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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Taming a Terror"  "Why do I have to decide this now?" you exclaim. "Because it's best to get it over with." Chelsea goes back to staring at Chen's slack and expressionless face. "I'd have to make another mask!" "So how long will that take?" You do have one mask on hand, all polished up, but no metal band for it. "A couple of hours?" "So you can get it done after school," Chelsea says, "and I can set it up so Yumi or Cindy is at my house and we can—" You almost shriek. "You mean you'd get your boyfriend to—?" You glance at Gordon, but he's concentrated on stanching the bleeding in his arm. "No, Will," Chelsea sighs. "I'd just invite them over to my house. Then we could—" But you've thought of another objection. "We'd need two masks," you say. "One for me and one for whoever. I mean, if it's going to be a swap there have to be two masks to make the swap." She makes a face. "So how long would that second one take?" But you don't answer, for now you've thought of something else. You've thought of Caleb, and the way he tackled Gordon a couple of weeks ago. Everyone thought it was you who did that. Which means he used a mask of you to do it. If he hasn't thrown it away— And why would he? Then— "Will?" "I might be able to get it all done tonight," you murmur, and you flush as you think of Caleb. "Good. Then we'll—" "Might. Might!" You thrust a finger at her. "But I don't know if—" "Hey, don't point at my girlfriend," Gordon snarls. "Pookie," says Chelsea without looking over at him. "Go lie down over there and take your clothes off." She continues to stare at you. "Do you want me to set it up for tonight or tomorrow?" she asks you. You lick your lips. The decision only has to be made— Something crumples inside your chest. "Tonight. But if I call you in time, to say I can't make it, can you put it off till tomorrow?" "Maybe," she says. "If you can let me know before five o'clock. "Oh, sure, I can let you know by then," you say. "But it would probably be eight or even nine o'clock before I'm ready. "Uh huh," says Chelsea. "So who do you want me to call?" The first name that comes into your head is— You thought Chelsea would look surprised at the name, but she only says, "Okay then," and looks back down at Chen. "Now tell me what's going on with him." * * * * * What's going on with Gary Chen is that he's out cold, and yet there is no sign of the mask. You don't know what to do. To kill the time, Chelsea suggests you make up the stuff from the new spell. With her help you quickly mix up the ingredients—using a strand of her hair—and fire the mix over the sigil in the book. The result is a grayish, watery paste. Chelsea finds a brush so it can be applied to a mask. It'll be Gordon's mask you apply it to. You reacquaint yourself with the magic words that cause a mask to release itself, bend over the naked Gordon, and pry it off his glowering face. A Gordon-shaped statue appears where he had been lying. "Shit," you mutter as you turn back toward Chen. "If we put this thing on him, he'll turn into Gordon." "That's what we want," Chelsea says. "But he's wearing his clothes," you point out. "And if he turns into Gordon while he's still wearing them—" Just then a blue glow appears on Chen's face. It's the mask. "Shit," you mutter again, and thrust Gordon's mask at his girlfriend. "Here, you put that stuff inside the mask. I'll get Chen's clothes off him." Your skin crawls at the words. "Do you have to?" Chelsea squeaks. "I don't know. At least, we have to get them partway off him," you say, "'cos if we turn him into Gordon while he's dressed, his clothes are going to explode off him." And maybe Bruce Banner manages to stay inside his pants after hulking out, but you doubt it would work that way in real life. Chen's feet are enclosed in heavy, combat-style boots, and you get those off him first, then peel the heavy socks off. You gag on the smell that comes out of them. Then you unbutton his trousers and drag them down around his knees. His red boxers you leave alone. You're pushing aside the flaps of his jacket, and wondering how you can get him out of it and his shirt, when Chen groans softly. You freeze. "Chelsea!" you hiss. "I'm almost done!" "Well, hurry up, because he's—" As you watch, Chen's brow wrinkles, and his lips curl. His eyes open. "The fuck?" he mutters, but he doesn't move any further. Thank God, before he can come alive and murder you—and before you can shit yourself—Chelsea scuttles over. Chen just has time to widen his eyes before she looms over him. Something goes thump. You scoot back, and so does Chelsea. Someone says "Oof," and you almost swallow your tongue. Gordon sits up where Chen had been lying. He has Chen's shirt and jacket on, and a black ski cap is stretched tight over the top of his head. He kicks at the trousers clinging to his calves. "The fuck are you doing?" he snarls. "Pookie, is that you?" Chelsea says. For the first time ever, she sounds scared. "Is that me?" Gordon peevishly repeats. "Who are you asking me to be? Why are you trying to—? Whose clothes are you trying to put me in?" His face turns very red, and he snatches the ski cap off his head. "The fuck is—?" "Pookie, stand up," Chelsea says firmly. Gordon glowers but complies. The jacket and shirt ride up high on him, and he pulls at them while grimacing. The pants fall around his ankles. "Take everything off." "Fuck, yeah!" Gordon starts pulling clothes off a second time. You and Chelsea look at each other. "So, I guess it works!" she chirps. "Sure, it turned him into Gordon," you reply, and glance over your shoulder at the stone giant prostrate beside some of the crates. "But we don't know what it did to Chen. Underneath, I mean." You give the living version of Gordon a nervous look, dodging a glance at his crotch. "So we'll take the mask off and see what happened under there." Chelsea sounds very serene—even cheerful. "Gordon, lay down." "Again?" he exclaims, but he complies. "What are you going to—?" He gives his petrified original a wary look. "I wish I understood what was going on," he mutters. "It's your own fault you don't," Chelsea snaps. "Will? The, uh—" She points to Gordon's face. So you crouch next to him and grab his brow. The worried expression on his face is probably nothing on your own. If Chen is still alive under there, and he's awake, he'll be able to fly at your throat before you can react. You grip the edges of Gordon's face and pull. You're in luck, doubly so. Not only is Gary Chen still flesh and blood—and breathing—beneath the mask, he is unconscious. "What do we do now?" you ask Chelsea in a whisper. She's already back at the crate where all your supplies are. "We do the same thing to him that we did to Gordon." You gasp. "You mean turn him into a statue?" "No, silly. We put this same stuff inside his mask. That way he's, you know, just like Gordon was. Has to do what I say," she sniffs. "Are you sure?" She looks at you. "What do you want to do, Will? Let him go? Just wake him up and—?" You see her point, but you see something else she forgot. "Then let's get Gordon's mask back on him," you say as you scuttle over to the statue. "That way we've got someone who's almost as mean as Chen on our side. You know, if it turns out we don't control him." "It will," Chelsea says. "You're so smart, Will," she adds. "I'm sure this spell you made up will work just fine!" You didn't "make up" the spell, but you're so flattered by the compliment that you hold your tongue anyway. But you can't quite escape the feeling that both you and Chelsea have overlooked something. * * * * * "So what am I supposed to do now?" Chen asks after he's dressed. Well, more like "seethes." It looks like he's trying to shoot lightning out of his eyes. But Chelsea was right. Once she got that stuff inside his mask, and got the mask on him, he had to obey her just the way that Gordon did. Both Gordon and Gary are dressed again, and standing before the diminutive cheerleader like a couple of sullen schoolboys. Chen, though, is flexing his hands, like he's got the urge to snap someone's neck. "Just do what you normally do," Chelsea says carelessly. "Go to class. Hang out with your friends. Make it a normal day. Except—" She puts her finger in his face. "You don't tell anyone anything about coming up here, or what happened up here. You just tell them that you skipped second period." Chen glowers at her. Then, when she dismisses them, two of the biggest terrors at Westside High School shuffle out the door. You fall back onto a crate and let your breath out. It might be hours before your nerves stop quivering. "Oh, don't look so sick, Will," Chelsea says. "Just think about who's going to be waiting for you at my house around nine." Yes. It's going to be— * Yumi Saito: "A Banquet of Babel" * Someone else: "The Someone Else" |
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