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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Fatima's Fate"  Andrea Varnsworth slumps deeper into the futon—the only real furniture in her very bare living room—and stretches out a long, slim, strong, and tapered leg. "So did you have fun at your granddad's funeral?" she asks with barely veiled insolence. You roll your eyes. It ruined your weekend, that funeral did. Fatima's family, with you in tow, flew out of Saratoga Falls on a Friday evening and flew back in today (the following Monday), giving you no real time off from school. "It was a funeral," you tell Andrea. "It wasn't a wake." "Don't they have wakes in Iran?" "We went to Montana. Why are you being so pouty?" Andrea lifts her face to give you a pouty look. The captain of the swim team just might be the sexiest girl at Westside. She's certainly the smokiest and the most mysterious. Where Chelsea Cooper and her type dress up and bounce around and flaunt and flounce their hair and their boobs and their smiles and their flirty personalities—all the better to be "popular"—Andrea slips through the crowded halls with her face averted and her eye turned inward. But she shows lots of bare leg and bare shoulders, which have been sculpted by years of laps in the school's pool, and torpedo-like breasts whose contours could hardly be more visible if she wetted down the thin t-shirts that she usually wears. But though there are rumors that guys have asked her out, there are no confirmed stories that she has ever said yes to them. "Am I being pouty, Fatima?" she asks you now in a small, soft (and pouty) voice. "I don't mean to be." She rolls her head around on her neck, and stretches her arms. My God, you could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife. You're really unsure what to do. It sure feels like this is a come-on, that Andrea is practically begging you to slide onto her lap and seek out her lips with yours. Because that might be one reason Andrea has never been on a confirmed date with any of the guys at school. Oh, she has never come out as gay or bisexual. (Andrea isn't likely to "come out" as anything. She is so private that sometimes she doesn't even answer to her own name.) And none of the girls who are out—including her friend Jelena—can confess to having done anything with her. So maybe Andrea isn't bisexual. Maybe she's just a ... Fatima-sexual? Although, God, really, what were the chances that in picking Fatima for a second beta you were picking maybe the one person at Westside who knows what it's like to feel the tips of Andrea Varnsworth's breasts inside her mouth, and who knows what Andreas lips and teeth feel like against the tips of her own breasts? "Is anyone else coming over?" you ask, playing for time. You have to stop yourself from twisting around on your feet. "I don't know. Could be. You know Charles. He likes to show up." You nod. "What about Jelena?" Andrea lifts her face to again regard you with slightly raised eyebrows and slightly puckered lips. "Do you want me to get Jelena out here?" "Oh, Jesus!" You pinch the bridge of your nose, then march over to glance into the bedroom hallway, the bathroom, and the kitchen, to confirm that it's just the two of you in the house. "Are you fucking done, Montoya?" you demand when you wheel back onto her. "Because now it's like you're just doing a goddamn parody of her!" Andrea—Carlos Montoya in a new disguise—gasps and her eyes pop. She stares at you. Then she covers her face and giggles through her fingers. * * * * * You got the news only an hour ago, just after getting home from the airport. You texted Maria Vasquez to say that you were back and could get together with her and the others to discuss plans. She called you back with two messages. The first was to erase every text from Fatima's phone that—like a text to Maria—could compromise your identity. The second was to tell you that all the swaps had already been taken care of in your absence. "We got it done Saturday afternoon," she told you. "Friday and Saturday. You weren't around to help, but we got a mask of Jelena Petrovic mounted onto Mike, and then he and Carlos maneuvered Kelsey and Sienna to where we could get masks onto them and then onto each other. If you want to hear all about it, go see your friend Andrea. Carlos took her as a secondary beta. Apparently Jelena and Sienna and, uh, Fatima like to hang out at Andrea's, so we judged it advisable that she be, um, repurposed as an observation post." Yeah, like that's the real reason Montoya wanted to turn himself in Andrea. So he could be a fucking "observation post." You drove out to Andrea's. She was alone, and it was obvious from the way she greeted you that Carlos was trying to pretend that Andrea was still herself. But now that you've got things out in the open— "Oh, fuck me," Andrea groans, and stretches again. "Was I laying it on too thick?" "Just a little." You're tempted to ask if she wants to have your debriefing session in bed, under the covers, with the lights low and your clothes off. But you decide to keep things professional. "But I talked to Maria, she told me it was you." "Bitch never lets us have any real fun." Andrea levers herself to her feet. "You want something to eat? I have a raisin-and-carrot salad and some goat cheese." She casts another hooded glance over her shoulder as she turns to the kitchen. "I seem to recall it's a recipe that you gave me, Fatima." Oh, Jesus. Maybe you should put your hands onto her and get it over with. It sounds like Carlos isn't going to stop until you do. But you just follow her into the kitchen, with your eyes glued to her behind. Andrea's kitchen is a tiny thing, with hardly room for two people to turn around in between the sink, the refrigerator, and a short countertop. Andrea puts her butt out as she leans into the refrigerator, forcing you to jump back. She pulls out a large porcelain bowl and a plate with crusty blocks of ... something or other. Oh, yeah. Toasted goat cheese. Andrea gives you another veiled look before setting the dishes on the counter. "So how are the girls handling their new identities?" you ask as she fetches down some serving bowls. "I don't know about Sienna," Andrea replies. "I mean the real girl, the one we put Kelsey's mask on. Saturday night was probably fun for her, though." She titters as she scoops some salad into the bowls. "Saturday nights are when Kelsey has her clambakes, and she would have had to run it without knowing what she was doing." She hands you a bowl. A scent at once strange and familiar drifts from it: warm, earthy, and spicy. Cinnamon, you remember. You take a small bite. Just like mom makes. "And I didn't see anyone until school today," Andrea continues. "I hid out all day Sunday. That's when I made my own switch, you know. But Mike babysat the new Sienna all weekend. Philip told you that Mike's being Jelena?" You nod. "We could get him out here, him and Sienna, if you're so interested. Or—" She draws a deep breath, so that her chest swells. That's all you can take. If Carlos isn't trying to get you into bed, then he can't blame you for misreading the signals. You set your bowl on the counter, grab, her by the hips and pinch the side of her neck with your teeth. She gasps and flinches. For a horrible moment, you're sure you've miscalculated. Then she lets out a shuddering breath. "Why, Fatima," she says. "I think that funeral left you horny." * * * * * In bed, she takes the bottom and you take the top, your legs entwined, rubbing each other's pussies with your thighs and hips. You take a few minutes to nibble on the tips of her breasts, then stretch out over her so she can return the favor onto your own dangling breasts. After you're tingling and flushed all over, you embrace tightly, kissing each other's necks and the tops of your shoulders. You scrape bare skins until the sweat springs out. But it seems to take hours before you feel an overtopping rush deep within, and then you seize Andrea's hands and guide her questing fingers down between your legs. You sit up and arch your back as she pushes them inside you. The orgasm, when it comes, is like the breaching of a dike, and all the pent-up nervous energies come gushing out and down and out and out. You're almost afraid to open your eyes and look when you're done, for fear of finding that you've flooded Andrea with gallons of bodily fluids. Whatever you have done to her, you do feel the need to retreat to the bathroom to wash and clean up when you're done. When you emerge, Andrea is dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and sitting on the futon again. You pull your own clothes on again and curl up inside the crook of her arm. She kisses your forehead. She says nothing, and for your part you're too freaked out by what you just did to say anything either. Eventually, though, you ask again about Fairfax and the others, and whether they'll be taking secondary betas. "I don't think Josiah or Keith will," he says. "They're not really into this project. And Keith already has a secondary beta." That's right. Seth, though it doesn't sound like Keith is doing anything with him. "But Philip's already talking about experimenting with us taking a third beta. We still need someone to watch Sienna." Next: "School Days with Sienna Goldman" |
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