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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/978736
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by Seuzz
Rated: GC · Book · Occult · #2180093
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises.
#978736 added March 21, 2020 at 4:04pm
Restrictions: None
Keeping (It) Up with the Prescotts
Previously: "Metaphysical Counseling

by Nostrum

Safety first. Your chemistry teacher said this, your dad practiced it when making the experiment, and stories about revealing magic to people often end in disaster. You figure it's best to keep it under wraps, maybe after you're more certain about it.

You try opening the next page with the polished mask. Nothing. You start to feel this is an exercise in frustration. You read the page again, after the ingredients, taking your time to translate. Apparently, once polished, the mask can take on the "imago" of someone. That's the term it used; it's basically "image", but it can also mean appearance. It comes to mind: you first bought the book ("claim me"), then placed your bloody thumb on it ("possess me"). Maybe unlocking it requires following the steps?

You go downstairs for supper. You mindlessly dig on your mother's meat loaf and mashed potatoes as your family speaks to each other; Robert's day at school, your father's day at work... When it's your turn, you answer mindlessly. "The usual."

"Will..." Your mother stops eating, looking at you with concern. "Is something wrong?"

Lisa. Caleb. Carson. School. About the only good thing so far is the book. "...No." You look at your dad. "Next Monday, then?"

"What's on Monday?" Your mother looks at you, surprised, as you look at your father. "Something between you two, Harris?"

"After school, I expect Will to present at Salopek. He agreed to take a part-time there."

"Oh, that's great!" Your mother beams with happiness. "You two are sharing a lot nowadays."

Your father does mention that he may have "nudged" you. Sure, like he "nudges" you to do your chores: making you work for the best, but never expecting it. You feel miserable as they feel happy, but your father must have noticed, because he knocks on your room a short time after. "Can I come in?"

You're still sore at him, but he's your father, and he seems like in the mood to talk. "...Sure." You follow him to your bed, and he sits besides you.

"Listen..." Your father begins speaking in the all-too familiar tone of a parent explaining something to his child. Ever since "the talk", you've seen this tone more than ever. He struggled to speak; his heart was on it, but the words couldn't come out. "When I was a kid, I...I was a pretty curious one, but also a troublemaker. Did you know I almost burned your grandpa's house?"

"...You did?" Somehow, this set a new light on your father. "You? Mister Safety?"

"Well, I was more of a mad scientist when I was a kid, kiddo. I took you more easy-going, like your mother, but when you told me about that experiment..." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I guess what I'm trying to say is-"

"You don't want me to burn the house down."

"Well, for a start!" At least he laughs when he says it. "I want you to have a good future, Will."

You shrug in embarrassment. He sighs.

"I don't mean to push you, Will," he says. "I guess I do. I want you to have the future you want, one that you're comfortable with. But I wish I at least knew what that was. I knew what I wanted to be when I was a kid. But I worried when I see you ... drifting?"

"Drifting?" you echo. Your dad's choice of word surprises you.

"In a way. It's like you're caught in a river current, and you just let the current carry you on. I don't want you to go over a waterfall, if you know what I mean. At the same time I don't want to accidentally push you into a whirlpool or into the rocks or—"

He breaks off, and grasps you tightly about the shoulders. "Will, you're smart," he says as he draws you close.

"Not as smart as you."

"You're selling yourself short. I just want to know what drives you. I thought that if this project you found worked—"

"Well, it did."

"That's true!" Your father snickers, and pats your back. "Just give it a little thought what you want to be in the future."

"Thanks," you tell him. He smiles, pats your thigh, and gets up to leave.

But you interrupt him before he's out the door. "You know, Caleb wants to work out at Salopek. He wanted that job."

"He did, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And you're worried how he'll take it when he hears you're taking the job instead?"

"He already knows." You hang your head. "And that's after I promised him I'd put in a good word with you about him. Try to get the job for him instead."

"I see." He sits back on the bed with you. "How mad did he get?"

"Fake nice levels of bad."

Your dad lets out a low whistle. "Ouch." He is silent for a moment, then he says, "Tell you what. We'll see how it goes, and if you feel it's not your thing, we'll see if I can put Caleb in for you."

"He'd take more advantage of the opportunity than I would."

"You can't know that until you try." Your father gave a bemused chuckle, giving you that "Dad knows best" look but without being too cocky. "You may end up liking it."

He starts to get up, but does a double-take past your head. "Anything else in that book worth looking at?"

You hesitate. You'd like to tell him about how the mask can apparently copy one's appearance, but he wouldn't believe you unless you have proof, and he wouldn't let you use it on anyone just in case. "No," you tell him.

"Well, I want you to finish your homework before you open it up looking for another project. And I want you at Salopek as soon as you finish school on Monday. And get a good, professional haircut this weekend."

It's not like you have another option. His help was conditioned. And it's not like you can do anything else with the book, anyways.

But you're still determined to check the mask out, to see if it can do what you suspect it can do. The question, though, is: Who?

--

Friday, morning. Caleb avoids you before school and only grunts at you during the first-period ceremony when the time capsule (with your contributions) is buried. But when Mr. Walberg drops a massive bomb on the class—he wants a paper from each of you, explaining what you put into the capsule and why—Caleb pulls you aside after class. "I'm gonna need your help," he hisses.

"With what?"

"Don't tell me you don't know with what!"

"Huh?"

"That time capsule! I need your help digging it up so I can get my flash drive out!"

Weirdly, it's your dad's request—give it a little thought what you want to be in the future—that comes to you. Helping Caleb would get you on his good graces again, but it could get you into trouble, at school, at home, everywhere.

But what if it wasn't you who helped him? What if you made a disguise? Of course, you'd have to explain what was going on to Caleb, but that could further cement a relationship between you.

Next: "The Mature Choice

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/978736