"Are you insane?"

"You said we needed help. We found help."

"Yeah. The police chief's daughter! I said no adults!" Mike protests, the scathing look he sends me only causing me to lift an eyebrow in a show of mild interest before he rounds on Dustin and Lucas once again, "Who d'you think she's gonna tell if this gets bad, huh? HER DAD!"

"No way. Cami's cool."

"You just say that because you think she's pretty."

"That's what I said!" Lucas chimes in, folding his arms across his chest as Dustin turns to favor him with a look of betrayal before going on, "But he insisted on dragging her along with us, and now, we're stuck with her. Just like we're stuck with the weirdo."

"Not necessarily."

"What are you gonna do, Mike? Tie them both up and stuff them in the closet?" Dustin retorts, clearly determined to press on in defending himself against the other two boys, despite the odds stacked against him. To be honest, the part of me that isn't still absorbed in the familiar figure curled on the couch is still more than a little confused as to why I'm here, as well. But as the boys dissolve into another heated debate, each starting to holler over the other, and I realize our unwitting companion is starting to shrink back into the couch cushions as though praying they will devour her whole, I know I have no other choice but to step in.

"Hey. Hey!" I cut in, wincing as I realize the interjection is far too reminiscent of my father, though I do my best to push that down as soon as I notice I have, at least for the moment, managed to gain a lengthy enough period of silence to carry on, "Arguing about me being here isn't going to change the fact that I am here. So maybe—oh, I don't know—the three of you could try to clue me in on why?"

"Ask Dustin."

"Already did, Wheeler. He didn't give me a thing. Try again."

"No way! You're just gonna tell your dad. Or Nancy," Mike insists, his features shifting into an expression of horror that almost has me laughing, as it gives the distinct impression that the idea of his sister knowing about any of this is actually more terrifying than my dad. And, ordinarily, I would have just let him continue to shut me out. I would have retreated, not exactly wanting to deal with whatever silly little game the boys had cooked up when I had my own drama to worry about, as well. But this is different. This is about Will.

Add to that the fact that I've seen the kid still curling up on the basement sofa before, and I am suddenly possessed with an undeniable need to get Mike to realize that they need to come clean.

And then there was the thing the kid said the other night. About the 'bad men'...

Yeah. Mike, Dustin and Lucas definitely need to come clean.

"Actually, I won't."

"Yeah, right. We've got no reason to believe you."

"What if I told you something in return?" I propose, aware of Dustin's eager nod, and suppressing a roll of the eyes as I keep my attention on Mike, instead, "Something that could get me into trouble if the wrong person found out."

"Like what?"

"Like I was out in the woods with Jonathan searching for Will when I wasn't supposed to be. So if I do try to do something stupid, like tell my dad about any of this, you can throw that right back in my face."

Mike actually seems to consider this for a moment, his expression forcing me to tamp down on my mounting frustration that I even have to exert so much effort to get him to trust me at all. I remind myself, belatedly, that Nancy is the one I go to with stories about my dad. About the distance between us that a part of me wants to destroy with everything I have. Nancy is the one that knows I miss the way things used to be. The bond my father and I used to have.

Mike would have no reason to know about that, or even care.

"Okay. You can stay. But you do not get to boss us around, or bring in any adults," He says, his tone causing me to bite back my initial retort as soon as I recognize the hint of very real fear he can't entirely mask behind his attempt at a stern gaze. He's worried. Worried for Will. Maybe even worried about what to do about the strange child now sitting in his basement.

It's not lost on me that these kids are far too young to be dealing with any of this, and so I elect to try for being as unconditionally supportive as I can be, the idea more than a little foreign as it isn't really like I've had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, before.

Any experience I did have was with a little girl I keep trying to shove to the back of my mind, because the memory of her is enough to tear me apart.

"Deal. So—what, exactly, is really going on?"

I watch as all three boys share a look, clearly trying to decide amongst themselves where to begin. What to say. And although I am more than a little impatient to get to the bottom of this, I force myself to refrain from pushing them before they're ready, knowing that, if I do, Mike will likely see it as every reason he needs to shove me right back out the door.

Some time later, I find myself sitting at the Wheelers' dining room table, my inability to think of any reason to evade a dinner invitation from Mike and Nancy's mother without sparking her suspicion causing me to pick at the meatloaf on my plate with much less effort than I initially hoped. I can tell Nancy is suspicious over my presence here, having not invited me herself, but I also know she's not going to push me too far, since she's got a secret of her own as far as evening plans are concerned.

Still, between the weight of Nancy's eyes drilling into me on occasion from across the table, and the lingering memory that around forty-five minutes ago I watched as a little girl who calls herself Eleven quite literally shut and locked a door with her mind, saying anything other than that I am abysmally distracted would have been a lie.

"Is something wrong with the meatloaf?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. No, it's—it's good," I stammer, forcing myself to spear a bit with my fork so that I can take a bite, chewing carefully and swallowing around the knot of apprehension coiled in my throat, until Karen Wheeler mercifully directs her inquisitive gaze toward Dustin and Lucas instead.

"Yeah, I just—had two bologna sandwiches for lunch," Dustin adds, the hastily concocted explanation causing me to wince, the expression only intensifying as he goes on, backed up by Lucas not long after, "Don't ask why."

"Me—me too."

"It's delicious, Mommy," Nancy says, sending her mother what is clearly meant to be a winning smile that has me ducking my head down to stare at my plate, my hand lifting to cover my mouth to mask the snort that I am now trying desperately to turn into a cough, "So there's this—special assembly, for Will tonight. At the school. Barb's driving."

Oh boy, here we go. The assembly for Will that had been broadcast over the loudspeakers at school today is now apparently being used as Nancy's cover to get out of the house and go to Steve's party.

And here I thought I'd taught her better when it came to the fine art of sneaking out…

"Why am I just hearing about this?" Karen asks, the skepticism in her tone causing me to bite my lower lip, the small twinge of guilt I feel over seizing on the prospect of watching how Nancy handles her intended deception quickly shoved down as my friend apparently already has an answer prepped and ready to go.

"I thought you already knew."

"I told you, I don't want you out after dark until after Will is found."

"I know. I know, but it'd be super weird if I'm not there," Nancy insists, sending a look my way as though she expects me to step in to help her, and frowning a little when I only give her a thin smile and stubborn silence by way of response, "I mean, everyone is going."

"Fine. Fine, just—just be back by ten."

Nancy has the good grace to refrain from looking too victorious as she turns her attention back to her meatloaf once again, but as soon as we both hear the next words coming out of Karen Wheeler's mouth, the faint smile Nancy wears fades to panic, and I catch myself feeling as though the small bit of meatloaf I have managed to consume has congealed into a rock at the bottom of my stomach.

"Why don't you take the boys with you, too?"

"No!"

"Mm-mm!"

"Well don't you think you should be there? For Will?" Mrs. Wheeler questions, once again veering back towards suspicion over the boys' far too hasty denial of her suggestion. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from giving away any outward sign of a reaction, though Mike seems to take my suddenly narrowed eyes as reprimand enough on its own. But before any one of the boys can come up with a suitable answer, I realize Mike and Dustin have both locked their gazes on something just behind Karen Wheeler's head…

Eleven.

Shit.

Several things happen at once, then, my leg kicking out beneath the table to connect with Mike's shin to keep him from gawking, and causing him to spit some of the milk he is attempting to drink back into his glass, while the rest of it drips down his chin. At the same time, Dustin is pounding his fists against the table in rapid succession, effectively stopping Mrs. Wheeler from turning around to see the stranger strolling through the lower level of her home. And as she directs her attention to comforting a now cowering Holly as the toddler tries to make herself as small as possible in her high chair, I give the boys my best attempt at an unimpressed stare, only snapping out of it as soon as I realize Karen is once again back in action, her inquisitive gaze resting on me whether I want it to or not.

"You know, you can stay over if you want. After the assembly. Just have Barb drop you off back here, and I'll take care of calling your dad to let him know."

"Oh, I—I'm not going to the assembly," I tell her, grateful for a lifetime of interrogations from my father, because they seem to have given me ample time to develop a decent poker face, even when my stomach is twisting in on itself and my heart is racing over the idea of lying to the mother of a friend, "I thought I'd—you know—stay here with the boys."

"Yeah. To help us with—with our feelings."

Once again I am forced to suppress a wince at Dustin's intrusion, but Nancy's mom seems to accept this explanation easily enough, the smile she gives me only driving the knife of guilt deeper, despite my utter certainty that I am doing the right thing.

"Well I think that's very sweet of you, Camille. And the boys are very lucky to have you."

Smiling back at her, I pointedly ignore Mike's overly exaggerated mime of retching over the side of his chair, relieved to have alleviated her suspicions, though just a singular glance at Nancy tells me I am far from doing the same with hers. I think she had honestly hoped I would just cave and go to the assembly aka party with her, so my continued avoidance is clearly throwing her more than she wants to admit.

If she truly knows me at all, though, I think Nancy will have to admit she should have seen this coming…

I had promised to do the opposite of what anyone might have expected me to do, after all. And I am nothing if not a woman of my word.

"Since when do you hang out with my brother?"

"Um—kind of since Jonathan dragged me to that first campaign because he didn't want to sit around waiting for them to be done by himself," I shrug, watching as Nancy turns from the act of tearing through her closet in search of something to wear, to look at me with an expression that shows she obviously doubts my response with everything she has, "What?"

"Oh, let's think. Maybe I'm having a little bit of trouble imagining why Cami Hopper would willingly spend an evening in a smelly basement with three middle school boys when she could be coming to a party with her friends, instead."

"Maybe it has a little something to do with the person throwing the party, Nance."

"Oh come on."

"And even if it wasn't Steve, Tommy and Carol will still be there," I persist, moving to perch on the edge of Nancy's bed despite my initial hopes that I could escape her quickly to return to the boys, and our would-be fugitive in the basement, instead, "I still can't even believe you convinced Barb to come at all."

"To be fair, you kind of helped me with that."

"Reluctantly."

"Well, reluctant or not, it worked," Nancy says, turning back to her closet with a frown, and a petulant little huff that has me failing to entirely suppress a snort in response, "I don't have anything to wear."

"What's wrong with what you're wearing right now?"

"Okay, I cannot believe you just asked me that!"

"Move over. Let me see what you've got to work with," I instruct, shoving aside any lingering discomfort I feel at the thought of helping Nancy dress to impress Steve. Someone I remind myself I have absolutely no remaining feelings for, whatsoever. I don't care that Nancy is into him. That, from the looks of it, Steve is also into her.

And whatever does or does not happen at that stupid party tonight, I obviously have bigger fish to fry.

"Here. Try this one," I suggest, pulling out a red and gray striped shirt and dark blue jeans, and hurrying to steamroll on as soon as I recognize the impending protest forming on Nancy's lips, "And before you say oh god, Cami, no, it's too tight—trust me. Nothing could be too tight on you."

"Cami—"

"Trust me, Nancy. I'm the party-girl, remember? I kind of think that means I know what I'm talking about, here."

Whether Nancy recognizes the slight bitter tinge behind my words or not, she mercifully chooses not to react, instead directing the entirety of her attention to the task of getting ready for the night ahead. I help her as best her can, adding a light hint of eyeshadow to her eyelids, polishing that off with mascara, and letting her borrow my lip gloss for good measure. And as we head back downstairs, her shirt concealed by a heavy sweater, I catch myself hoping that, in spite of my lingering conflict over her involvement with Steve, tonight will not end up blowing up in her face.

I had been able to pull away from Steve before getting too attached, or at least that is the lie I keep telling myself, but Nancy?

She is far too sweet—and in too deep—to be the one that walks away without a scratch, now.

Clambering back down the stairs to the basement after Nancy leaves, I arrive just in time to see Mike, Lucas and Dustin all gathering around Eleven as she takes a seat at the card table usually reserved for campaigns, her eyes glued to the board and assorted pieces spread in front of her as though she has never seen anything like them before. Given how little any of us know about where she comes from, I realize with a jolt that it is entirely likely that she hasn't. But before I can manage to open my mouth to ask any one of them what the hell is going on, Mike looks up and silences me with a sharp glare, my eyebrows moving skyward until I get closer and really see what Eleven is doing first-hand.

She is picking up one of the pieces sitting at the center of the board. A familiar piece that I know Will favors.

The second I meet Mike's gaze again, I can tell he's following along on the same line of thought, his voice soft as he steps closer to Eleven and tries to get her attention away from the small figurine, and fixed on him, instead.

"El?"

"Will."

"Superpowers," Dustin murmurs, lifting his hands to rest on top of his head, while I remain frozen, trying to ignore the chill that is racing its way up and down my spine in response to the steely certainty that is so apparent in Eleven's soft spoken voice. I have no idea why I'm so unsettled by it. So—out of sorts.

She's just a kid. A kid that can apparently move things with her mind, but a kid all the same.

So why does it feel like her simple utterance of Will's name is just a precursor for far worse things to come?

"Did you see him? On Mirkwood?" Mike asks her then, the sound of his inquiry effectively jolting me back to the present, my feet carrying me to Eleven's other side so I can sink down into an unoccupied chair at her side, opposite Mike. She looks to me, then, as though seeking reassurance before even attempting to reply. And before I can fully rationalize it, I find I am reaching for her hand, delivering a gentle squeeze that appears to be enough to have her shaking her head to answer Mike, before Lucas joins in the questioning in next to no time at all.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Hiding."

"Will is hiding? From the bad men?"

Eleven shakes her head again, looking at Mike with something not all that far from sadness, and I force myself to remain unmoving when all that I really want to do is let my concern for Will devour me whole. I know, on some level, that none of this makes any sense. That asking a young girl for answers about a missing kid is, realistically, the least useful thing any of us could possibly do. But as Eleven turns to look at me once again, I realize that I already know what Will is hiding from. That she knows I know, without me ever having to say a word out loud.

Her look says it all. That Will is hiding from the very same creature I had seen the other night in the woods. The creature she somehow, miraculously, saved me from.

Eleven diverts her attention to the board on the table, then, using one hand to push the remaining pieces to the side, some of them clattering onto the floor unheeded as she flips the board until the pitch black underside is now facing up. She places Will's piece directly in the center, but that is not what causes my blood to chill within my veins, my heart thudding to a painful stop inside my chest as she reaches for one of the other figurines that still remain on the table, and slams it onto the board beside the one that is meant to represent Will.

I don't remember the technical name for it, never having devoted much attention to the nitty gritty of Dungeons and Dragons lore even with my occasional participation in campaigns when Will dragged Jonathan and I along for the ride. But even though the tiny piece isn't an exact replica, I would be a fool to pretend I don't recognize some of its features. And although Mike, Lucas and Dustin are still looking from the board to Eleven in mild confusion, I know.

I know that what she is trying to tell us can hardly be anything good.

Hello, darling readers! And welcome to another chapter in Cami's tale! I've been trying (key word, trying, lol) to prevent the muses from ignoring this story, given my probably obvious Eddie/Sadie obsession, so I do offer my sincerest apologies if it ever seems like this story isn't as much of a priority as theirs. I promise I have so many plans for Cami and Steve, and I have zero intention of abandoning them. And as always, I hope my little decision to include Cami with the party, rather than with Nancy and Barb, is something that meets with your approval! What can I say, I adore the idea of Steve rolling in as 'babysitter' when Cami's already got one foot in the door for that role. It may or may not lead to some comedic moments between them, and a way for them to get closer again, as well!

As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! Special thanks go out to last chapter's reviewers: MulishaMaiden, and Wishfulhamadryad, for leaving such lovely feedback on chapter six! I truly do appreciate the support, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last?

Until next time, my angels…

MOMM