Black Crimson: A Little Red Riding Hood Story
“Black Crimson has an extremely distinctive style. If you have someone else paint for him, it’s just going to be written off as a fake.”
“No,” Hayden assured him. “It’s not.”
When everyone merely frowned, confused, I groaned and rolled my eyes, willing him not to stick out his own neck or admit anything stupid. “No way,” I told him, slashing out a hand. “I’m not down with that plan.”
But he didn’t have to say anything. Because Camille suddenly gasped.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, gaping between me and Hayden with sudden realization. “Black Crimson isn’t just one person. You guys are like the Brothers Hildebrandt.” She spun to address my brother. “Aren’t you?”
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