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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Date in Disguise"  "Do I need to change?" you ask. "No, I like you just the way you are," he laughs. "I need to change, though." He looks over at the fake Patterson. "Let's step inside and finish off this swap." The golem gets out of the car. "We'll be back in a minute. Keep the car running." You put on the parking brake and drum your fingers as you wait. You glance in the rear-view mirror, and Jessica's pinched and unhappy face looks back. With a sigh you straighten your hair and try to relax. Unhappiness seems to come naturally to Jessica. You pull your hair back, and your jawline tightens. If I was in charge, you think. Yes, with this face and these legs and these buns and these breasts ... You cup them and smile grimly down at them; they are so tender and sensitive, and feel so good in your hands. Boys are so stupid, they should be easy to manage with these assets, and it would feel so good to have a good-looking hunk sucking on them and promising to do whatever you told him— You close your eyes ... "Okay, you can do that on your own time." You jump at the sound of Joe Durras's rough but amused voice, and look up guiltily. It's the one you picked up— No, it's just Patterson, now dressed like the real one. He dashes around the car to the passenger side and hops in. "Okay, back to my house. This guy's house." He drums his chest. Grimly, you drive off; in the rear-view mirror you see the fake Patterson get into his own car and follow. "So, what did you and Durras do on your date?" your seatmate asks. His smile seems a horrible parody of the real Joe's. "Don't you remember?" "I only got his memories through yesterday afternoon. In the shitter." You snort. "We talked." "Is that all? Oh man, you really do deserve your reputation." "And what's that?" Jessica's personality is still near the surface. "A frigid bitch. Don't take it personally, Prescott. You're not really this girl, you know. Though I guess you can stay as her, if you want, after we're done this afternoon." You swallow. "You mean, make it a permanent change?" "Sure. I told you, you're a senior member now. That's one of the perks. Being whoever you want to be." He spreads his legs and relaxed deeper into the seat. "What about the real Jessica?" "She can stay where she is." "Are you going to stay as Joe?" "I haven't decided yet." You hadn't meant the question seriously, but Patterson sounds like he's given a serious answer, which surprises you. "What's so important about him?" you ask. "None of your business. And if I don't stick it out as Joe, you need to stay away from him. Him and his brother." He purses his lips. "Look," he says, though you haven't tried arguing, "let's just say I'm laying an exclusive claim to these two. I'm gonna put the stuff in their masks that make it so only I can wear them. Senior members get to make exclusive claims. Since I've picked two, you'll get to pick two. Is that fair?" You shrug. "Okay," he continues. "I've picked two. Gordon will get to pick two. Then Caleb, and then you." "Caleb?" you ask in surprise. "Yeah, he met his quota yesterday. We'll get together tomorrow—" He taps his knuckle furiously on the window, and frowns. "We'll get together somehow and talk about things." The rest of the drive—which isn't long—passes in silence, each of you wrapped up in your own thoughts. * * * * * "Are you still studying?" Joe hollers as he walks in the front door of his house. He has an arm draped around your neck, and—per his instructions—you've an arm wrapped around his waist. It's a small house, and through the entryway you can see a small living room and dining nook. Frank Durras—tall, dark, and saturnine—sits at the table with books and papers spread around him. He looks up and takes the pencil out of his mouth. "Some of us care about our grades, Joe," he says quietly. His gaze flicks in your direction before returning to his brother. Joe groans. "Come on, lemme do your homework for you," he pleads, "then we can go have some fun." "I thought you were on a double date," Frank says. "Meh, the other guys fell through. We can scare up a girl for you, though. It's not like you can get one on your own." "Thanks for the offer to help me out," Frank says dryly. "But I'm not sure I can trust you." Joe releases you and saunters over to the table, where he leans over Frank's shoulder and examines his work. "You forgot to carry the two," he says, and presses a finger to a spot on the paper. "See what I mean? You don't carry numbers in chemistry." "You don't?" "Fuck off." Joe chuckles and leans back against the bar behind Frank. From under his shirt he takes a mask and slips it behind his back. "All I know," he says, "is that I'm a hell of a lot faster than you. If you let me do your work for you, you'd have more time to— Well, whatever it is that you'd do if you had more time." He looks up at you, and his eyes narrow meaningfully. So you walk over and drop into the chair opposite Frank. "I wouldn't trust him either, Frank," you say. "Everyone knows your brother is an idiot." "Everyone's a quicker study than he is, that's for sure." Behind him, Joe takes a step forward. Maybe it's coincidence or maybe it's a kind of sixth sense, but Frank quickly turns his head in time to catch the movement. Joe raises his eyebrows into an expression of innocence, but Frank keeps staring at him. "I wish you'd do something with us," you say, conscious that you're babbling. "Maybe not a double date, but something." Frank turns his head fractionally so he can look sidelong at you, but Joe remains pinned to the floor by Frank's peripheral vision. "Joe and me had a really good talk. He's a really nice guy, and I feel like I got to know him. I'd like to get to know you." Frank's eyes glitter like mica. His lips part into something halfway between a tight smile and a snarl. You shiver at the sudden impression of a wolf lurking just below his skin. Joe moves, and Frank darts back around at him, but Joe has moved more quickly still, and has an arm around his neck and the mask to his face. Frank lunges backward at his brother— And Joe's face turns very white and very crimson, and his mouth drops open. He seems frozen in place, but it's the frozen posture of someone who feels himself clasped tightly. Both brothers remain in their motionless positions for what seems a very long minute— And then Frank, fatally, shifts his head by just a bit, and brings his face too close to the mask. His back arches, and Joe, with a gasp, relaxes and staggers back. Frank rises half out of his chair, then collapses backward into it. The mask has vanished—into him, you suppose—and he slides to the floor with a bump. Not until it's over do you realize you've risen to your feet. "Jesus, that was close," Joe gasps, and falls back against the bar. He takes a couple of deep breaths, then fastens his eyes on you. They flash with anger. "You could have been a little more of a help." "I was doing my best to distract him," you insist. "Yeah, well, with Frank you—" He closes his mouth with a snap. "Never mind, it all worked out okay. But fuck!" He pulls a phone out of his pocket and quickly dials. "Yeah, we're set. Get in here," he says into it, then turns it off. "Come around here," he orders you. "I'm gonna take this mask off, and I want you to wake me up as soon as it's off. Shake me, slap me, beat me half to death, I don't care. We don't have time to fuck around." He kicks his shoes off, then drops to the ground next to the prostrate Frank Durras, and reaches up to his face. As Patterson's own features reappear, his eyes go in and out of focus and close as his head lolls. With more satisfaction than you know is appropriate, you slap him hard across the cheek. He grunts, and his eyes pop open again. You slap him again. "Christ," he gasps. You slap him a third time. "Okay, that's enough!" he cries. Behind you comes the sound of a door opening, and the golem-Patterson steps into the house. "Over here," Patterson calls to it, and orders it onto the ground, where he pulls its face off. Joe Durras's face reappears, and Patterson drops the free mask onto him. Joe's features remain, but his eyes open. "What are you doing?" you ask in horror. "I told you, I put that special goop inside his mask," Patterson says. "He's a slave. Aren't you, Durras?" Joe's features settle into an expression that mixes stoicism, sadness, and loathing. "Yeah," he murmurs. * * * * * Fifteen minutes later, you are sitting at the table with the enslaved Joe Durras and two versions of Steve Patterson—the other is Frank Durras under a mask. The real Patterson is brushing the inside of Frank Durras's mask with a foul-smelling mixture. "So what now?" you ask. "Just what I was about to ask you," he says. "As soon as I get this done, it goes back on Frank, and I swap back with Joe. So, I'll be at Eastman, starting this week. You can join me there, or you can go back to Westside. "You're a senior member now," he continues. "So I'm leaving it up to you. Remember," he adds, "you can claim exclusive claim to any two people as fake identities for yourself." Next: "Senior Secrets" |
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