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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Substitute Student"  It's a finely judged thing: There's no time to change into Caleb's disguise and follow her into the bookstore, you deem. But as long as she's in the bookstore, you know you won't get caught making a change in The Crystal Cave, you duck into the coffee shop and—ignoring the baristas—run straight into the men's room, where you lock yourself in a stall and quickly unpack your disguise. * * * * * Lookin' good there, you sexy son of a bitch, you congratulate yourself as you preen in the mirror some fifteen minutes later. You're in Caleb's best button-down shirt and his skin is clear for once. The light catches the angles of your borrowed face in a way that actually gives his beaky features some character. You wonder if your best friend is actually going to turn out to be a good-looking bastard once he finally sheds his larval high-school stage. Then you glance around and with a grimace decide it must be the angle of the light falling from the ceiling lamps. It figures you'd look your best in a public restroom. Actually all this self-flattery is just to boost your confidence for the date to come. Caleb is still a dork-faced buffoon, which leaves you a dork-faced buffoon for the evening. But as you shoot your cuffs and give yourself one last smile in the mirror before hoisting your backpack, you sweatily assure yourself that Caleb Johansson actually could be in Sydney McGlynn's league. You shove back the door to the restroom and swagger out. Then you stop hard. Carson Ioeger and James Lamont—the guys that you stole some money from while wearing Caleb's face—are sauntering out of the coffee shop's back room. They are just passing the baristas and are about to turn toward the front door when James glances over and does a double-take at you. His brow lowers. Please don't let him stop, you pray to whatever gods and demons they were that guided that grimoire into your hands. Send him out the front door before Sydney comes— And he doesn't stop, but continues toward the front door. But before you can let out a sigh of relief, Carson pauses to pat at his pockets, and he sees you too when he glances up. "Hey man," he honks. "What're you doin' here?" "Just stopping in." Please don't let Sydney come in please don't let Sydney come in please don't let— "Oh, they let you use the restrooms for free?" He cocks an eye at the barista. "No, I was gonna do some studying." "We just got through with that," James says. His expression is pinched. "Awesome. Well, don't let me stop you." "Stop us from what?" Carson demands. "Well ... From wherever you're going," you stammer. "Who says we're going?" Carson settles back on his heel and ignores the frown that James is giving him. Then he grins. "It occurs to me, Johansson, that you're trying to get rid of us." "I just know you don't like hanging out with me anymore!" "What makes you think that? We don't mind hanging out with you. Do we, man?" He nudges James, who rolls his eyes. Christ, it's like dealing with The Molester or Seth Javits or any of the other bullies at school. "Do whatever you want." Carson gestures at the dining room. "After you, man." You hesitate, then bolt for the front door. You have to barrel past Carson and he chortles softly as you pass him. Goddamned cocksuckers, you mutter as you charge out onto the sidewalk and into the fumes of the downtown traffic. It was all going to go perfectly except for them! You glance back. Carson and James have followed you out and are watching you. That's when Sydney comes out of the bookstore, but she misses seeing you as she turns toward the coffee shop. She brushes past Carson and James without so much as a glance at them; the door to The Crystal Cave flashes in the evening light as she goes in. Carson holds your eye. Then he grins and pulls James back into the coffee shop with him. Son of a bitch! You kick the side of the building, then stomp around the corner into the parking lot. You hurl yourself into your truck and curl up into a tight ball of boiling fury. * * * * * You could have brazened it out. You could have kept the study date with Sydney even with Carson and James watching from another table. You've already "been Caleb" in front of them and lots of other people. But this time it would have been too weird, too obvious, too dangerous. Your other appearances were just pranks at Caleb's expense—weird sightings that could be put down to mistaken identity or people just being assholes. But your "study date" would have gotten too much attention, and people might start taking seriously the oddball sightings of some kind of Caleb-clone. Carson in particular is no dummy. If Caleb says he didn't take any money from people, and if he says that he didn't crash any parties, then it's because he's too embarrassed to admit to it. But if Caleb says that he didn't spend the evening tutoring a gorgeous girl like Sydney McGlynn—even with Sydney backing him up—then Carson would probably start to think that something really funky is going on. You take out Caleb's phone and toy with the idea of arranging for Sydney to meet him up at the library, like she was supposed to. But that would lead to other questions. Like, what would she say to him when she met him, about why he changed their plan to meet at The Crystal Cave? After chewing the situation (and your lower lip) for awhile, you send Sydney a text from Caleb's phone telling her that you (Caleb) got caught up in something else and will have to reschedule the tutoring session. Then you send Caleb a text (from his phone to yours) telling him you just got a note from Sydney saying that she will have to reschedule the tutoring session. With luck, you sigh to yourself as you start changing clothes, the whole thing will peter out. Sydney will conclude that Caleb is too busy to tutor her, and he will conclude that she is a flake who was never serious about the tutoring. And even if they do compare notes, maybe they won't compare them close enough to realize that each one supposedly cancelled on the other. * * * * * Naturally, you spend the next day trying to wheedle news out of Caleb about his situation with Sydney. But he tells you he's sick of your interference and that he can handle her just fine, thanks. The most he'll tell you is that he's set up another tutoring session with her, but refuses to divulge the time or place for it. "I did just fine talking to her, Will," he snarls. "And no, I didn't shit myself, set myself on fire, and run out into the hallway howling and beating myself in the head like an orangutan." So you're in a mood when you leave school. At home you pull the mask out of your lower dresser drawer where you shoved it last night and contemplate putting it on and going around town screwing with Caleb's reputation some more. But you force yourself to cool off before you can do something really stupid. Instead, you fetch an old board game from the old game closet that you and your family never use, dump the game itself into the trash, and hide the mask and Caleb's clothes inside the box, which you then put on a shelf in your closet. (A better hiding place than your dresser drawer, you deem.) Then after dumping your bedroom garbage into the outside bin, you drive over to the old elementary school to check on your project. You don't go inside, you only squat and press your face to the window. It's almost impossible to make out the interior of the basement, but you know what to look for, and you stand up with a sigh when you spot the purple flames. How freaking long is this going to take? "Hey!" You spin at the shout. A chunky Hispanic man in dirty blue jeans and a work shirt is glaring at you. His moustache is flecked with gray, but the long hair that spills out from under his trucker cap is still as dark as black coffee. "What are you doing?" he demands. "Just looking around," you stammer. "I live around here." "Community center's on the other side of the building." You flush. "I know! I'm just, like—" "Is that your truck?" he demands. "Move it to the other side of the building, there's a parking lot over there if you need to put it someplace." "Alright, I'll just go," you growl. "Jesus. You know, it's supposed to be open to the community." The man—is he a maintenance worker? he looks like it—just glares as you clamber into your truck and start it. He watches as you drive away. You take it slow, watching him in the rearview mirror. You let out a sigh when he shambles off instead of checking the lock on the basement door. * * * * * You still need to get in and out of the basement, of course, but your run-in with that guy has made you cautious, so it's not until Thursday evening after it's good and dark that you return to check again on your project. There's no glow from inside when you peer in through the window, so you tramp over to the door— And you freeze. The lock is gone. Numbly you fiddle with the hasp, then push the door open. You feel your way down the stairs and flick on a light. The pile of dirt is still where you left it, but it's been disturbed. Your heart goes into your throat as you dig through it. The grimoire, which was under the dirt pile, is gone! That's all for now. |
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