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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Mugging a Friend"  It comes back to you when you see Chelsea: On the drive to school, you asked her to hang out with you in the loft after practice. Well, here she is, and she would not be happy if you said you'd changed your mind. So you toss Caleb and his problem to the side. Maybe Gordon can help him out. "Hey, I didn't think you'd be here," you tell Chelsea as you take her hands in yours. "I didn't see you in the stands during practice." "I went home and came back," she says. "Special for you." It sounds sweet, but her tone is slightly guarded, and her gaze is watchful. "I'm thinking of throwing a party on Friday. You know, to celebrate, um, stuff." Your stomach plunges, but you cover it with a shrug. "Sure, sounds great. How many people?" "The usual. As many as can fit in my house. It's not like we can throw it at your new place." You bridle a little at the comment, and really stiffen at what she says next. "You can invite your new roommate to come out. What was his name?" "Caleb. Um, I'm not sure he'd be interested." "Jeez, Gordon, you're not ashamed of him, are you?" she says, sounding shocked. "No! It's just, well -- " You break off, completely flummoxed. You cannot see Caleb Johansson at any party that Chelsea would organize, because you've Gordon's memories of those parties. They are dominated by the basketball and cheerleading squads, with assorted representatives of other varsity sports and salted with a couple of the "cool" kids. Caleb doesn't fit into any of those classifications. Then you realize: She's trying to maneuver you into admitting that Caleb is totally not your -- that is, not Gordon's -- kind of friend. You can think of only one excuse for not inviting Caleb out to the party: that he's friends with Carson Ioeger and James Lamont, which would put him completely athwart Steve and Jason ... and you. But that's something you can't admit either. So there's only one thing to say: "I'll talk to him about it." "Great," Chelsea says, and dimples. "And get him to bring some of his own friends out. You know, the parties lately have seemed kind of, well, boring. It's all the same people. We need to mix things up a little more! Thanks, pookie!" She hugs you lightly, and looks up into your face with a hungry expression. "Wanna go upstairs and -- ?" She giggles and rubs her face in your chest. It's like an electric shock to your cock, and all thoughts of abandoning her to go help Caleb instantly vaporize. * * * * * It's a quarter after six, and Chelsea has long gone home after sucking you off when you sit up stiffly and begin pulling your clothes back on, one piece at a time. The pleasures of the afternoon -- lots of kissing and touching and probing and biting, and pinching and licking and sucking and cuming -- have drained away to be replaced by a gloomy guilt about ignoring Caleb's texts. You really hope now that it's not a serious issue. With gritted teeth you look at your cell. The texts are old and cold now, and no new ones have come in. You tap in a lying reply: Sorry just saw ur texts now where r u? You pull on your shoes, lock up the loft and trudge down to the parking lot. It's there that the reply comes: Home its ok. Well, that's a relief, but you can't tell from the text if Caleb is pissed at you. You have an aching feeling of dread all the way back to his place. It's a milder kind of the dread Gordon often felt when driving back home to confront his dad. Caleb meets you in front of his house, coming out the door with his backpack as you're getting out of the Bug. His brow is furrowed, but he doesn't look angry. In fact, he barely looks at you. "Come on," he says. "We're meeting, uh, Will down at the school." "What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong, we just need to talk." "What was the emergency? Are you sure you're okay?" "I'm fine." He gets in his car, and you trot around to get in on the passenger side. "I just had some trouble with the mask." That's the first he looks at you, with a sidelong glance whose meaning you can't make out. Your heart sinks with renewed dread. Did you fuck up when making it? "What's wrong with it?" "I dunno, you check it." He unzips his pack and roots around inside it while turning on the car. "It turned me into Lynch, but I didn't get any of the memories." This surprises, even shocks you, and you give the mask a very worried examination. But it looks like it's done perfectly. The finish is smooth and free of any streaks or flaws, and Jason's name is inscribed in those weird, floating letters on the inside of the mask. You ask Caleb what happened when he put it on. * * * * * "That's the way it's supposed to work," Will says to Caleb. He looks at you for confirmation. "Right?" "No, you're supposed to get the memories. The personality, too," you reply. "That's the whole point of putting those metal bands in, it's how come you and me -- " "I mean, it takes awhile for them to come," Will says impatiently. "You don't get 'em right away. Fuck, it was like eight, twelve hours before I got a full set." Your trio is sitting in the basement of the school. Caleb is looking bloodless and pale. Will is perched on a desk and swinging a leg carelessly back and forth. You're leaning against a bookcase with your arms folded. Everything you've heard since meeting with Caleb has bewildered you, and even frightened you a little. Caleb told you -- and recounted to Gordon -- that the mask worked perfectly for him when he came out to the basement after school and put it on. At least, it worked perfectly as far as turning him into Lynch's duplicate. "Did you know he has the tiniest cock?" Caleb asks. You ignored that gibe, and Will pushed him to continue his tale. "Nothing more to say," Caleb said. "I sat around and tried to think of his PIN number. Then I tried to think of where his bank was. And what he drove. And where he lived and what his school schedule was. I couldn't get any of it, none of it. It was like there was nothing upstairs." He banged the side of his head. "So I texted, uh, Will to come out and help me, but -- Where were you?" "Practice. Then Chelsea showed up." You dodged the face of her real boyfriend. "Took me awhile before I could check my cell. Why didn't you text -- ? Oh, right." The other guy he could have texted was working at Salopek. That's when Will, who didn't look nearly as puzzled or alarmed as you felt, started talking about how natural it was. "I told you it would take awhile to get the memories and stuff. I was kind of expecting it would be tonight before we could get out to an ATM." He snorts. "Of course, you took the mask off and spoiled everything now." Caleb's jaw falls a little, and he protests that he couldn't go around wearing Jason Lynch's face for most of the evening. Will shrugs and repeats that it was supposed to work that way, and looks at you as though you'd confirm it. "That's not the way it worked for me," you tell him. "I got your memories and stuff almost instantly." Will blinks. "Really?" He looks unfazed when you nod. "I think you're exaggerating," he says. "You didn't get them that fast. Or I dunno, maybe I'm exaggerating and I got yours a lot faster than I remember. I do remember there was a pretty big gap where for a long time I thought the mask wasn't working because I wasn't getting any memories." You're about to protest that you're not exaggerating, but Caleb jumps in to repeat what he said earlier. "So how am I supposed to get into Lynch's bank account? I can't spend all day wearing his mask." "Sure you can," says Will, and inside his waspish whine you can hear a strong echo of the original Gordon Black's personality. "You just keep your fucking face out of sight." "How?" Caleb demands. "Christ! Spend the night here. Tell your mom you're spending the night with me, and spend the night here with Jason's mask on. When you wake up tomorrow you'll definitely have his memories. I definitely had Prescott's when I woke up after my first night in his mask." His eyes are cold -- not unfriendly, but cold -- when he looks at you. "I can't go to school as Lynch," Caleb whines. "And when I take the mask off I'll lose it!" For a moment you think Will's going to throw something at his head. "So write it all down! Jesus! That's all you need, is his fucking PIN number and where he banks. Write it down when you wake up, then take the fucking mask off and go to school! You're trying to make this a problem, Johansson, and it's not. Tomorrow afternoon you'll put the mask back on and use the numbers you wrote down to get into his account." Caleb tenses under this barrage, and it looks like he's biting his tongue. But after a moment he relents. "Alright, that's the way I'll do it. In fact I'll call my mom now to say I'm staying at your place." "You have to give me a ride back," you remind him. He grunts. "I can give you a ride," Will says, and hops to his feet. You get that sense of dread again. He's got business to talk over with you, it sounds like. But you've got business of your own for them. Right? Chelsea's invitation to that party? Next: "The Complexity of Social Lives Not Your Own" |
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