"Mr Prescott?"
You look up from the sofa, the stylish, refined decor all around you. Alpin's space is calculated to give her clients a sense of ease, and that means both making them feel they're stepping into a world of money and into a sanctuary where all the answers will be revealed to them. To whit, you have the comfortable sofa and the leather chair, and the pretty, pert secretary dressed in an immaculate suit whose main job is to welcome guests and look as though she's needed. The white walls, uplit in places but with a generous helping of natural light, are covered in curios and items that seem to have a point and a purpose, but in reality are just there for the decor. Little worry dolls from Guatemala or Nicaragua; a selection of wooden masks that might be from Africa or might be from Pottery Barn; a noh mask that's from Japan next to some kind of symbol from the Eastern religions - perhaps Hindu.
You stand. "Yeah, uh, that's me," you say. Of course it's you - there's no one else in the office. The secretary, a beautiful girl with Afro curls and mocha skin whose name-plate reads 'Callie', barely bats an eye as you rise, backpack over your shoulder, and follow Dr Miriam Alpin into her office space.
Alpin's a woman around 50, but she still has the good looks that come from natural beauty and looking after yourself. She's dressed in a neat pant suit with white blouse, her tawny hair, full of volume, resting on her shoulders, around a face that seasoned with slight wrinkles and warmed by tenderness. Her lips are full, and a pair of high-end, clear-framed glasses are perched on her nose.
"Please," she says, in a voice that resonates with calm trust, a slight European – German? – hint adding a touch of reassuring authority. "Take a seat."
You do so. The office is just like the outer section - only with less lighting, more soft darkness, and far more trinkets that are probably meant to inspire something. You set the rucksack down next to you.
"So," Alpin begins, smiling again. She probably takes you for one of the Beverly Hills teen pack, the misfit kids who don't conform and their parents can't accept that, maybe, they don't want a life of fake tan and insincerity. "Will. May I call you Will? As this is our first session together, there won't really be much diving into the psyche. Instead, we're just going to talk, OK? So, why don't you begin with why you think you're here."
You blow out your cheeks in thought. "Wow, straight on to the big one, huh?"
Alpin half-smiles, taking out a notepad. "It seems the best place to start."
"Well, all right. I guess it started a few months ago. I started developing an interest in the occult. You know, magic, spells, that kind of thing.” You notice she’s writing, but the eye contact with you never breaks. “And I guess that’s really why I’m here. When things started to ramp up. When my girlfriend and I begun to take an interest in Baphomet.”
“Baphomet?” Alpin says. “As in the devil?”
“Well, it’s more of a way to invoke things,” you say, explaining. “Sex magic, mostly.”
“With your girlfriend?”
“Sydney, yeah. We’re joint leaders of our coven, or brotherhood. We haven’t really decided on that, yet.”
Alpin looks serious, folding her legs a little. “And is that something you believe in, Will? Magic, and the ability to cast spells?”
“Oh, definitely,” you reply with a nod. “It takes work, but with the right spell, you could be just about anyone. You just need a mask, to steal their image. Then you can put it on and poof! Change into them. We were thinking of using it to start a secret cult, right here in Beverly Hills.”
Alpin’s posture changes. There’s a nervousness, now. A little why the hell has this person slipped through and made my client list. “Will,” she begins. “This isn’t the usual thing I deal with in a session. Typically we explore feelings that are more grounded in reality. The idea that magic works, and this talk of starting a cult… I’m beginning to get the feeling I’m not best suited to your therapeutic needs.”
You frown. “Therapeutic needs? No, doctor. I’m here because I want you to join the cult. I want you to use your influence to expand us, here in Beverly Hills.”
At this point she straightens in her chair. She’s on edge. Worried. Who can blame her? You’re talking madness, after all. “Will, I’m afraid to disappoint you but…”
“I wasn’t asking,” you say, voice level, even as you reach into the bag to take out the mask. “In fact, you’re not just going to be part of the cult. I’m going to take over your life. I’m going to be Miriam Alpin.”
You’ve got to give her credit: Miriam Alpin is no idiot. The moment you start your sinister walk, she’s out of the chair, bolting to the door, hitting the lights. “Callie!” she yells, calling to her assistant. “Callie, I need help!”
The assistant rushes into the room almost immediately, opening the door, causing Alpin to stumble a little. She looks concerned, looks over at you, advancing with the mask. And Alpin is pushing to get away, out of the door. “Call the police, I think he’s having some kind of serious episode!” she manages to blurt…
Before Callie grabs her hands, spinning her around, holding her firm as you continue your advance.
“Join us,” she manages to say, before the mask is pushed on Alpin’s face, and she slumps to the ground.
“Nice work, Callie,” you say with a smirk. The assistant finishes laying Miriam Alpin on the ground, and gives a slight courtesy.
“You’re welcome, Will. Or, should I say, Dr Alpin?”
“Any of her memories yet?”
“No,” Sydney says, shaking her head. “Good thing I didn’t need ‘em. The booking system’s really easy, and it was no hassle to shunt a few people around. You’ve got a full hour to get used to being Miriam Alpin. Or…”The dusky-skinned beauty twists her fingers in her hair. “Or, I’m sure we can find some other way to keep you occupied.”
An hour later, it’s as if nothing had happened. The new golem Will has left, orders strictly to go and hang out with the Sydney golem. ‘Callie’ – Calistra Porter – is back at her desk, everything neat and organized. And, inside the office, Miriam Alpin is patting her hair, propping her glasses on her nose, and checking there’s no blemish to her makeup. The pant suit is neat, the seat comfortable.
You take a deep breath as you settle into your role. Miriam Alpin’s credentials are, shall we say, sketchy at best. Many of the courses she pridefully displays on her walls are correspondence, and while she does have a medical licence and has specialized in psychiatry, it’s from a school way down the totem pole and a small practice in a place nobody's ever heard of. It’s a comfortable body, though, which jiggles in all the right places, and has none of the tensions the real Will Prescott assumed here normal. Really, being a middle-aged woman is surprisingly relaxing, especially one who has millions in the bank that can be spent on spas, clothes, or the fine wines she enjoys drinking at home. The German accent is genuine, though; she's American-German, born in Thuringia before emigrating as a child.
And she’s the perfect person to start the work of Baphomet in Beverly Hills, too. Her mind is like an index book of Who’s Who. Many of the rich and powerful are her clients and confidantes, and you know how easily they’d accept just slipping on a mask. From Miriam, you could be virtually anyone. It won’t happen overnight – you’ve got more masks to prepare before the cult can begin in earnest. It's the ideal start.
Or, there’s another option, one you’d need to discuss with Sydney. Why use the masks at all? As Miriam Alpin, you could begin a real Brotherhood or Coven. Her mix of basic psych 101 and eastern healing therapies means people wouldn’t even blink if you suggested a magic ritual to help them. Hell, you’d have people queuing around the street. From your new guise, you wouldn’t even need to use the Libra.
Neither plan is going to happen immediately, though. For now, you've got to be the one and only Dr Alpin, shrink to the stars.
There’s a slight knock at the door.
“Doctor,” Callie says, with a smile. “You have a 2pm.”
“Good,” you say, with that affected German twang. “Thank you, Callie. I’ll be ready.”
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