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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Not Your Normal Cookbook"  "You wanna go with us?" Umeko asks you with a smile. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your brother's face fall. You're sorely tempted to say "Yes." Not because you're interested in the movie she and Robert are going to see. Rat Race is a CG-animated kids' movie about a round-the-world race by a lot of (yes) anthropomorphized rats. It looks stupid. But you like the idea of doing something with Umeko, and you like even better the idea of doing something to spite your little brother, who has always been a thorn in your side. But even to you it would feel petty and vindictive to do something you don't want to do, just to make your brother miserable. Besides— "Sorry, I'm busy this afternoon," you tell Umeko. "I'm helping Andrew—that's one of our neighbors—with a project." Robert's expression floods with relief, and almost you change your mind. Umeko smiles and asks what you're helping with. "Home project," you stammer. "And, uh, actually I have to get back. Have fun at the movie," you tell her with a very false cheer. * * * * * There's a whine of machinery echoing from Andrew's garage when you lope back over. You can't make out what's going on, but it involves something blue and a circular rag that's spinning at very high speed. Andrew looks up as you approach, and shuts off the machine he has wedged between his knees. "Hey," he says in a preoccupied tone. "Does this look done to you?" It's the thing you made together, but it has changed color, from a pasty gray to a brilliant and glowing blue. You whistle at it without touching it. "What did you do?" "Polished it. It's the next step, according to the instructions. I decided to try using this." He hefts the machine he was using—a small motor, with a rod and circular rag sprouting like a mushroom from one end. "It's a car buffer," he adds when you frown at it. "How much polishing is it supposed to take?" you ask. Gingerly you take the thing from him and turn it over and over in your hands. There are a few streaks of white on it still, but otherwise it looks like it's made of blue porcelain—or like a piece of the sky that's broken off and fallen to earth. "The book doesn't say. It just says 'polish' it. I don't think it's changing color anymore, and it looks pretty polished to me. I've been working on it since you left." You point to the streaks that you spotted, and Andrew goes to work on them while you stand to the side and watch. After a few more minutes, he hands you the mask—it's hard to think of it as anything else, for that's what it looks like—for inspection. As near as you can tell, it is now free of any imperfections. "So is that it?" you ask as you hand it back to him. He hesitates, and glances around with an uneasy frown. "There's one more step," he says. "Normally I wouldn't worry about it, it's a simple thing. But this whole ... project ... has been so weird." He gives you a worried glance. "You know?" You nod. "I mean," he continues, "there's no way that stuff you bought should have come together to make a thing like— And then the way it ... changed shape—" He bites his lip. "Pretty freaky," you agree. "Well, the last step," Andrew says, "is you're supposed to put it on someone's face." He gives you a very hard and direct look. Put it on someone's face, you think. "So," Andrew continues, and a stammer has come into his voice, "normally I wouldn't think anything of it. I mean, you just put it on your face. What could happen? Right?" "Right." "Except." He grimaces, then abruptly wheels himself over to the work table, where the book lies open. "Except for what it says will happen next." What will happen next. The words give you a chill even as Andrew with one thumb taps at his cell phone with his thumb. He takes a deep breath before reading off the phone. "The translation is wonky," he says, "and I don't know if the Latin is bad or if the translation algorithm is off. Probably the last," he adds in a gruff undertone. "But it says that when you put it on a face, the mask will ... absorb ... the image of the person." His eyes are filled with worry when he looks up at you. "What do you think that means?" You don't like the word "absorb." To tell the truth, it makes it sound like the thing is supposed to suck the face off the person, like a vacuum cleaner slurping a Kleenex off the floor. But you only shrug. "You know," he continues, and spins his chair around to fully face the book. "I don't think I like this anymore. It's too spooky. I just thought it was a joke"—he flips a few pages back, to the start of the book—"when I started reading it. Or something written by a lunatic. I think I told you this was like alchemy, and you know, a lot of those guys went crazy because of the chemicals they were playing with. But this—" He picks the mask up from his lap, and turns it around in his hands. He falls silent. "Do you have any idea what it's supposed to do?" He scratches his head. Then he says, "I think it's supposed to copy people." "Copy people?" you echo. "Yeah. This introduction"—he taps the open book—"is really obscure. But I think it's supposed to copy people. I think"—he sucks on his lower lip. "I think it's supposed to make disguises! "I don't know what I'm doing," he continues when the silence between you has become very awkward. "Thanks for your help, Will." He doesn't look at you—it's like he's dodging your eye—as he scoops the book up and turns to wheel himself back into his house. It's like he's dismissing you, after all the help you gave him. You wonder what he's going to do. Is he going to throw the book and the mask and the other stuff away? Or is going to try putting the mask on? You're not sure if you should offer to help, or to just walk away. At the very least, though, you need Andrew to know that you're still willing to help, for there's a worm of guilt eating away at your heart for having dropped the book into his lap the way you did. "Andrew!" you call. "What are you going to do?" He glances back. "I don't know, Will. It's not your concern." "I still want to help." "No, it's too weird. Too dangerous." "So you're just going to get rid of it? The book and the stuff?" "Probably," he says. There's a lot of doubt in his voice. "Man, it's too dangerous for you to play with. By yourself, I mean." "By myself?" "I mean, if you're gonna try doing what the book says— You know, putting it on— You should have someone else around. Just in case." "Just in case what?" "Just in case ... whatever!" Andrew ponders a moment, then says, "I'm pretty sure I won't." He turns away. Next: Coming soon! Check back! |
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