giant three-story building.
It vaguely reminded her of a European-style castle.

“
I’m going to get lost in
there,” she complained.

“
Oh, Tailor won’t let you
get lost,” Gabriel said lightly, leaning over the steering wheel to
look at the place as well.

“
Why can’t we just do this
at school like normal?” Camille asked, slumping back in her
seat.

“
You do what your teacher
asks,” he said. “That’s how it works. However...”

“
However what?”

“
Well, I know I’m supposed
to tell you to listen to everything he says, but...”

“
But what?” she demanded,
frustrated by his evasion.

“
Don’t listen to everything
he says,” he shrugged. “Especially not today.”

“
More explanation,
please.”

“
Hmm.” He looked up at the
building’s almost-turrets. “Because I can’t go in
there.”

“
You’re not allowed?” she
said, thinking it was strange to be disallowed from a public
building.

“
No, I can’t. I’m not saying
people will be angry if I go in - though they would - I’m saying
that I literally can’t enter that building. It would be an
embarrassing spectacle to attempt it.”

Camille wasn’t sure how to react. This was
new.

“
So,” Gabriel continued, “I
have a feeling that Tailor will use the opportunity to try to, ah,
make me look bad.”

“
You always look bad,”
Camille said, looking at him askance. “When are you getting a
haircut?”

“
Speak for yourself,
tumbleweed,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Anyway,
just...whatever he says...take it with a grain of salt, alright? He
knows a lot of things, and people who know a lot tend to assume
they know the things they don’t.”

The sentence twisted around in her head. She
thought she knew what he meant. “Awkward phrasing.”

“
And please remember to
speak English,” Gabriel said.

“
They’re English lessons,”
she returned, “Of course I speak English.”

“
Oh good,” he said. “At
least the time’s not wasted. I’ll be back in an hour,
kiddo.”

Camille entered the library with
trepidation. It wasn’t just the thought of some kind of barrier -
whatever kept Gabriel out - possibly blocking her as well. It was
also the thought of so many books in English stacked to the ceiling
for three stories. It made her think of scuba diving, for some
reason. Getting thrown into the ocean, with nothing between you and
certain death but some spandex and a tiny air tank, maybe. This was
like that. Except instead of an air tank all she had was Tailor.
Supposedly. She looked around cautiously. He was nowhere to be
seen. He said he’d be here.

Somehow the main floor of the library
reminded her a little of a space ship. It had this circular sort of
kiosk that served as the main desk in the center, with three main
areas branching off. Its roof supported the open curving stairwell
up to the second floor. The desk would be the bridge of the ship,
she decided, even though she doubted whoever ran the library would
be sitting there giving directions to college students who couldn’t
find a copy of Beowulf.

She was surprised by how attractive
and...large...this library was. She hadn’t expected it from a city
this size. Plants trailed down the sides of the stairs and it
sounded like there was some kind of fountain on an upper floor. In
the children’s section off to the right, two little boys played
hide and seek between bookshelves until their mother caught them
and scolded them in hushed tones. To the left, it was much quieter.
‘Reference Section’ was imprinted on an overhead sign in bold,
blocky letters. That was definitely not where she wanted to be.
Maybe Tailor was upstairs...?

An alarm went off, loud and whining. Camille
winced, covering her ears, her sensitive ears ringing. She realized
she’d just walked through the metal detectors. Of course. This
again.

Everyone on the first floor was staring at
her. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck. She hoped this
wouldn’t be as bad as the airport had been. Explaining to an
overzealous American security guard that you couldn’t take off the
hunk of metal on your arm, with virtually no English to explain
yourself - well, that had been difficult. It had taken all of
Gabriel’s charm to get them through customs. But Gabriel couldn’t
come in here.

“
Excuse me?” said a wiry,
elderly woman at the front desk. Her expression was pinched as the
alarm ended.

Camille held up her left arm, pointing to it
with her right.

“
Is that so,” the woman
said. “Come here and let me see your bag.”

Camille sighed and heaved her camo bag up on
the counter of the front desk. At least she was certain she wasn’t
carrying anything suspicious. She just set off metal detectors
everywhere she went.

“
Kids these days and their
hoodlum jewelry,” the old woman muttered, sifting through Camille’s
textbooks. “Alright, you can go.”

Camille nodded, and looked around the first
floor again, seeing no sign of Tailor.

“
Can I help you?” the
elderly woman prompted again. From the tone of her voice, it
sounded like she wasn’t so much desirous of helping as she was
obligated.

“
I’m...waiting,” Camille
said. “For someone. My teacher.”

The old librarian gave her a sour look, like
she suspected she was lying. She went back to stamping book
checkout cards, throwing Camille the occasional suspicious
glance.

Camille adjusted her messenger bag over her
shoulder. This was just awkward. She was considering what excuses
she could make for leaving - and setting off the alarm again - when
Tailor finally came through the front doors.

“
It’s hot as hell out
there,” he complained. “How are you still wearing that
sweatshirt?”

Camille shrugged. There was no simple way to
explain what the hoodie meant to her. Besides, it was quite cool
inside the library. Now that she’d been inside for awhile she was
glad she had it.

“
Fine, fine,” he said.
“Let’s go upstairs and claim a table. Afternoon, Mrs. Thrush,” he
nodded at the old librarian.

“
John Tailor,” she
acknowledged, sourly.

“
You may want to think about
getting a library card,” Tailor said, as they climbed the stairs.
The fountain was actually in the center of the spiral, halfway
between the first and second floor. Camille fought back the urge to
run her hands over the ferns surrounding it as they
passed.

“
Why?” she asked.

Tailor spared a final glance at the main
desk through the open stairwell as they reached the second floor.
“This way,” he pointed around the walkway to the section that bore
the legend ‘Fiction.’ “Because,” he said, quiet enough that it
wouldn’t carry throughout the open, echoing space, “Old lady Edna
doesn’t trust anyone without a library card. That’s not to say she
will once you do,” he admitted, shrugging.

Camille searched the shelves for the books
she’d been asked to collect. She knew the exercise was intended to
reinforce her comprehension of the alphabet, but she found herself
reading the full titles of many of the volumes Tailor was having
her pull. There was certainly a trend.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein. Dante’s Inferno. The Odyssey. Grimm’s Fairy
Tales.

Did he think she wouldn’t notice? Or was he
telling her something?

She emerged from the stacks with a pile of
books and dropped them on the table in front of Tailor.

She raised an eyebrow.
“
Kaibutsu?
”

“
English,” he said, not
looking up from whatever he was writing.

“
Akuma. Youkai.
Bakemono
.”

“
English,
Teague.”

“
All of these,” she gestured
to the pile of books, racking her brain for the right word.
“Monsters.”

Tailor looked up then, briefly, then put a
final flourish into his notebook and shut it and sat back.
“Monsters, yes. But not all of them had to be.”

He pulled one out of the pile. The cover was
faded blue cloth imprinted with a gothic script whose gold
embossing had long worn away. “Frankenstein’s monster was created
by one man’s hubris – pride,” he said, seeing her face twist at the
unfamiliar word, “It never should have existed, but it never asked
to. And though it was hideous to behold, it was not innately evil
or monstrous. What made it so was the reactions of the humans
around it. The acts it committed made it a monster – but it was
never given another choice.”

He pulled out another book. “Dr. Jekyll
wanted a different life. But rather than making the hard choices to
improve the life he had, he invented a completely different person
to change into - and ended up destroying his life 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.”