Chapter #47The Rising Danger by: Masktrix   It takes a moment for the true horror of the situation to sink in for Niamh. Then her eyes widen, and she instinctively grabs your hand, squeezing it.
“Oh my God,” she says, her voice hollow and fading as the blood rushes from her face, turning her usual lily-white skin even paler. “She’s gone. Who could have—”
You look at her for a moment, uncertain what to say, before the adrenaline kicks in. You pace the floorspace. “All right. First up, check what’s been taken. When was the last time you were down here?”
“Ah, before I left for the UK. It’s been a week. I figured the book would be safe here. Certainly safer than if my parents found it, and y’know how they’ll take any chance they can to clean out your room.” Boy, do you ever. Although since when was Niamh’s room that dirty? She’s virtually OCD about her consoles.
“OK,” you nod, trying to piece things together. “If someone stumbled on this place they might have taken the book, but why the fuck would you take a statue in the corner? It doesn’t make any sense, unless you know what… I mean, who the statue was. And even then, why the fuck would you take Shelly? What’s the point? She wouldn’t have been easy to carry, either. I imagine her weight plus the gravedirt, but it’d take two people to get her up the stairs. Unless… they used a mask to resurrect her.”
“But who’d even think of doing that?”
Your mind races through the possible suspects. “OK, list of people who know about this place. You, me, Shelly – the fake version, I mean – Acuna. Fuck, if she’s taken it she’ll have probably destroyed the book as demon worship, she’s super-religious. Then there’s Abi Steiner and whoever was dropping off her drugs.” You hop up to the beam and pull yourself up – there’s no stash there. “Doesn’t look like they’ve been. Other than that, I’ve got nothing.”
“So what do we do? We can’t just wait for the book to reappear, who knows what would happen!”
You nod in agreement, even if this is getting ridiculous – the book has yo-yoed in and out of your possession four times now. Maybe it is like Niamh said with the One Ring, trying to find its way back to its master. “I’m more worried what they’re doing to Shelly. Whoever ‘they’ are. There’s no point standing around waiting to see if clues magically appear here.”
“Right,” Niamh agrees. “You check Acuna and fake Shelly. I’ll deal with Steiner and the drug dealers.”
You furrow your brow. “Why do we need to talk to Shelly? I mean, she’s under your command, it’s not like she’d have told anyone."
Niamh looks at you hesitantly. Then nods. “Right. I’ll take Steiner and the dealers, then. You take Acuna. Work for you?”
You shrug. There’s not much else you can do until school, then. For now, you're just going to have to continue life as if everything's normal... even if it's far from it.
***
You’re queuing up behind a gaggle of St. X mutants at Don’s Donuts. Since the intrusion at the church they seem to have been popping up everywhere, like whack-a-mole. Maybe it’s that thing where once you notice something, you start spotting it everywhere. The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon? But the words that come out of the first one’s mouth are… incomprehensible.
“Zupfela, kanigehujamwun, eerrm, tha’twerrrleeewun’an. Fookidunow, yerwon summin’lemmnee?”
It’s like he has a speech impediment. It makes you glance up at the back of his head, and for the first time you notice the pair of boys flanking him have an identical set of rusty, ruddy hair that twists itself into knots. Twins. From the other side of the counter, Keith stares at him, trying to understand what he said.
“Downmeyk mehafta poyn,” the speaker says, looking at his friends with exasperation. “Ustel’im. Eeerm, teekow, yeah?”
Keith just shrugs, and gestures with his tongs. “Uh, you want… this one?”
“Fokzaykma!”
The twin on the left interrupts. Unlike his gabbling, spit-inflected friend, his accent is as refined as country butter, the kind of slippery, hushed whisper you’d expect from a Bond villain. “My friend would like one each of the French cruller, the raspberry jelly and citrus surprise, please. To go. Thanks awfully.”
Keith looks palpably relieved, and gets to the order as quickly as possible. You meanwhile, wonder if you shouldn’t have new suspects. Maybe Niamh said something to the wrong person in Cambridge about the book? It seems strange it went missing so conveniently; perhaps they just feigned disinterest and took the chance to head back to Saratoga Falls themselves. Although how they’d know where to go – or ever think of a basement storage unit – is beyond you. For the past half-hour you’ve been desperately trying to focus on having a normal evening. There’s nothing you can do about Acuna now, after all: it’s not like you can muster up a reason to interrogate one of the Westside faculty in her own home. Everything would be easier with the masks, though…
“Earth to Will,” Keith says, waving at you. You look up and snap back to the present. “You here to order, or to chat?”
“Waiting for Cassie,” you say, looking around. She messaged you about 10 minutes ago to see if you wanted to do something, and for some reason you’d decided to stick around in town rather than head back to Acheson. With no great plans, you drifted over to see Keith. Don’s is quiet: aside from the trio of creepy brits – the identical twins and their companion who sounds like he’s talking through white noise and spit – the place is dead, save for a young professional who look like he’s just finished work. “Why, you got gossip?”
Keith shakes his head. “Not really, just waiting until m’Kim comes by for her usual. Been so weird today, like a Brit invasion. First some whispy-bearded college kid dressed like Che Guevara, now,” he leans forward and whispers, “the mutants. Just not your Dreamcast girl. What was her name? Narwhal? Nurgle?”
“Niamh,” you say, desperately trying not to think about her, or Shelly, or the monumental pile of shit they’re in. A selfish voice inside your head reminds you that Niamh kicked you out of the coven, but you can’t help feel responsible for their safety. And the mystery of where Shelly’s gone is gnawing at you. “Just give me a coffee, dude.”
Keith nods just as you smile, turning around to glance around the room. The three British kids are talking conspiratorially about something – even the incomprehensible spit-mouth – while the professional seems to be… wait, is he watching you?
You feel an instant sprig of paranoia leap through your body as the man, heavy-set and in his late 30s, immediately turns his eyes and tries to look… too natural. He moves to cover his satchel too, which only draws your attention to it… and the faintest hint of something pale and blue inside.
Fuck. It’s a mask. You have no idea who he is, but your mind drifts back to your trip at the other donut shop, too. You could have sworn that he was there, too…
You turn as Keith brings you the coffee, nerves tingling with fear. You try and keep your body controlled, your breath steady and calm, as you turn back to the counter to take it. You have no idea who the professional is, but you’re certain they’re not what they appear. And, worse, you’re certain what they intend to do to you.
“Here you go– hey, you all right, man? You’ve gone white as hell.”
“Keith,” you say quietly, “is there a backdoor to this place?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“I need to get out of here. Now.”
Keith looks at you strangely, and half-laughs, expecting some kind of punchline. “You what? C’mon, Will what the hell do you–”
He falls silent as he spies the look in your eyes. The mix of pleading and desperation. Then he nods. “Yeah,” he says loudly, “there’s a toilet out back, dude. Down the corridor, turn left.”
You nod, and begin to walk as calmly as you can, trying not to look at the professional or let your hand shake too much. It’s no good. You can sense the professional’s movement, and instantly bolt into a run, rushing back through Don’s and down a small passageway filled with stacked cardboard boxes of straws and little plastic spoons. You have to skid to make the turn, but soon you’re hitting the fire door and pushing past it, bursting free into an alleyway shrouded by night.
You take a deep breath and think. Your truck is parked outside the Level Cap, so instead you rush toward the Lube ‘N’ Go, south along 20th. It’s a dumb move and you instantly regret it – it’s a full five miles home and there’s no real way you can run a full 10k and make it back. Instead, you find yourself glancing toward Don’s, checking if anyone’s pursuing you as you catch your breath on the pavement. Damn, you need to get in better shape. You’re standing there, confused as hell, when you hear a car pull up to your side. Panicked, you spin around to look inside the cab as it lowers its window.
“Will?” Cassie says, looking at you bemused from the driver’s seat. “Are you all right? What, are we going some place else?”
Cassie must have seen you running and pull in. You knew she was on her way, but you can’t help but laugh at her sense of timing, and you begin to make your way toward her. In six feet you could be safe in her car and away from whoever that professional with the mask was… you’ve got little doubt what they intended to do.
But then a sinking, paranoid thought rushes over you. The masks allow you to be anyone. Is this really Cassie Harper, who just happened to turn up as you made your escape? Or is this just another part of a trap some unknown player has set for you?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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