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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "So It Turns Out You Can Be Too Careful"  You stare into the empty drawer. Where this morning it had been packed with old jeans and shorts and t-shirts and long-sleeve shirts, now it's completely empty. Not a sock remains. Worse, the mask is gone too. You had shoved between two shirts near the bottom of the drawer, under a thick layer of other clothing. But now— Of all the fucking days Mom had to pick to clean out my stuff! you bitterly reflect. Then you flinch, so hard it's like a full-body spasm. What else did she clean out? You first dive for your mattress, checking for your jerk-off sock, and sag with relief when you find it still there. (And still disgusting. You make a mental note to toss it out for a new one.) Next you check your desk, which is crusted over with books and papers and notepads, for the grimoire. It too is still where you left it, under a three-ring binder. But the plastic tub with the stuff you made last night is gone. So are some of the dirty dishes you had piled up. You're still checking for damage when your mom's voice floats up from below: "Will! Dinner!" You set your jaw and march downstairs. Your resolve to confront her melts away when you see your dad, seated at the far end of the table, studying is iPad with a scowl. Better not snap at Mom in front of him, you think. Wait for her to make the first mention. She's bound to tell you that she cleaned out your room. Right? Except she doesn't, and it's up to you to broach the topic when you're helping her clean up the kitchen. "Did you clean out my dresser today?" you ask, affecting as casual a manner as you can. "Hm? Oh yes." She's distracted by the dishes she's rinsing. "You had a bunch of— And you had a bunch of dishes up there, too," she interrupts herself. "Will, I wish you'd remember to bring them down. One of the containers you had up there was so old the stuff inside had turned to goop!" That must have been the sealant. "What did you do with my old clothes? I noticed my bottom drawer is empty now." "I gave them to Robert to go through. Some of them are probably his size. The ones he doesn't want I'll give away to Good Will. Or to your school charity drive." "What charity drive?" Not that you ask because you're interested—you want to charge upstairs and manhandle your little brother—but you can't break away until the dishwasher is loaded and everything else is put away. "I got a text this afternoon from one of your school friends, saying they're doing a charity drive and asking for donations. It sounded like a nice thing, so I started going through the house, starting with your room." She gives you a sidelong look. "I'd been meaning to do something about those old clothes of yours anyway. You know, you should sign up for some extracurricular activities," she adds. "You need something to put on your college applications." "I'll think about it," you mumble. "It would also help keep your dad off your back about taking that after school job," she continues in a lower voice. "Right." But you're preoccupied with a hot, angry thought: Fucking Jenny Ashton. It must have been her who texted your mom and set off the chain of events ending in this disaster. * * * * * Once you're through in the kitchen, you waste no time charging up the stairs, three at a time. At the end of the hallway is your brother's bedroom door. You pound on it with your fist and holler his name. His face is flushed when he tears the door open. "Yeah, whaddaya— Hey!" He yells as you barge past. "Mom says she gave you a bunch of my old shit to try on." You glance around his bedroom. It's practically the twin of yours—a bed with wrinkled sheets; computer desk piled over with books and papers; a floor that can hardly be seen for the clothes strewn over it. There's a stink in the air, too—the sweaty musk of a thirteen-year-old boy. "Yeah, what of it?" "Where is it?" "Your shit? I gave it back to Mom!" "Did you go through it?" A shifty look comes onto his face. "Yeah." "You keeping any of it?" "One or two things," he mumbles. "Well, what are you—?" "What's it matter to you?" He flushes harder. "It's all too small for you! Some of that shit's too small for me, even!" "Just show me what you pulled out!" Robert shoves his lower lip at you and stands up very straight. For the first time, it occurs to you that he's actually kind of big for his age. "I just wanna see," you tell him more calmly, "what you kept out." "Why? What's it to you?" "I just wanna see, is all!" He glares darkly at you, then shuffles over to his desk. There's a small pile of clothes there, and he hurls them at you. You catch them and shake them out. One's a green t-shirt, and the other is purple. "Is this all? How come you picked these?" you ask instead of asking where the mask went. "I dunno. I didn't even want them. I didn't want any of your crap. I just took 'em to get Mom off my back," he sneers. You hesitate. You need to ask him about the mask, but you're nervous about even mentioning it. He's already suspicious about why you want to see the clothes. If he thinks the mask is important, he'll be a pest about it. But you really don't have a choice. "Did you—? When Mom gave you my things, from my dresser, was there a mask with them? A blue mask, like about this big—" You fumble at the air, showing the dimensions. "Like it was made out of porcelain or alabaster?" Robert's eyes narrow, and he gives you a long, shrewd glance. You feel your anger spiking. "I just found your stuff on my bed when I got home," he says after a suspiciously long pause. "Just piled there. Mom told me she wanted me to go through them, pick out anything I wanted that fit me." "And when you went through them—?" "There wasn't anything there," he says. "I mean," he adds in a stammer, "I just picked up two shirts off the top and told Mom that's all I wanted. I don't want your shitty hand-me-downs!" "So where's the rest of my stuff now?" "I boxed it up and gave it to Mom. What are you so bent out of shape about?" You hesitate. "I had a thing down in that drawer, a mask. It's gone, and— You didn't find anything like that in the clothes when you went through them?" "I told you, I didn't go through them. I just stuffed them into a box and gave it to Mom." He's got a very shifty look on his face, and you are badly tempted to grab him by the throat and choke a confession out of him. Instead, you growl, "I want it back." "Your stuff? So talk to Mom!" You hold his eye a minute, then wheel and stalk from the bedroom. Downstairs you catch up to your mom as she's wiping down the dining room table. You ask her about the box of clothes that Robert gave to her. "Oh, it's in the garage," she says. So you go out to check. You find the box easily enough. But when you dig through the old clothes, you don't find the mask. You're just turning to go back inside and confront Robert again when your dad enters. "There you are," he says, and fixes you with a hard gaze. "Your mother says she found a lot of chemicals in your bedroom when she went through it today." He glances around. "Where are they?" "I dunno. Dad, when Mom gave my things to Robert to go through—" "She says she boxed them up and brought them down here." He stalks over to where you're you're standing and looks over the work table. That's when you notice that another cardboard box, open, containing the stuff you bought to make the mask. "Is this it?" "Yes, but Dad—" "I don't want you keeping this stuff up in your room. You keep it down here," he says as he sorts through it. "Jesus! What is this for?" "That project I was working on for Caleb?" You gulp. His frown deepens. "Then keep it at Caleb's place and work on it over there." He holds your eye. "Yes sir. Dad, there's something else. A, uh, another thing that belongs to Caleb," you improvise. "I was keeping it in my bottom dresser drawer, and Mom must have taken it out with my things and—" You give your dad the tedious story, though he clearly doesn't want to hear it, and at the end he only tells you to check with your mom and with Robert again. But Robert's room is dark and empty when you go back upstairs. Down in the living room, when you ask, your mom says that he took off for his friend Shawn's house, to pick up some homework. * * * * * You take advantage of his absence to search through his room, but you don't turn up the mask. You're waiting outside his doorway when he comes back. "I know you took that thing I was telling you about," you tell him. "It's not in the box you gave to Mom, so you must've taken it out." He insists, though, that he doesn't know what you're talking about. Next: "Boxed and Outfoxed" |
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