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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Messages Into the Dark"  You wake the next morning to a text from Keith: a street address. No explanation, and you don't reply since you're trying to get breakfast and books together in a last-minute rush because you overslept. But Tilley himself explains things when he hops up next to you in the student parking lot. "So, we'll see you around five?" "See me for what?" you ask. "Does it have to do with that stupid text you sent me?" "Yeah, for the video shoot." He blinks. "That's Carlos's address. Well, it's the address for -- " "What are you talking about? When did we talk about a video shoot?" "Yesterday." "No we didn't!" "I was right there with you! I remember!" He makes a queer, snuffling noise in nose, like he's trying to hold in a sneeze and it came out like a fart. "When? Anyway, I got plans for after school today." He stops cold, and gets a wounded-puppy kind of look. "At your locker yesterday. Right after classes. I stopped by and we talked about -- I don't remember, but I said, 'We're shooting another movie review tomorrow, you should come by,' and you said, 'Yeah, right, I'll see you tomorrow'." "I didn't hear any of that, man, and I wouldn't have -- Look, isn't this thing with Mike and Carlos your thing?" "It's their thing. With Fairfax and Shank." "Oh, God. Shank?" "Yeah, he does the editing and visual effects." "Look, how long have you -- ?" Someone blasts a car horn, and you jump to the side, pulling Keith with you. "How did you start hanging out with these guys?" "End of last year, more over the summer." Keith looks you up and down reproachfully. "When you and Johansson are off butt-banging each other, which is all the time these days, it seems like, I call them up -- " You push him in the shoulder. "Christ, stop with the -- Does it really seem like me and Caleb are doing stuff without you?" "Seems like it," he mumbles. "Well, I'm sorry it seems that way. But I don't want to take these guys away from you, so maybe I should -- " "You're not taking anyone away from me, Prescott," Keith says, and he rolls his eyes. "Point is, you're doing this thing with them and you're having fun, and I'm not much interested in doing YouTube stuff." Keith sighs and slumps and rolls his eyes. "So what've you and Johansson got planned for today that's so much cooler than our dorky movie reviews?" "We're going to Besandwiched -- " "Thphbt!" says Keith. Then he suddenly looks thoughtful. " -- because Braydon Delp asked us along to meet with him and -- " Suddenly you're shy about telling Keith that it'll be a bunch of girls there. He'll definitely feel left out. " -- uh, a couple of basketball players." He jumps back a step. "Javits?" he asks sharply. "No! God, no! Fuck, no! Girls' basketball squad. Almida Jones and Kristy Suffolk and -- And a couple of others like that." Keith's eyes boggle. "The fuck?" "Look, I gotta get to class. We have to show up to be polite, is all, Caleb and me, so it's a commitment. I'd'a told you about it yesterday but I didn't hear what you said." You turn toward the school, then stop when Keith doesn't follow. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing," he says. "Just that I said 'Javits' out loud, and that's, like, invoking Satan, so I think I'll take the long way around." "Suit yourself," you shrug, and jog off toward the gym. And at the last minute -- when you see the gym doors burst open and see Javits himself, along with Gordon Black, Steve Patterson, and a whole crew of brutish, hulking louts come swaggering out -- you dive backward out the breezeway and around a corner to peer. A couple of girls pass and give you a queer look, but you remain hidden until they disappear into the double-doors leading into the school proper. You're halfway down the breezeway when a pair of figures dart across your path, rip open the gym doors, and jump inside. Carson Ioeger and James Lamont. Clearly up to no good. James was clutching a package to his chest. Well, it's none of your business, and God willing it never will be. * * * * * Braydon is talking to Kristy Suffolk and Barbara Powell when you walk into fourth-period English. He gives you a quick nod, and the two girls glance briefly back at you, but there's no interest in their eyes. But Mike -- who's sitting a row over -- shoots his hand up and calls to you. "Will! Will!" Urgh. Guess you'll just have to explain to him what you explained to Keith. You shuffle over toward him. Michael Hollister's hair has more gold and less red in it than shows up on camera, but his eyebrows are almost white against his ruddy complexion. He looks like a tomato about to burst, the way he's grinning at you. "Hey, Michael," you say. "Uh, I ran into Keith in the parking lot, and he -- " "Yeah, I talked to him just before class," he says. "What's the deal? How come you're welshing?" "I'm not welshing! I didn't even hear him yesterday when he -- " "You said you'd do it, said you'd see us today." "Maybe I did say that, but it's not because I heard what he said. We were in the hallways and it was loud. I didn't understand him." "Huh." He blinks. And when Michael Hollister blinks, it's with practically his whole face. Everything from his scalp to his chin kind of folds inward. But he doesn't sound broken up, because he grins again. "But can you make it after class? At lunch?" "For what?" "You can still be in our next video. We got a bit planned, we're gonna shoot it today in one of the old portables. Won't take you more than a minute, and we can eat lunch there." You're about to say "No," but decide not to be so hasty. "Is Keith going to be there?" "Yeah, sure." He blinks again, and this time -- as if a shutter had snapped shut and opened again on a new scene -- a frown has replaced the smile. "You don't have a problem with Keith, do you?" "No! That's why I wanna know if he'll be there. 'Cos -- " You shrug. "I feel like I should do something with him," you say without enthusiasm. "On account of -- " "Okay, awesome." His grin returns. "Right after class. I'll have to meet you there because -- " He glances behind you, and you move out the way as Carlos Montoya squeezes past. The latter gives you a querying look. "Will's gonna meet us at the portable for that thing at lunch," Mike tells him. "Really?" Carlos does a double-take. "Cool." "That's what I said." Mike turns back to you. "Portable G, okay? We already made sure the door's open, so just go in." He waggles an eyebrow. "You'll wanna keep out of sight there, on account of some of the douchebags that hang out there then, you know?" And that almost causes you to back out. But a promise is a promise, so you nod and retreat. As you back up, you almost step on Josiah Shank. He's a small kid, rabbity, with huge, staring eyes behind his glasses and an unnervingly large smile. Your sophomore year he once cornered you in the library, and breathlessly recounted the entire plot to an anime series, with particular attention to the breast sizes of the various girls. Since then you've tried to keep out of any groups that include him. "What's going on over there?" Caleb asks when you drop into your seat next to him. "I think you're having lunch with Carson and them," you reply. "I get to hang out with them at the portables for lunch." "Oh, God," says Caleb. "Shank? Shank?" "I owe it to Keith," you reply, and don't explain further. * * * * * You haven't been out to the portables since the day of your humiliation at the hands of Call, Mendoza, Spencer, Thomason, et al., and approach them in a sidelong manner, making a wide curve away from them while hugging the side of the music wing. There's a crowd on this side, but it looks mostly like juniors and sophomores. Trouble is, it looks the kind of juniors and sophomores who grow up to be seniors like Call, Mendoza, Spencer, Thomason, et al. So you keep your distance and you keep your head down as you approach the portables, keeping that gang to your right. You're less than a dozen yards off from them when one makes a raucous shout. Your heart thuds, but the shout isn't repeated, so it must not have had anything to do with you. You manage to keep from sprinting the last few yards around a corner and out of sight, though your knees are trembling. But then you're past, and cut off entirely from view of the school and anyone else. Which could be bad if there's anyone lurking back here. Cautiously you approach the other end of the portable you're skirting, and peer around it. No one. You cross the space to the next portable, and again cautiously approach the far corner. Again, no one. You let out a sigh of relief. Now, if you remember correctly, Portable G will be the last one at the farthest corner, and indeed that portable has a faded black "G" above its door. You mount the two weathered wooden steps to the door, and fumble at the knob. It opens. You look inside. It's dark and dusty, for all the window blinds are down. You consider waiting outside for Mike and them to show up, then decide that it would be safer to wait inside. You step into the portable, and push the door shut behind you. You don't hear it latch. For a fatal few seconds you dumbly wonder at not hearing a click. Then the door explodes behind you, and someone catches you in a powerful embrace. There's a quick "Ha!" and the world goes dark. * To continue: "Knuckleheads" |
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