One Of Us

Chapter Eleven

The silence that hung over the commons lasted an eternity. Each Side looked back and forth between the Logan at the railing and the Logan on the couch like they were watching a game of tennis, and the Logans themselves merely stared at one another. The air was thick with tension.

"I've seen enough poorly written TV dramas to know how this is gonna go," Virgil grumbled, pressing the side of his head against the bannister, "and I'm honestly not in the mood for it."

Roman's hand was already back on the hilt of his sword. "I will not hesitate to impale the imposter!" he declared, ignoring Patton as he rushed over to swat the weapon away.

"Don't bother," Virgil said tonelessly. The space in his chest that had housed fury mere minutes ago now felt hollow. He raised a hand and pointed to the Side on his left. "That one's real."

The Logan on the couch drew himself up in indignation.

"How do you know?" Patton asked. He sidled half a step closer to Virgil.

"Because," he said, glaring at the sofa, "the real Logan doesn't look at me like that." Like he's known me for a hundred years. Like I've never once failed to disappoint him during all that time.

"I'm, ah, pretty sure they look the same." It appeared no amount of suspicious squinting would help Roman pick up on the differences. Virgil just shook his head.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," the Logan on the couch insisted, a crease forming between his brows.

"Give it up, Deceit," Virgil said to the painting over his head. "None of us want to play this game."

Everyone turned expectantly to the sofa, but their furtive glances at the stairs made it more than obvious that no one was entirely certain Virgil was right.

Then the Logan rolled his eyes, and the facade melted away.

His expression was the first thing to change. Confusion and worry gave way to something much worse as his frown bled into a smirk; a small gasp worked its way from Patton's mouth in response, but the impostor was unfazed. They watched in horror as the glasses on his nose vanished into thin air to reveal a sickly, slit-pupiled yellow eye.

The skin of his left cheek was next, turning green and smooth and scaly everywhere but around that horrible eye, where it went a deep shade of pink instead. A cape slid up from behind him to cover the polo and tie, and from its pockets he pulled a pair of thick yellow gloves. With a flourish, he procured a black bowler hat from seemingly nowhere and tipped it smoothly onto his head, sinking into the couch cushions like he owned the place.

"So nice to see you all again," he cooed. Virgil was the only one who didn't draw back.

"I — Deceit?" was all the real Logan managed to say.

"How did we manage to fall for this again?" Roman said in exasperation. His weight bounced from foot to foot in an effort to contain his restlessness.

"You didn't," Virgil told him, pointedly looking away from the couch. "I did." He stuck his thumbnail between his teeth and bit down. "God, I'm such an idiot." There were so many signs, so many red flags he hadn't been vigilant enough to notice.

"That's not true in the slightest," Deceit said. His smirk flickered for half a second when Roman growled at him.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Logan asked impatiently. "Other than to needlessly torment us, of course."

"Bold of you to assume you're the one he's tormenting," Virgil muttered. He realized a second too late that he'd said it loud enough for Patton to hear.