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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Ballsy and Ballsier"  You don't want to see Cassie. Laurent would probably show up with friends. Of the others, Mia is the only one you think you could talk into putting the mask to her face (as the book directs). With her berets and her scarfs, she seems like the arty type who'd be interested in the thing you made. So to all the others you text directions to Conor and Justin's house. (And too late you remember Caleb's warning to send Laurent on a snipe hunt.) But to Mia you send this text: Hey this is Will if u still want go to that party how abt meet at eagle foods on 20 at abt 5. Get food for cookout then I'll lead u to place? Mia's reply comes when you're almost home: Sounds good who all b there? You reply that you don't know for sure, only that a couple of your own friends will be there for sure. She sends back a thumbs up emoji. At home, you ask your mom for some money for the store because you got invited a "bring your own" cookout. She's a little aggravated because she's already started supper, but lets you take twenty dollars from the kitchen drawer while also pressing on you a just-opened pack of hotdogs, half a bag of hotdog buns, and two mostly eaten bags of potato chips, with the excuse that they might as well get eaten. You are out of the house before your dad gets home. * * * * * Conor and Justin live south of the university campus, which is one reason you chose Eagle Foods for your food run. You're there in plenty of time, and are standing out front of the building, scanning the parking lot anxiously, when you see Mia approaching from a far corner of the lot. She is, unfortunately, not parked anywhere near where you parked, which might complicate your plans for her and the mask. She does a double-take at you as she gets close, as though she's not sure you're the one she's supposed to meet, but she smiles broadly when you call to her. You smile too, for she's a lovely sight. She is small and slight, but with pronounced breasts and a waist that curves in beautifully between her bust and her hips; her blouse is a tight fit, so that every bend of that curve could be plotted on a graph. She's got a cloth bandana tied loosely about her throat, and a tan knit cap pulled low and to one side on her head. Her chestnut hair spills like a gentle waterfall over her shoulders and breasts, framing a face with large, dark eyes, a button nose, and a small mouth with large, kissable lips. Her complexion is clear and her makeup so muted it only just registers as makeup. "Hey," she says when she joins you. "So when's the party start?" "Around six. We'll probably be early, but I wanted to be sure we had time to get stuff." "Well, you can get whatever you need," she says. "Mine's back in my car." "You don't need to buy anything?" "Well, I'll look around. But I'm vegan, so I brought my own. By the way, what's your name?" The question is like a tiny punch to the gut. "Will. Prescott. I thought it would be on my texts." "Oh, right. You wanna get a basket?" she reminds you as you enter the store. It makes you very self-conscious, shopping with this stylish girl who says she's a vegan. It makes you hesitate to buy a pound of hamburger or a cut of beef. But she doesn't say anything when you do. She hardly seems to be paying attention to you at all, but studies her phone while trailing you around. You do try to keep up a little conversation by asking about her classes and who she hangs out with at school, and what her hobbies are. Photography, she tells you in answer to the latter, because she wants to be a fashion photographer. Or a landscape photographer. "You have to keep your options open, you know," she says. As for friends, she names some girls you don't know, and a few guys you do: Andy Tackett, Karl Hennepin, Tim Gerard. Artist types. Given her interests and social group, you're a little surprised that she'd want to go to a party hosted by Conor Hutchison and Justin Carr, who were more into computers. "I had a business class with them last year," she explains. "We had to do a group project together, and they were a lot of fun." Only now does she ask you a question, and even then she barely glances at you. "How do you know them?" "They hung out with friends of mine, so I hung out with them, some. You know Carson Ioeger and James Lamont?" Mia thinks a moment, then nods. "That's how I knew Justin and Conor. But they invited me to the party tonight." The awkward silences between you are good for one thing, though. They give you time to wrack your brain for a plan to get the mask onto her. Still, it does come out a little strange, after you've checked out and are walking out the store, when you tell Mia, "Hey, I've got this weird thing I think I wanna show you." "Weird thing?" she echoes. She says it as though what you'd actually said was "giant rubber dildo cock-penis." "I found it at a thrift shop, flea market place. It's a mask and it's— Well, it's kind of artistic. You were telling me"—which she had been—"about that sculpture Karl's working on, and it reminded me— Can I show it to you? My truck's right over there." Your truck is, fortunately, between the store and her car. With a shrug she accedes, and follows you over. You put your grocery bag on the passenger-side of the bench, then dig through your backpack. "It's, um, a mask," you repeat as you pull it free from your bag, and hold it up for her inspection. "Kind of like the masks you see on theaters? With the happy-sad faces?" Mia actually does look intrigued by it, maybe because of the way it shines and glows in the late afternoon sun like a fragment of the sky, and she takes it and gently runs her fingertips over the contours. "What's it made of?" she asks; you confess you don't know. "What did it cost?" "Ten dollars," you improvise. "What are you going to do with it?" she asks. You're glad of that question, because it leads to the suggestion you wanted to make. "Well, I was thinking of using it for part of a Halloween costume. Like, putting a rubber band on it and wearing it, um, like a mask." "There aren't any eye holes." "I'd have to punch some into it." "You might shatter the mask." "I might, yeah. But I was thinking of making it, like the mask for a Grim Reaper costume? Get a robe with a hood, and a—" "A top hat," she firmly declares. "A top hat and a tuxedo. It's kind of Art Deco, don't you think?" "Well, if I'm going as the Grim Reaper—" "A modern Grim Reaper. Or just someone mysterious. Like—" To your delight, she doesn't even wait for your suggestion, and lifts the mask to her face, pressing it there. And then, to your horror, she faints and falls directly into your arms. * * * * * She's a lot heavier than she looks, and she almost drags you to the asphalt. Luckily you're standing inside the open door of your truck, shielded by it and the cars around. You glance around, but all the pedestrians and prowling cars are on the other side of the lot. You almost strain your back as you hoist Mia up, holding her under the shoulders and gripping her tightly to yourself. You pop out in a sweat all over as you shuffle around until her back is to the truck cab so you can loft her inside. Her legs dangle, and she almost slithers out until you catch her under the hips and fold her legs up in after her. Then you shut the door and look wildly around. No one, thank God, seems to have noticed. You wipe your brow, resettle your cap, then search the ground for the mask. Because it wasn't on her face when she fainted. It was the damnedest thing: the mask seemed to melt right into her just before she dropped her hands and swooned. That can't be right, though, can it? But the thing hasn't rolled away under the truck or the car beside it, so you hop into the cab to search there, in case it got tangled up in her scarf or clothes. But it's not in your truck, either. Mia doesn't wake or make any noise or movement at all as you shove your hands under her, feeling for the mask. You are soon in a full-blown panic, and for ten minutes you hunch inside your truck, too terrified to do anything. * * * * * "I'll see you inside," you tell Mia after you've met her outside Conor's and Justin's place. "I have to get my stuff." She shoots you a beady-eyed quarter-smile, and with her own bags goes walking up the path to the tiny, cinder-block shack where the party's being held. You sag against the side of your truck, and hope you never have to go through that again. You were almost in a full-blown meltdown when the mask, providentially, reappeared on her face, as mysteriously as it had vanished. You picked it off her and hid it in your bag, then gently tried to wake her. It took some doing, and she was very groggy and complained of a headache when she woke, and she looked at you suspiciously. You gave her a song and dance about the mask maybe "cutting off the oxygen" and causing her to faint. She didn't argue, but she looked none too pleased, and brusquely said that if you'd take the lead, she'd follow you to the party. Now you're not sure that you want to go to the party. Never mind Mia's attitude, you've got a mask to examine. You glanced at it while you were still at the store, and are dying to get a closer look at it. Next: "The Girl in the Palm of Your Hand" |
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