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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Will Versus the Competition"  "So what does the new spell do?" Sydney asks again after you've not answered her for a minute. "Well, it's complicated," you stammer. Then you explain that it uses most of the same stuff that you used to make a golem and that you used on her stepdad: flammable powders and liquids, a few special extra ingredients, and a hank of hair. As for cemetery earth, it only calls for a spoonful, and there are no human sacrifices. "But it's still a lot like the last spell," you conclude. "How?" The day's resentments come bursting out. "Because we can use it to get rid of some assholes!" * * * * * You tell her what happened to you in sixth period. It makes you feel a little better to see her eyes pop with shock and anger. "Oh, those fuckers," she hisses when you're done. "Oh, Jesus! I knew that people could be real shits, but— Really? There are guys at school who do shit like that?" "We'll, there's guys at Westside who do." "Oh!" She slumps in her seat. "We're going to do something about it, right?" Your voice trembles as you reply. "Like I said," you tell her, "the new spell makes it super easy to!" She listens intently as you explain. * * * * * Sydney studies the spell for herself once you're at the school basement, and she concurs with your translation. But she still wants to test it out; and she's confident enough in the translation that she insists on being the test subject. You lose your argument with her over that, but at least you force her to use Caleb's mask instead of Blake's. You brush the stuff you made into the interior of Caleb's mask while Sydney strips off her clothes and lays out on a table; you have to blush and look away. "Get used to it, Will," she tells you as she rolls her eyes. "We're going to be doing a lot of stuff sky-clad." The test goes off perfectly. As soon as she drops the treated mask onto her face, Caleb appears. You question him, and he disclaims all knowledge of Sydney and her whereabouts; he answers questions about his own biography perfectly; and he punches himself in the balls when you order him to. (That's the moment you regret not using Blake's mask after all.) You then pull the mask off Sydney, and she reappears, as perfect as before she vanished. When she wakes up, she tells you that she remembers nothing that you had her do while she was looking like Caleb. "This is perfect for us," she purrs after you've told her what happened. "We can get rid of those assholes—some of them at least—and make our own Brotherhood, all in one go." Her eyes flash. "You know, I figured we'd have to make up half a dozen of those golem things"—she glances at the stony heap in the basement corner—"and we'd only be able to do stuff with them at night, out of sight. But with this stuff—" she stabs her finger at Caleb's mask—"we can replace them, even at school, even in their own homes, with our own acolytes." "And we won't be killing them, either," you point out. That was an important to you. You might be pissed at those assholes, but you don't seriously want to burn them into golems, like you did with Sydney's stepdad. She eyes you hungrily. "So who do you want to start with? Blake? We've already got a mask of him." "I want to think about it," you reply after a moment's hesitation. We can talk about it while making up some new masks." She glances at her phone. "I have to get home for supper," she says. "But pick me up later? We'll come back here and get started. Oh, Will!" She grabs you in a tight hug. "We're going to fuck things up so good!" Her words jolt you, even as you embrace her back. You know what she means—you're going to fuck over a lot of assholes real good. But you can't help worrying that her actual words are a grim and unintentional prophecy. * * * * * You pick her up around seven and drive back out to the basement, but you're only able to cast four masks and mind-bands before running out of supplies. That will be enough to get started tomorrow, though; and you'll have the weekend after that. And, as if fate has been storing up complications for you, the next day brings you a few more choices to entertain. You've parted with Sydney in front of the gym—she has a P.E. class first thing—and are nearing your locker when again strong hands are laid on you. You're thrust through the crowd, and a punch to a kidney slams you face first into a locker. Your knees buckle, but the hand supports you as you're wrenched around. You sphincter loosens to find David Kirkham grinning into your face. Kirkham is a little smaller than you, but he's compact and strong. He rolls the ever-present toothpick about in his mouth beneath the ever-present shades. He puts his face close to yours so that he can make himself heard without lifting his voice over the mutter of the crowd. "I hear you're getting fucked these days, Prescott." His voice is soft, but there's a hard rattle in it, like the scales of a serpent sliding over stone. "Wanna tell me about it?" Your shoulders rise in a weak shrug. It's never a good idea to talk back to David Kirkham—one of the most fearsome bullies at Westside—but it's an even worse idea to say or do nothing when he address you. "You're not sure?" His grin widens. "What kind of a pussy-sniffer doesn't know if he's getting fucked?" Now you just swallow. "I'm going to do you a favor, Prescott," he hisses. "I'm going to ride you." He tightens his grip on your collar. "I've seen that girl that you don't know if you're fucking or not. Oooh! If I was with her, she's know she was getting fucked. I'd fuck her into a coma then fuck her back out of it. But I was saying I'm gonna do you a solid." He puts his face so close to yours you can smell the cinnamon on his breath. "Starting Monday I'm gonna fuck you up every day, in front of her. Give you a chance to prove to her that you got balls big enough for her. You got balls big enough for her, don't you? She inspires you, doesn't she?" He punches you again. "So I'm gonna let you show her how much she inspires you. And as an extra favor, 'cos I like you so much, I won't pull any my punches." He drops you, and sniggers as he pats your chest. "So get ready for a good show on Monday, Prescott. Play it like your life depends on it." With another hissing laugh, he melts back into the crowd. You run into the nearest bathroom and throw up. * * * * * The next complication comes in Walberg's class. You drop into your desk and grunt a "Hey" at Caleb, but he doesn't reply. When you look up, you find him very white in the face, with his arms folded as he stares at the front of the room with glittering eyes. "Caleb," you say. "Hey!" But even when you wave your hand in front of his face he just turns the color of Antarctica and stares straight ahead. "The fuck is the matter with Johansson?" you ask Keith when you fall into the desk in front of his in second period. "The son of a bitch went all last period ignoring me." "It's pro'ly on account of your being such a backstabbing asshole," Tilley replies. He leans back, turns his cap brim-side front, and pulls it down over his eyes. "Can't say I blame him," he adds as he lifts his cell phone to block his view of you. "What are you talking about?" But with a sinking heart you can make a pretty good guess. "What you think I'm a'talk about? What's her name? Girl wanted to get to know Caleb only you got to her first?" You grip your desk and glare. "What are you talking about?" you repleat "You know exactly what I'm'a talk about, motherfucker. Girl comes on to Caleb, you sling a lot of shit at him so he don't come back at her, you pick her up and walk off with her instead. Not fucking cool, man." He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. "Not fucking cool." "Okay, first of all, who told you some girl was coming on to Caleb? And second, what makes you think I'm—" But the words falter and die. You've never been good at bluffing. Obviously Caleb would have told Keith about Sydney, and about how you talked him into ignoring her; and just as obviously word must have spread back to the two of them that you and her had started going out. "I tell you one more thing," Keith says, "and then I start talkin' to you like you was a wall. As in, I ain't talkin' to you ever again." You can't help rolling your eyes at Keith's attempt to sound "ghetto." "You better go lookin' for some new friends, 'cos you ain't findin' none where you been findin' 'em b'fore. An' that includes Carson and James." He whistles. "Ain't no one cool wit' what you done to Caleb. You gonna find 'em all cold." * * * * * "So who's our target for tonight?" Sydney asks when you meet her after school. * To pick Blake O'Brien: "Even a Football Player Has Weak Spots" * To pick David Kirkham: "The Gangland Play" |
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