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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "What's the Deal?"  Dylan's car is out front of his place when you arrive, but there's no answer to your knock. Well, he might have walked someplace, or— You bang on the door harder. "Dude, we know you're there! Come out!" It's very faint, but you think you hear a dull thumping sound from within—rhythmic and regular. It pauses after few moments, then resumes. "Ew, he's not doing what it sounds like, is he?" you say to Caleb. He doesn't reply but edges over to a window and peers in. He stares for a moment, then shouts, "Holy fuck!" and grabs the door handle and twists. It's locked, but without pausing for explanation, Caleb throws himself against it. It's a cheap door, and the deadbolt isn't engaged, so it falls open with only a few blows. Dylan is lying on the floor on his stomach, hogtied with his hands behind him and his feet in the air. There's a gag in his mouth. Caleb bends down to pull at the ropes, then tells you get a knife. Dylan is very weak after you get him untied, with barely the strength to get up and onto his sofa. He asks for water, and drinks long and deep from the giant tumbler you bring him. When he's sufficiently recovered, he gives you a dirty, accusing look. "The fucking golem is defective!" he snarls. * * * * * Long story short: The previous night he used the Eva mask to infiltrate a house of rich preppy types and landed in bed with one. After his date fell asleep, Dylan pulled the blank mask from his purse and used it to copy him. But this morning, when he put the mask on his new golem, the thing refused to obey his orders. And when Dylan insisted, the thing jumped him, knocked him into a daze, then tied him up and left after taking some of Dylan's own clothes. "So where is it now?" you ask. "How the fuck should I know?" Dylan is much less grateful for his rescue than you think he should be. "You're the one who made it!" "That doesn't mean I—" "Who did you copy?" Caleb asks. "No one you know," Dylan says. "Rich fucker named Patrick Sawyer." Caleb frowns. "If I was a golem, where would I go?" he asks himself. "To find the guy who made me?" "He didn't show up at the old school," you point out, "and my folks didn't say anyone had been by my house looking for me." "And he's defective," Dylan snaps. "He wouldn't obey you anyhow." "He's wandering around with a face just like someone else's, and with their memories." You muse a moment, then turn pale. "Oh God! What if he goes home, goes back to his place and runs into the real guy?" The color drains from Caleb's face. I guess that's what he could do." "Sure! If he acts like the real dude, knows everything the real dude knows! Oh, shit!" You quail at a sudden thought. "What if he tries to get rid of the real guy and take his place!" Caleb's eyes nearly start from his head. "Would he do that?" "Why not? Isn't that what doppelgangers and stuff are always doing in movies? Getting rid of their originals and taking their place?" "Where does this guy live?" Caleb asks Dylan. Dylan gapes a moment, then stammers out an address. "But you won't going to be able to get in there to look. These guys are real assholes, and they're not going to waste their time on a couple of high schoolers." "Do you have a better idea?" you demand. Dylan grimaces, then says, "Wait here, I'll be back in ten minutes." * * * * * "Leave the talking to me," Eva Garner says as she parks in front of a blocky, two-story house. "I know these guys and I was out here last night." And you look like you got ridden hard, you spitefully think. Maybe it's because you know it's really Caleb's gay cousin Dylan done up to look like Eva, but you feel like you'd rather sit in a bag of garbage than touch this girl who looks exactly like Eva Garner. But it probably has more to do with how grimy and unwashed she looks. Her face is red and shiny, and her hair is limp, and she looks bloated inside the green dress that is clearly at least two sizes too small for her. At least get yourself cleaned up and put together, you wanted to tell Dylan when he came tottering out of his bedroom in the rig. Eva looks like she partied all night, fell asleep and drooled over herself for an hour, then woke up and has been stumbling through the day without showering or changing. "Is this a frat house?" Caleb asks as your trio strides up the walk. Faintly, music beats from somewhere upstairs. "Practically," Dylan retorts. "Buncha rich fucks made it their unofficial frat house." He rings the doorbell. "If they painted some Greek letters over the door you'd never know the difference." The door is answered by a willowy kid with longish blonde hair, dressed in soft slacks and a sweater. He nods in a friendly yet noncommittal way. "Hey, 'sup?" he says. He openly eyes Eva. "Party was last night." "Is Patrick around?" she asks him. "Who?" "Patrick. Sawyer." Blondie sucks in a lip and shakes his head. "Ain't no one here named Patrick." "Does he live here?" "Nope." "Well, last night—" "Who is it?" a voice calls from inside, and Blondie steps aside to let a burly guy with three-days' growth of dark beard push into the doorway. "Oh, hey," he says when he sees Eva, and he chucks his chin at her. "'Sup?" "I'm looking for Patrick," Eva says through gritted teeth. "We got a guy named Patrick living with us?" Blondie asks Whiskers. "Nope." "Well, was there a guy named Patrick here last night?" Whiskers chortles—a foamy, beery sound. "We had a lot of guys coming through last night." "Well, the one I'm looking for—" "Yeah, I think I know the one you're looking for," says Whiskers. He eyes Eva like a greedy child eyeing a box full of cupcakes. "The one you went upstairs with." He glances at Blondie. "Whose bedroom they use?" "Andy's, I think." "Oh, sure, No-Fuck Andy." "Is it Andy I'm looking for?" Eva asks. "Andy doesn't get laid. You want— What'd you say his name was?" "Patrick," Eva grinds out. "Yeah, you want Patrick." Whiskers smirks at her. "Well, where—?" "He doesn't live here. Why don't you come in?" Whiskers steps back from the door. "Is Patrick here?" "I think we can scare him up." Eva gives him a long, hard look. Then with a theatrical sigh, she steps over the threshold. Caleb starts to follow, but Whiskers blocks him with a beefy arm. "Lemme see your ID." Caleb glares, but shows Whiskers his driver's license. Whiskers makes great play of examining it. Then he declares, "This isn't a student ID." "No, it's—" "You go to school here?" "No, we—" "Then you're underage. We got open containers of alcohol. Cops raid this place, find you and them, we're all in a lot of shit." He pushes Caleb back. "Your sister will call you when she's ready to go." He shuts the door. "What now?" you ask. Caleb sighs. "I guess we wait for my sister to call." "You okay with leaving your cousin in there? With ... them?" "Why not? He hung out with them last night. He's probably having a blast." But his tone is bitter and frightened. * * * * * "Well, this is all kinds of fucked up," Eva snarls when she rejoins you an hour later. "'Patrick' isn't even his name and he doesn't even go to school here!" "Who is he, and where do we find him?" Caleb asks. Eva crosses her arms. "Some private boarding school out that way!" She waves vaguely toward the river. Your eyes pop. "St. Xavier's?" you exclaim. "That's it." She looks at you. "You know it? You know how to get into it?" Next: "The Caged Mutant" |
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