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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Window Shopping"  by Masktrix “So, a chamomile for Carmen?” You smile sadly. “Alas not. I have to go. Maybe another time?” Pete nods. “Can’t be one of those unless you give me your number.” You laugh. “Oh, you’re a fast worker.” But there’s zero chance of you giving a complete stranger the number of the phone in your possession. “How about you give me yours instead. Then, maybe, I’ll call you.” Pete passes you a business card to some non-descript branch of a multinational. Peter Merriweather, asset management executive. You flick it around in your hand before slipping it in your trousers. Pete, for his part, smiles. “I look forward to hearing from you. Maybe.” *** Your fun over for the evening, you head back to Westside and park Acuna’s car where she left it. There’s no noise coming from the courts to tell you who’s winning, but then it’s tennis, not football. Instead, you take from the floodlights that the match is still underway, and put Acuna’s keys back. Then it’s turning back into Shelly, who is almost clear of the building when… “What are you doing down here?” You find yourself face to face with a previous mask target, Kelsey Blankenship. She’s got a light glow of sweat on her brow, and she’s dabbing her hair with a towel, tennis bag hanging from her back under one arm. “Are we winning?” “Of course I won,” she replies, answering a question you didn’t ask. Kelsey’s game would have been first, but you had assumed she’d stick around to watch, not head to the lockers immediately. “I asked you what you were doing here.” “Nothing.” “Empty your bag, then.” “As if.” This is a girl not used to being refused. “You are skulking around after hours near the locker room. If you weren’t doing anything, you won’t mind opening your bag and showing me what’s inside.” “I’m not a thief.” You are, but not in a way Kelsey could ever imagine. “I don’t care who or what you are, if anything is gone from my locker you’re looking at expulsion and a police record. Now, I am telling you to open that rucksack this instant. Wait, isn’t that Coach Acuna’s bag?” She grabs it from you with ease. You keep up your Shelly persona, huffing extensively and fighting back, but your muscles aren’t anywhere near capable. “No. It’s my freakin’ bag. Coach returned it to me last week after I left it at school. Just ask anyone who was at the Dairy Queen. Like you were. Shoving a donut down your throat whole as if the calories don’t count when you don’t bite.” “Westside P.E. teachers don’t make personal trips to return junk you leave in the hall.” Kelsey’s doubt is clear, convinced the Harry Potter bag would have ended up in either lost property or, preferably, the trash. You’re already one step ahead. You grab at side pocket and pull out Shelly’s insulin pen kit, waving it at her like she’s an idiot. “They do if you’re diabetic.” Kelsey is, for a moment, woefully underequipped to reply, so you follow up with a long, flustered and largely incoherent story told at 200 words a minute. Somewhere, amid it all, you manage to pepper in a few keywords she’s heard before like ‘Will Prescott’, ‘carnival mask’ and ‘craft project’. “I already told you, I don’t care. Now let’s see what you’ve got in here.” You stand, awkwardly, as she looks in the bag, pushing past clothes and a magical mask as she checks for any sign of her belongings. There are none, of course. But then she pulls out the Libra. “What the hell is this?” She looks at the book with curiosity as she drops the bag. You snatch it back. “Mine,” you say. Kelsey easily holds it above your reach, studying it with fascination. “This is old. And valuable. Too old and valuable for someone like you to afford it. Did you take this from the library?” She opens up the first page, looking for the school’s stamp, then flicks a few pages in. “I bought it from Arnholm’s. It’s damaged. Give me it back.” Kelsey looks at the Latin. You know she’s smart and has designs on an Ivy League school, but have no idea if she ever took a Latin class. You have heard her speaking French before though, and she seems to be easily fluent enough to pick up the meaning. “This some kind of spell book?” She laughs. “Oh my god, are you trying to do some kind of ritual? Is that why Will Prescott’s ears were bleeding the other night?” You’re frozen in place. You have absolutely no idea what to do. You’ve got the mask of Coach Acuna in the bag, and it would be easy enough to slap it on Kelsey – with all the consequences that entails. Alternatively, you could just stay in character. She’ll almost certainly give you the book back, but then you risk having her start a rumor about what you’re doing with who she thinks is Will Prescott. A rumor with more truth than she knows. Next: "Smash and Return" |
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