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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Four Offers"  "Sorry, I've got some other stuff I have to do this afternoon," you tell Stephanie. You'd really like it if she begged, and you wouldn't mind if she got mad, but she only nods and shrugs it off. Someone trips you as you make your way over to your chair, but you swallow the snarl when you see it's Rennerhoff. * * * * * You expect to find Keith loitering at your locker when you get out of class, but instead you have to go find him. He raises an eyebrow when you lean in next to him. "So are you going to be joining us for this video thing?" you ask him. His eyes pop. "So you're going?" "Didn't I say I would?" "You sounded like you weren't." He frowns as you shrug. "Lemme guess. You didn't get a better offer." "No, it's not that," you insist. "I got other offers." Sort of. "But you talked me into it." "Awesome!" He grins and grips your arm. "So, when you get out there -- You're driving yourself, right? I mean, you know how to get out there?" "I was out there yesterday and I didn't get lost." "Well, you should probably go land someplace for a little while first. Like, for thirty minutes, so they can get ready for you. Oh, I know!" He snaps his fingers. "If you get, like, some chocolate shakes from Mickey D's and bring them out, they'll be all happy with you." You didn't know it was your job to make them happy with you, rather than their job to make you happy with them, but you agree. Keith impresses upon you that there's some technical work that has to be set up out there, and that you shouldn't be in a rush to get out because you'll just be bored otherwise. "I'll tell Carlos and them you'll be out around four-thirty." He hops around excitedly, and you eagerly back off to give him room. You weren't that enthusiastic about the afternoon's plans, and now you're even less so. * * * * * You kill time at the McDonald's with school work, and kill a little extra time just for the hell of it, so that it's closer to five when you pull up to your destination. You'd texted your mom with the news that you'd be eating with and spending the evening with classmates on an "extra credit" assignment -- an excuse that, besides getting you out of dinner at home has the merit of actually being true. But you don't have any chocolate shakes for anyone -- you haven't the budget for it -- and are hoping someone else will spring for something to eat. If for no other reason, than because your mom, in her reply to your text, had mentioned leftover split pea soup "if you want it." "So what exactly is the name of this place?" you ask Carlos after he's met you outside at the same spot as yesterday. You point to the sign over the gate: "Top Self Storage" it says, but an "h" floats between the "S" and "e" in "Self," like a textual correction. "Top Self or Top Shelf?" "Both. Either. It's supposed to be in-between," he says as he ushers you into the climate-controlled unit. "Top Shelf, like a shelf for storing things, but also 'top' as in best. And 'self' like 'self storage' and it's tops at self storage." "But how do people pronounce it?" "Oh, lots of ways, I guess. My uncle sometimes talks about changing the name, because the checks that come in get all kinds of things written on them and the bank sometimes makes a problem about it." He pauses in front of one of the blue doors, and takes out a key. "I wanted to show you something before we get started in the studio." The door rattles loudly as he slides it up. It's his gym -- you remember him mentioning that he keeps his exercise equipment on site -- and there's a weight bench and bunch of bars and iron plates scattered about. One wall has a large mirror balanced against it. There's also a footlocker. But there's another item, in the middle of the floor, that you can't make much sense of. It looks like a crude statue, about the size of a man, laying on its back. At least, that's your first impression, but when you look at it more closely you're not at all sure what it is. The impression of "humanity" is entirely a matter of its gross shape: a trunk about the size of a torso with two leg-like limbs at one end and a bulbous blob like a head at the other. Coming off the trunk, just below the "head," are two other limbs, like arms. But there are no features -- no face or muscular definition, no suggestion of joints. All in all, it looks like a blob that a small child might have shaped from clay. It's grayish-white all over, like ash, and you are briefly tempted to bend over to dust it off. "Yeah, that's what I wanted to show you," says Carlos, "before we go into the other unit." He nudges it with his toe. "What do you think?" "What is it?" He tugs his ear. "Well, we think it's a golem, but we're not sure. 'Golem' seems the best word for it, but it doesn't act exactly like an old golem, the legendary kind." You don't even know what the legendary kind of golem is, but you nod as if you did. "This is for the video?" He gives you a funny look, like you've surprised him with plausible suggestion. "No, that's probably not a good idea. You know what a golem is, right?" You grimace. Busted. "Not exactly." "A golem is like a living statue. Like a magical robot. Like, it moves around and takes orders and performs tasks. Not an android, like Data in Star Trek. It doesn't have a personality or talk back. Well, this one can." He nudges it again. It doesn't even wobble, so it must be heavy. "But they don't have moving parts. You use magic to bring them to life." "Uh huh. But this isn't for a skit or anything? You're not reviewing a movie that has a golem in it, and this is -- ?" "No, but that is an idea." He tugs his ear again. Then he swings around and pulls the sliding door down. "Don't panic or anything. I just don't want anyone coming in and seeing this next bit. I'm, uh, I'm going to turn it on." You have no idea how you "turn on" a statue -- even one with genitalia -- so you take it very calmly when Carlos suggests you sit on the weight bench. "I don't want you falling over or anything," he says. "We all kind of freaked out the first time we started it up." He opens the footlocker and takes out a towel and a bluish object. He hands you the latter with the words "Take a look at this" as he drapes the towel over the golem's midriff. It's a mask. It's very thin and shaped like a classic "tragedians" mask, with bulges for the nose, cheeks, lips, chin and forehead, but with blank spots for the eyes so that you'd blind yourself if you put it to your face. You do lift it close for a look, and Carlos gently restrains you. "Don't get it too close," he says. "Check out the other side." You flip it over. The front of the mask -- the convex side -- is a brilliant, reflective blue, with odd patterns shimmering over it, but the concave side is a dull white. Still, you almost drop it with surprise. For floating over the inner surface, like a 3D effect, is a name: CARLOS FELIPE MONTOYA. You blink and screw your eyes up, to try to get the letters to reattach to the surface. You try touching them with your fingertip, and that almost nails them to the surface: you can't push your finger through them, and when you press them to the inner surface of the mask you obscure some of the letters even as the uncovered letters seem to float about your knuckles. You clench your eyes and shake your head. "Wow, that's a pretty wild effect," you say. "Yeah, it is," says Carlos. His voice has dropped to a near whisper. "But that's not the really amazing thing." He gently takes the mask from you. "Now, for the next bit, I really don't want you to freak out. I mean, I'm the one who should freak out, and I did freak out the first time we, uh -- " He swallows, and you notice he's not looking you in the face. "The first time we did this. But I got used to it. There's nothing dangerous about it. It's just, well, freaky." He squats next to the statue and holds the mask over its head. He pauses, and gives you a keen-eyed stare. "I'll warn you ahead of time, so you can sort of prepare. This is magic. Like, real magic. Real. Magic," he repeats. "We found a book, me and Mike. A book of magic, like a real grimoire." A book of magic. A mass of goose bumps goes rippling along your spine, starting in your tailbone and running up between your shoulder blades. Your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth as he continues. "We've been playing around with it. We've been keeping it secret, for obvious reasons. But Keith -- " He sucks on his lower lip. "Well, he talked us into letting you see." You grip the edges of the weight bench until your fingers hurt. Carlos drops the upturned mask onto the "face" of the statue. For a moment you're confused by what you're seeing. Then, even after it's cleared up, you don't want to credit your senses. Carlos is now crouching over another Carlos Montoya -- a brown-skinned, dark-haired kid who looks exactly like the guy who ushered you into this unit. He's naked, though, save for the towel draped over his crotch. The recumbent Carlos opens his eyes, and turns his head. He blinks at you, and grins. "Hey, Will," he says as he sits up on one elbow. "Glad you showed up!" Next: "Doubles for Pleasure" |
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