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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. * * * * * "Because you're not mature enough for this kind of thing," Carson Ioeger says. "That's how come." He leans back in his chair and sniggers openly at you. Your retort is pre-empted by the purse-mouthed school librarian. "Please don't put your feet on the tables," she softly scolds as she walks by. Carson, with a tight smile, drops his great boat-like feet to the floor with a thud. But after she's gone, he leans back and puts them back up. "Yeah, like you're real mature," you retort. "And what was so mature about gluing all of Javits's books together that time?" "Very little," Carson admits. "Which is why we're trying to get away from that kind of thing." He looks over as the library doors open. A squad of sophomore girls charges in, and he returns to you. "Pitch me an idea for a prank, and if I like it, maybe we'll let you help implement it." You rub your nose. It's three-fifty -- only a quarter-hour since classes ended -- so the library is still fairly crowded. A few students have drifted in to do some homework; those who'd camped out for eighth-period study hall are beginning to pack up their stuff; but there are other knots and wads of students milling about like it's happy hour at a bar. "Look, I didn't say I wanted to help you guys work on something," you tell Carson. "I'm just looking for something to do today." "Something happen to Johansson and Tilley?" You shrug. "I'm kind of trying to avoid Keith. He's got this extra-credit thing he wants me to do." "You should take him up on it," says Carson, and his bantering tone turns serious. "Your C-plusses won't earn themselves the old-fashioned way." "Fuck you." You knock his feet off the table, and he grins. "And I can't hang out with Caleb in case -- " "But what's this extra-credit thing Tilley wants you to do? Does he need the help?" "Keith needs help with lots of things. But it's for Hawks's classes." "Your film class? Ha!" Carson throws his head back and laughs again. "Extra credit for a freaking class where all you do is -- " "You took Mr. Hawks for English last year, you know what he's like!" You slap at Carson's feet again as he raises them back to the table, but he kicks your hand away with a grin. "He's the same way, only more so, because he knows that people think that -- " You sputter off inconclusively. Carson waves his hand. "Yeah, yeah. Point is, you need extra credit, so -- " "I do not!" "No? What's your grade in there currently?" "He hasn't given us a mid-term grade or anything." Carson snorts. "You know what I mean. What grades have you been getting on the assignments?" You glower. "Well, it's a dumb extra-credit idea anyway!" Carson laughs again. "That's what I thought." The library door opens. This time it's James Lamont who enters, and Carson sits up. "But though I'm flattered you want to hang out with us -- " He stops and frowns at the look on his friend's face. For Lamont is wincing. "Gotta cancel on you, man," he says, and waggles his iPhone at Carson. "My mom needs me to babysit." "So? We'll take the sprog with us. You can't get 'em started too young." "Don't be stupid, I'm not gonna bring along -- " "So how am I supposed to -- ?" They talk over each other before simultaneously falling silent. James looks very pinched, but his expression turns thoughtful when his gaze falls on you. Carson follows his glance. "No," he tells James. "Why not?" Lamont lowers his voice so that you can't hear anything except " -- into it -- " and something that sounds like "owe it to him." Carson glances back at you again. "Hang tight, Prescott," he says, and putting an arm around James he draws his friend off into a corner. You slouch, and your stomach sours as you await the decisions and dispositions of others. It would sure be nice to be in charge of something for a change, you think, instead of having to wait for other people to decide whether or not I get to do stuff with them. Lower and lower you sink, and you cross your arms, and when Carson's voice rises in volume, you ostentatiously turn your back on him. You don't look around when the voices finally cut out, but when a hand shoves the bill of your cap down over your face, you fly up with a snarl. Carson only leers at you. "Come on, you wanna be involved? Now's your chance." "Phfbpt!" But you were begging earlier, and you need to be somewhere with someone that will give you an excuse to dodge Keith and Braydon and Stephanie, so you hike your backpack to your shoulders and follow Carson out. * * * * * "We're going for stuff that's more conceptual these days," he explains on the drive away from school. He'd insisted on your leaving your truck behind -- "I'll drop you off back there later" -- so you could ride with him. He's very mysterious about the destination. "I mean, gluing Javits's books together, or his feet to the floor, is a lot of fun," he continues. "But it's crude. There's no artistry behind it, no magic. Really," he sniffs, "it's not much better than what those guys do to the rest of us." "Except you're doing it to them, which makes it funny," you put in. "Well, yeah." He chuckles, and smoothly changes lanes. "But these days we're trying for an effect that is more, um, indirect. We're trying to get inside their heads instead of up their noses." "Like how?" "By invading their space. We're trying to do it, even, without them knowing we're the ones doing it, or that someone is even doing something to them." "Like how?" you repeat. "I mean, give me an example of -- " "Okay, take that gag you mentioned about gluing Javits's books together. A, he knows that was someone doing something mean to him. B, he had a pretty good idea who did it." "He thought it was Keith." "Right, and it was pretty fucking insulting when he did blame it on Tilley, like it was the kind of dopey shit someone like Tilley would come up with. That's when me and James starting talking about -- " "Can you just get to the point?" "The point is, C, it still really put a dent in his day. Me and James, when we got to talking about it, decided that that's really what it should all be about. Hurting guys like Javits and Patterson and Black, but without them realizing it was someone who did it to them. To them it should feel like karma." "You just don't want them hauling you and James onto the roof of the gym and leaving you there, like Seth did to Keith after -- " "Hey, how did he get down, anyway?" "He said he shimmied down a drainpipe, but me and Caleb think he just took turns dropping onto lower and lower roofs until he reached the ground. He hasn't got the upper body strength to -- " "Well, whatever, the thing is that, me and James, we're not scared of them doing something like that to us," Carson continues. "We just want to leave them spooked. Like, you ever have that feeling there's someone plotting against you, that there's a secret enemy out there who's out to get you, but you're not sure who?" "No." "Really? Huh. Well, what about conspiracy theories? Like, the Illuminati or the CIA. You ever get the feeling, when you're watching the news, that maybe there's someone in back of all the bad stuff, organizing it?" "Well, sometimes," you tell him, more to get him to shut up than because you do. You hardly even pay attention to the news. "So, it's kind of like that," Carson says. "That's the feeling we want them to get. That maybe all the bad stuff that's happening is coincidence, or maybe there's a kind of plot against them. But they can't tell for sure." You squeeze the bridge of your nose. "Example, Carson?" you ask him for the third time. "Look, you have to understand that me and James, we really don't want any word of what we're doing and how we're doing it leaking out. That would totally ruin things for us. In lots of ways. "I promise, I won't tell anyone." "You better not, because if you do -- " Carson's face tightens. "I promise we will do to you everything we've got planned for them. Only more so." He doesn't frighten you, and you calmly repeat your promise. "Alright," he says. "I'm not going to tell you about the next thing we've got planned, but we're already putting it together. That's what we were doing when you ran into us on Sunday. But I'll tell you the last thing we did." You're briefly distracted by his casual reference to "when you ran into us on Sunday." You haven't seen Carson and James outside of school in weeks. And you spent all day Sunday with Carlos and Mike. So you don't really follow the start of what proves to be a short lecture in chemistry, and only start paying attention when he says, "So it's a much better way of getting that rotten egg smell everywhere." "Wait, what?" you interrupt. "I said we used ammonia sulfide instead of hydrogen sulfide. It disperses better, which distributes the smell farther even as the ammonia reacts to sunlight. We've heard them talking about it, so we know it stinks up there in that loft of there's." "Are you saying you dropped a bunch of stink bombs in the fuck room?" "More or less," Carson says. That's all for now. |
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