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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Book Study with Roberta"  At first, you're sure that you must have misheard her. Did Roberta really say she's getting rid of your stuff—the masks, the tools, the ingredients, and the book—because they're evil? "What did you just say?" you ask as you trot across the Westside athletic fields toward your truck. "I said, I'm getting rid of it. All of it." "Why?" "Because it's evil." So, yeah, you did hear her right. "What are you talking about?" "Look, if you want to talk about it—" "Where are you?" "I'm not saying. But if you want to get together to talk—" "You gonna bring my stuff?" "No." You hang a hand on the door handle of your truck. Your brain, still foggy from ... whatever happened ... is reeling. "That's my stuff!" "I'm not going to argue with you, Will, I— Oops, my ride's here. If you want to talk about it, call me later." The line goes dead. You try calling her again, but it goes straight to voicemail. It's only then that the penny drops: My ride's here. Roberta told you she needed a ride from school, so if someone is picking her up she must still be on campus! You bolt toward Borman Avenue, which fronts the school. And you're just in time to see a blue sedan swing out of the teacher's parking lot and turn back to town. "Fuck!" you scream into the empty afternoon. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" * * * * * You are able to retrieve one scrap, at least. A piece of white paper, skittering across the student parking lot, catches your eye, and you grab it before it can blow completely away. It's the copy you made of the sigil. But without the list of ingredients, and the correct proportions, what good will it do you? Still, you fold it up and shove it into a pocket. Mulish with anger, you take a long way home. "Wash up for dinner!" your mom cheerily calls when you finally come stomping into the house, and at the dinner table afterward you eat in a moody silence, hardly taking notice of anything. No one says anything to you, but after you've helped clean up the kitchen, your father intercepts you on your way to your bedroom. "Something happen at school today, Will?" he asks. You give him a startled look. Your dad doesn't often take an interest in your activities or moods, except when he needs you to do some work or run an errand, or if you've pissed him off with some show of temper. His question to you now, though, is asked in a soft voice and with a look of genuine concern. And what was that question? Oh yeah. Did something happen at school today? "No, uh, sir," you tell him. "Is something wrong here at home?" "No." Now his eyebrows do lower fractionally. "You seem to be upset about something." You wince. How do you explain to your aeronautics engineer father that a girl from the junior class stole a magical grimoire from you? "Nothing in particular, Dad. Just a generally shi— bad day." He nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I've had shi-uh-bad days myself. How's your homework coming?" "Haven't started it," you confess through a clenched jaw. "Well, I'm not trying to run you out of the house," he says as he takes out his wallet and extracts a twenty. "But if you want to take your homework somewhere and get yourself something good, you can use this." He holds out the bill. * * * * * Well, that makes you feel abashed and you apologize for your mood. But you do take the money and you do take your books and you do drive down to the Starbucks, where you plug your earbuds into your phone and listen to music while doing your math and other assignments. Every twenty minutes or so you pause, thinking you should try calling Roberta, but you keep putting it off. And you still haven't called her when you hear someone call out: "Hey Will!" You look up. It's Zion Barber. He's leaning against the front counter, and he chucks his chin at you. Standing behind him is one of the guys from Kian's house yesterday: a burly looking dude with close-cropped hair that is either a sun-bleached brown or a very dirty blonde. "You doin' homework?" Zion more or less yells from halfway across the store. "Yeah. I'm about done." You pull the buds from your ears. "Shane'n me are comin' back from doing ours over at Christine's. We were makin' a party of it but, uh—" He grins back at Shane. "We're not done yet!" You ponder a moment. "Was Roberta there?" "Robbie? Nah." Zion grins. "How'dju make out with her last night? Did you make out with her last night?" "No!" "I heard you went and got cream-cones for dessert." He breaks away to collect his order, then he and Shane come sauntering over. "Mind if we sit?" "Go ahead. Who told you Roberta—?" "Robbie," he corrects you. "That Robbie and me went to Dairy Queen?" "Robbie said. She said you're a man of mystery!" He waggles his eyebrows over a wide grin. Shane guffaws. "Oh, fuck me." "Well, we just talked an—" "You get together after school?" Zion sips from his cup, and the foam makes a dirty-white mustache on his mocha-colored upper lip. "She told me you and her were s'posed to meet up—" "Yeah, we did. That was ... weird." "What was?" You lean back to squint at Zion and his friend, weighing how much to tell them and whether it would do you any good. "I had a project I wanted to show her. Kind of a, um, arts and crafts thing." "Robbie digs arts and crafts." Shane says, "I thought she was a drama person." "She's all of that and more." Zion chucks his chin at you. "So you were showing her some arts and crafts thing." "Yeah. And she ... grabbed it from me and took off and ran." Zion's eyes pop. "She what?" "Well, it's kind of hard to explain. But we were out in the athletics fields after school, because we need some open air to show her the thing— How I made it, I mean. And then— Well, I kind of nodded off or something, and when I woke up—" "You fell asleep?" "Uh ... yeah. And when I woke up, she was gone and she took all my stuff and she's telling me she won't give it back." You squint again at Zion and Shane, who are looking back at you with slack-jawed incredulity. "Does she do stuff like that? I mean, regularly?" Zion blinks at you a couple of times. Then he says, "You fell asleep?" "Yes." "Well," he says, "that might be it. If you fall asleep on a girl she might hold a grudge, and Robbie—" "Is she a lesbian?" Both Zion and Shane go very quiet. They look everywhere but at each other and at you. "Well," Zion finally says, in a carefully neutral voice, "she says she is—" "I don't believe it," Shane says with a snort. "She's just saying that to get attention." "Dude, she—" "She's too flirty." Shane takes a deep sip off his drink, then nods as he sets it down. "She says that to get dudes all excited." "She get you excited?" "Oh yeah. She never talked to you about your Percy before?" "No!" "Well, she talked to me about mine, wanted to know all about it." The two argue for awhile about whether a real lesbian would want to talk to a guy about his dong. By the time they finish, they've forgotten how they even got onto the subject, and get up to leave. Zion does wink at you, and says that Robbie's fun so long as you don't take her too seriously or get serious about her. You're left wishing you could have gotten that advice before this afternoon. * * * * * Along about nine you break down and finally text her. Do u want t talk abt tday yet I'm at starbucks. Fifteen minutes later she replies to say that you can call her if you really want to talk. "Hey," you say when she picks up. "What's all this stuff about—?" You catch yourself and take a deep breath. "I'm not gonna get mad," you tell her, "but why did you take my stuff and why won't you give it back?" "Because it's bad, Will." "What's bad about it?" you protest. "I wasn't using goat's blood or sacrificing a chicken—" "You didn't see what it did to you!" "What did what to me?" There's a long silence. Then Roberta—Robbie—whatever—says. "You told me you had to try putting that mask onto someone." "Right." "Did you know what it was going to do?" "Well, no. That's why I—" "That's pretty damn selfish of you, Will! Who were you going to try using it on? On me?" Okay, truthfully, you were. But you changed your mind, so it's not a lie when you deny it. "Well, I don't believe you!" she huffs. "I think that's why you showed it to me, so you'd get me to volunteer. That's why I— Okay, I put it onto you first. Because I thought you should be the—" "Wait, you put it onto me?" "Don't you remember? I picked it up and I—" "Okay, yeah, now I remember. You, uh—" "Yeah! Well, I pushed it into your face, and it vanished, Will!" A tremble comes into her voice. "It went right through your face and into you!" You're stunned. "What do you mean it—?" "I can't describe it any better than that! It went into you! And it freaked me the fuck out!" She takes a few gasping breaths before she resumed. "That's real magic, Will! It's the real stuff, in Latin with pentagrams and everything! I don't think it's something to play around with! That's why I grabbed it and ran, and I'm getting rid of it for you. It's evil!" * To forget about the book: "Exit, Stage Left" * To try getting it back: "The Unnameable Dread of Unutterable Things" |
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