Chapter 9 #2
With a sinking sense of inevitability, Shan turned. A girl stood nearby, well within earshot. She had bouncy blonde hair, a pink backpack over one shoulder, and an expression of intense curiosity.
Finley covered the awkward moment, stepping forward with a welcoming smile. “Hello. You must be one of our new pack members. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Is this your first time at camp?”
“Yep!” The girl waved at the other kids. “Hi, I’m Tiffany, but my friends call me Tiff. So, what’s this about a secret?”
“There’s no secret,” said Estelle, far too quickly. “We were just talking.”
Tiff cocked her head to one side. “About the evil ghost that haunts the woods near the camp?”
Shan’s heart sank.
“That was a private conversation,” Beth said to Tiff, somewhat primly. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
“I wasn’t,” Tiff said, with the strawberry sweetness of genuine innocence. “But it was a pretty safe bet. My next guess would have been a psychotic serial killer in a hockey mask. So, there is an evil ghost?”
“No,” Estelle and Archie said in unison, unconvincingly.
Beth shot them both a threatening glare before turning to Tiff. “The ghost isn’t real. It’s just a silly camp story that some of the counselors made up to scare us kids. It doesn’t actually exist.”
“That’s right,” Finley added. “Don’t worry, Tiff. There’s nothing scary in the woods.”
Interesting. None of the children were lying. From the pure, sweet flavors, even Estelle and Archie didn’t truly believe in the camp ghost. Whatever Rufus knew, he hadn’t told his friends.
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Tiff reassured them all.
“Really, an evil ghost is great. One of my favorites. I mean, it could have turned out that this place is actually run by a giant gelatinous blob that makes everyone compete in weird sports trials in order to pick out the strongest kids to become its mind-controlled slaves forever and ever. Now that would have been gross.”
They all blinked at her.
“Uh,” Finley said after a moment of nonplussed silence. “That was strangely specific.”
“It’s from The Horror at Camp Jellyjam.” Tiff dug in her backpack, pulling out a well-worn paperback. “Total classic. Have any of you read it?”
Archie examined the lurid purple monster on the front cover. “No, but now I kind of want to.”
“Oh, it’s great!” Pushing the book into his hands, Tiff dove into her bag again.
“And if you like that one, you’ll love Ghost Camp.
And Camp Nightmare, though if you ask me, the twist at the end is weird.
Oh, and here’s Camp Fear, which is pretty good too.
Or if you want something more recent, I’ve got Camp Scare, but major trigger warning for bullying.
Oooh, and you have to read Welcome to Camp Killer! ”
“Hang on,” said Estelle, as Archie struggled to hold on to the growing pile of paperbacks. “You brought a ton of scary books set at summer camp… to summer camp?”
“Yep!” Tiff said happily. “I love horror. My mom and dad won’t let me watch scary movies yet, but I’ve read about a bajillion spooky books! And summer camps are like, the classic setting. That’s why I wanted to come to camp myself!”
This, Shan realized, was going to be a problem.
“I would have been happy enough if we just told spooky stories and pranked the other kids,” Tiff continued. She bounced on her toes. “But now you’re telling me there’s a real, live ghost?”
Finley had the expression of a boy who’d innocently tossed a snowball and was now watching the resulting avalanche rumble toward an alpine village. “No. Definitely not.”
“Yeah, that would be stupid,” Archie agreed, arms full of books. “Ghosts are dead. That’s kind of their whole thing.”
“There’s no ghost,” Beth said firmly. “There’s nothing lurking in the woods. Isn’t that right, counselor Shan?”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of Rufus’s presence. “An evil ghost certainly seems unlikely.”
“Then you’ll be the first victim,” Tiff informed him. “Skeptics always get slaughtered straight away.”
“If there is a ghost—which there isn’t—shouldn’t you be worried about getting slaughtered?” Estelle said to the other girl. “I mean, you’re here too.”
Tiff shrugged. “You know the phrase, weasel out of something?”
“Yes?” said Finley, sounding puzzled. Then he blinked. “Oh! You’re a weasel shifter?”
“Not just any weasel!” Tiff’s chest swelled with pride. “A least weasel.”
Archie frowned. “Huh? What do you mean, at least a weasel?”
“No, a least weasel,” Tiff said, stressing the modifier. “Like, the least amount of weasel you can possibly have. We’re super fast, and we can squeeze through a gap as small as a nickel. No crazed killer is going to catch me. So, how many campers have been brutally murdered so far?”
This at least he could answer with total honesty. “None.”
“Oh.” Tiff looked a little crestfallen. “Well, I suppose it’s only the first day.”
Thankfully, Shan was saved from having to come up with a response to this by a new arrival.
Unlike everyone else, the boy wasn’t wearing a Camp Thunderbird T-shirt, but a crisply ironed short-sleeve button-down.
He had thick glasses with odd, red-tinted lenses, pushed high up his nose.
He approached the group with clear reluctance, stopping some way off as though hoping there might have been some sort of mistake.
Shan searched his memory. Leonie had given him the names of the campers in their pack, though few other details. From the boy’s neat brown hair and general lack of overwhelming arrogance, he doubted this could be the heir to the powerful Golden dragon clan. That left only one possibility.
“You must be Spencer,” he said to the boy, all too glad for the interruption. “Welcome. I am Shan, one of your counselors.”
Spencer subjected him to a long, skeptical assessment. “You don’t look like a counselor.”
Tiff surveyed him as well, lips pursing thoughtfully. “You really don’t. More like an ax murderer.”
“He does not,” Beth said, though the taste of sour lime suggested this was not entirely true. “Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not. Just look at him.” Tiff pointed at his hands. “It’s hot, but he’s wearing leather gloves.”
“Hang on,” Archie said, squinting at Shan as though seeing him for the first time. “Why are you wearing gloves? You had them on before, too. I mean, the sunglasses, I get. But gloves?”
Shan opened his mouth to explain—and paused. Something about Archie’s statement nagged at him. What did he mean, the sunglasses, I get?
“Ax murders always wear gloves,” Tiff said, with the air of an expert. “To avoid leaving fingerprints.”
“That is not why I wear gloves. I have a medical condition.” Hoping to forestall further speculation, he added, “I have to keep my eyes covered, too.”
Spencer frowned. “What kind of medical condition?”
“He doesn’t really,” Archie said to the other boy. “Actually, he shoots death rays out of his eyes.”
Tiff’s jaw dropped. “For real?”
Once again, Shan found the conversation sliding in an unexpected direction. “No.”
“Oh yeah?” Archie folded his arms. “Prove it.”
“Archie,” Beth hissed.
Archie shrugged. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”
Spencer heaved a sigh. “Well, since we’re on the topic anyway, I guess we might as well get this over with.” He pointed at his own glasses. “I have to wear these all the time, too. If they get broken or come off somehow, do not look at me.”
“Why?” Estelle asked.
Spencer gave her a flat look through his thick red lenses, perfectly deadpan. “I shoot death rays out of my eyes.”
Sweet, rich flavor flooded his mouth. His monster surged up, abruptly alert and eager.
Truth. A painful one.
Estelle, for her part, seemed to take Spencer’s reply as a joke. She rolled her eyes at him. “I was only asking. No need to be sarcastic about it.”
On impulse, Shan glanced at Rufus, wondering if he too had detected what the others had not. The boy was indeed staring… but not at Spencer.
Rufus could tell when people were lying.
And from the way those piercing golden eyes had fixed on him, now Rufus knew he could as well.
There was no time to try to cover his slip.
Leonie picked that moment to return, cutting through the crowded square at a pace that wasn’t quite a run.
She must have hurried back from the parking lot as fast as she could.
Seeing him standing there with the kids—all still breathing and in one piece—she looked distinctly relieved.
“Sorry that took so long,” she panted, brushing escaping wisps of hair back from her face. She scanned the group of kids, counting heads. “Looks like we’ve nearly got everyone. Has anyone seen-?”
“Hello, idiots.” A lanky blond boy strolled up, his expression a mix of haughty disdain over not-quite-concealed anticipation. “So I’m stuck with you yet again, I see.”
“Ignatius!” Estelle squealed—and then shoved her hands in her pockets, abruptly all preteen indifference. “I mean, oh. You’re back.”
“Like I have any choice,” the boy retorted, the words tasting of soot. “I should complain to my uncle. Speaking of which, I expect eternal gratitude for helping you all with your idiotic scheme. I sounded like an utter idiot, babbling to him about—”
“Ignatius, you haven’t met our new counselor yet!” Beth interrupted loudly. “This is Shan. Counselor Shan.”
“He’s a counselor,” Archie clarified, as if this might have somehow been in doubt.
“Our counselor,” Estelle added. “Along with Leonie.”
Ignatius looked at his friends. He looked at Shan, then Leonie. He looked back at his friends.
“No,” the boy announced to the world in general. He spun on his heel. “Not again. Under no circumstances. I refuse.”
“Ignatius?” Leonie said as the boy marched away. “Ig! Where are you going?”
The boy neither turned nor paused. “Home!”
Finley cast a somewhat panicked smile at Leonie as Beth, Estelle, and Archie all pelted after Ig. “Uh, don’t worry. We’ll go get him back.”
“What?” Leonie started, but Finley was already dashing after his friends. She turned to Rufus instead. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Rufus hunched a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.
“Well, maybe Ignatius will tell the others what’s bothering him. Let’s give them some space for now.” Leonie turned a somewhat forced smile on Tiff and Spencer. “So, who’s hungry? We’ve got snacks!”
Leonie herded the reduced pack into the dining hall. Shan lingered behind a moment, watching the group now clustered around Ignatius. They were too far away for him to be able to make out any words, but it was clear they were having an argument.
Letting out his breath, he followed Leonie. He was grateful she hadn’t asked him what was going on.
One thing was clear. He now knew exactly why the kids had invented the ghost story.
And he had to make sure Leonie never found out.