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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Yielding the Floor, Before You're Mopped With It"  You don't hear from Sydney that evening, and you don't see her at school on Monday. Not that you're in a mood to see or talk to her. But on Tuesday you text her to ask what is happening. She replies that Things are moving. You don't ask any further. Then you let the days pass. It seems easiest. But on Saturday you are restless, and text her again. This time she says she'll talk if you meet her at the municipal library. "He took off," she fumes when you ask her about Dee. "He took himself and his catamite—" She spits the word. "And took off! He says he's still working on the thing for me, but personally I think—" She catches herself, and gives you a sidelong look. Then she flinches. "He took that book of yours with him," she says. She probably expects you to yell at her. But you're far from surprised, so you just shrug. "Well, he did say that something was going to happen," she continues in a more muted tone, "that it was all turning out to be a lot more complicated. That there were a lot more people involved. So supposedly he's coming back to—" She has to break off, for someone has called her name, and you look over to see a couple of girls approaching your table with wide, warm smiles. It turns out that they are here to do some studying with her, and that that is the reason she came up here, not to meet you. "I'll talk to you when I know more," she says. It's like you're being dismissed. * * * * * The whole affair— And when it's all over, it does feel like the kind of complicated bad dream that dissipates when you wake, groggy and exhausted from it. —concludes a month later. Sydney, who has been looking past you without seeing you when you've glimpsed her in the hallways, finally pulls you aside one day and in a dazed voice asks if you've been following the local news. You confess you haven't. "Well, it's all over," she says. She sounds numb and distracted. "Dee— Well, he took care of it." "Took care of it?" "Took care of ... the thing." Your jaw tightens. "You mean the guy that you—?" She nods. Then she frowns hard at you. "You didn't hear?" Feeling guilty, you shake your head. She looks angry for just the briefest moment. Then an expression of relief washes over her. "Well, he took care of it. He took care of all of them. I didn't even have to do a thing." "That's good, I guess," you say. You don't even query the word them. She nods. Then she gives you another look, as though seeing you for the first time. "Thank you, Will," she says. "For— Well, for setting it all up." "I didn't set anything up," you mutter. "Well, for starting the avalanche. It wouldn't have— Well," she stammers, "it wouldn't have all happened if I hadn't run into you. And if you hadn't—" But she doesn't finish. Her gaze goes distant. Then she shakes herself, smiles brightly, and says, "I'll see you around. Maybe we can still hang out, see each other at parties or at school?" Yeah, maybe, you allow. But there's only a cold place now in your heart for her, and you take some small, spiteful pleasure in thinking how Dee must have done to her what she has done to you. Made you feel special and loved and alive. Then took it all away again. * * * * * So, briefly, you had some fun and some excitement. Then, somehow, it all slipped away, like water through your fingers. The rest of your year at school, and your life afterward, is not particularly worth relating. |
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