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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Change of Persona"  You wear Sean's mind band to school the next day too, and by now his persona fits so easily into your own that you don't even flinch when someone sharply jostles you at your locker right after fourth period; you look over your shoulder with a glare. "Watch where you're going, fucker," David Kirkham mutters softly and meaningfully, and rolls the toothpick in his mouth from one cheek to the other. "Watch yourself, cocksucker," you retort. "If you wanna make something of it, I got nothing else to do," he says quietly, and hitches his backpack onto his shoulder. "Then let's do it," you return, and step in confidently beside him, jostling your way through the crowds to the nearest exit. But Kirkham is quicker than the Molester, and he fights dirtier, too. You're barely around the corner of A wing when he kicks you sharply in the shin, tripping you face first into the wall. He drives a hard, sharp punch into your kidney, then spins you around and knees you in the groin. You bend double with great waves of pounding pain rippling up through your torso. He grabs you by the hair at the top your head, pulling your face up. Crack, crack, crack. Quickly but methodically he punches you hard in the cheek and the nose, then knees you in the chest. You fall back against the wall and slump to the ground. "Remember what you are and what your place is," he says. "Next time you get in my way, take your hat off and apologize." He rolls his toothpick his mouth again. "That, or give a better account of yourself to me." He saunters slowly off back the way he came. * * * * * "Kirkham's definitely a psycho," Sean says sympathetically when you see him at work that afternoon. "Best to just stay away from him." "You've never gotten in fight with him, right?" You phrase it as a question, though of course you know the answer. "He won't mess with me because he won't catch me alone," Sean says. He grimaces. "Nothing against your friends, Will. Tilley or Johansson are great guys, but hanging around them is like hanging three 'Kick Me' signs on your ass." "It'd look kinda funny if I hung out with you and your friends," you grumble. He stares a moment, then actually looks wounded at the implication that you wouldn't fit in with his crowd. "Hey, we all had fun last night," he protests. I mean--" He looks embarrassed. "You don't want to hang around with us just for protection, right?" He makes a face. "No! And it was a lot of fun with you guys. I kinda surprised myself." Sean smiles at your words. "Hang out again after work, this time with me? I got someplace I wanna show you." "Sure. Right now, though--" He points at the boxes. "This shit isn't going to sort itself." * * * * * "So, what do you think?" you ask him after he's looked around the basement a bit. He shrugs. "Kind of a dump." He gives you a sharp look. "They give you the run of this place?" "No one knows I can get in here," you say. "I put a new lock on the door almost a year ago, and no one's taken it down yet. I figure they've completely forgotten about it." Sean grunts and walks over to some of the mask material you have laying out. "What's this?" "Kind of a science experiment." Your heart starts beating faster. "I moved the stuff out here because it's a better place to work. Also, easier to hide stuff here." "What kind of experiment?" He gives you a curious look as you pull out the old book and set it on the table in front of him. "I found this at Arnholm's," you tell him. "It's a freaky old magic book, shows how to make masks and stuff. I've been horsing around with it, figuring out how it works. I've made a couple of really neat things." "Yeah?" Sean's interest seems to be fading, and his eye wanders back toward the door as you pull out the mask you'd made of yourself. "I made this with it. It's a mask of me." "Doesn't look a lot like you." "Look closer." You rub the surface. "There's an image inside it." He frowns as he peers more closely, then slowly takes it from you. His eyebrows work. "It's like one of those magic eye things," you murmur. Sean turns the mask this way and that, catching the surface in the light from different angles. He turns it over. "Whoa." He's caught sight of your name floating above the band attached to the back. "Yeah." You rub your finger along the edge. "It's real magic. Anyone who puts it on will turn into my duplicate. They'll look just like me, enough to fool anyone." Sean's eyes harden with skepticism. "I haven't been able to try it," you say with technical accuracy, "because of course it makes no sense to disguise myself as myself. I was kinda hoping that, uh--" You break off and shrug. "That'd you'd try it out, so we could see if it works." He holds your eye, then smiles. "You're really into this shit, aren't you?" he says in a pitying tone. (But you can sense the embarrassment behind his words, for he's into it too. He's even more into it than you are.) "Well, okay, sure. How does it work?" "Just put it to your face." He sniffs, then raises it. The mask glows, and he topples forward into your arms. He's heavy, and both of you topple onto the floor. You push and wriggle your way out from under him, and turn him over. But it's not Sean Mitchell anymore. It's you. You catch your breath sharply, and something big and hard leaps into your throat. Trembling slightly, you shake him. He doesn't move. You shake him again, much more roughly. He groans, and his eyes blink open. He stares at the ceiling intently for a moment, then his eyes twitch over at you. His nostrils flare. You stand up and reach down to help him up, but he brushes your hand away as he leaps to his feet. He has to grab his belt as he stands, for his pants, which are now a few sizes too big for him, slide down under his hips. He stares at you, breathing hard. "Sean?" you ask carefully. "Yeah?" he says in a strange voice. Jesus, it's your voice. "I think it worked," is all that you can think to say. You point past him toward the big mirror that you'd pulled out from the wreckage by the wall. He turns and stumbles over to it. "Holy shit," Sean says quietly as he stares at himself. He gently touches his face, and his eyes wander slowly over his features. He rubs his left forearm with his right hand, then pushes up the sleeve to grip the weak muscle. He holds his left arm up, flexing it, then rubs his chest. His hand dips down to raise his shirt and stroke his stomach. "It's not much to look at, I guess," you say. "But it's not a body you usually see in a mirror." He glances at you. "Where did you say--? Oh yeah." His expression turns thoughtful. "The bookstore." He silently muses. "And that's why you took the job at Salopek." You're glad the mask doesn't hold any memories you've had since taking the job, since he would have learned what you did to him in the distribution building. Probably you'll have to confess to it at some point, but not now. "So, yeah, we could have some fun with this book," you say softly. "I've got some ideas for what we could do. I bet you do too, though." You've got a pretty good guess of what he might like to do with the book and what it can create. But maybe you should let him make the proposals himself. That's all for now. |
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