“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, aleastweasel,” 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 catchme. 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, stoppingsome 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 notentirelytrue. “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. “Whyareyou 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, donotlook 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.”
