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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Meek and Meeker"  "What's wrong?" Will asks, for you've shivered. "Nothing. Yeah, bring me a mask so I can use it on"— The words catch in your throat. "On my husband." When Will's eyebrows go up in a query, you add, more waspishly, "You get to be him." His expression turns slightly puckish, and he dashes from the office. You glance at Barbara Meek—her doppelganger, rather—who has been listening to all this with a cheerful placidity. "Wait here," you tell her, "while I get my stuff." Why am I so nervous? you ask yourself as you pack up the laptop and gather up your new stuff. There's nothing bad at home. Stephen is ... Well, it would be too much to say that Stephen is a loving husband. It would be nearer the truth to say that he is a good roommate. Because that is what the Welch's marriage has deteriorated into over the last few years. Two people who are friendly enough with each other, and who comfortably share a living space. But there's no love between them. At least, not on Shannon's side. And there's little evidence of it on Stephen's. Which, at least in theory, makes their house a perfect set up for you and Caleb. Not that the two of you would be pretending to be husband and wife when it's just you at home, even if Stephen and Shannon were bonking like bunnies. But now there won't even be a question of role-playing. So why am I so nervous? Maybe it's just because that's the way Shannon Welch is. Nervous. * * * * * Rick lets you and Barbara out when he returns from checking all the doors, and you quail a little under his hard, glittering eye. I don't like him, says the Shannon-echo in the back of your head. I sure wouldn't trust him if we were alone in the school together. Where'd they find such a creep to be the new security guard? Once outside, you send Barbara away with orders to act normal and await further instructions; then, once you're in your car, you text Stephen to tell him that you have to run an errand before coming home and so you will be late. You're miffed a little by his reply—Okay will put your plate in the oven; he's not even going to wait for you before he eats?—but concentrate on the text you send to Caleb, telling him to meet you in the South Creek Shopping Center with the mask. The drive out there, and the wait once you arrive, give you more time for a little introspection. Shannon Fredericks was originally from Oregon, where she grew up as an only child, immersed in her own world of private play and books. She wasn't very sociable growing up, and the best that could be said of her high school years is that none of the other girls paid her much attention. She only briefly dated one guy, during her senior year, and only until he got a little handsy. After high school she attended a small liberal arts college not far from her home, where she got a bachelors in English Literature. That's also where she met Stephen Welch, who was getting his doctorate in economics. There was something ... irresistible ... about him, not in the sense that Shannon was hopelessly attracted to him, but in the sense that he had a way of exerting a pressure that she simply couldn't resist, at least not for long. They met at a party—Shannon, tired for once of her dorm-room walls, had ventured out with her roommate—and Stephen had backed her into a corner and talked long and intently at her. He'd listened long and intently as well, pressing everything out of her like she was a grape. And when he suggested they take a walk together, it wasn't so much a suggestion or an invitation or even an imperative, but simply an indicative statement. Though phrased as the question "Want to take a walk?" it had the sense of We will now go for a walk together. Her whole relationship with him was like that. He was the ocean, and she was a cork bobbing along in it. She went out casually with him a few times, because he indicated that she would; she went on dates, because he so indicated. They slept together, because it was now time for that to happen. His manner was never the least bit threatening—he was always unfailing courteous and thoughtful. It was simply that she had no resistance to his moods or decisions. This made her uneasy. But she told herself it was proof of how much she loved him. She told herself she was lucky to be going out with a guy whose presence felt so natural that she simply wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. And everyone thought she was lucky too. Stephen was strikingly handsome, with a broad, strong face and a thick head of well-coiffed brown hair. He was also very fit, with a footballer's physique: barrel chest, biceps like melons, strong legs and calves. Well hung, too, being both fat and long in that department. If his gaze and his manners weren't so courteous and intellectual—and if his features weren't softened by a pair of large, professorial eyeglasses—he could even look rather thuggish. So everyone told Shannon how lucky she was when he proposed to her the semester she was to graduate and he was to get his PhD. That was six years ago, and they've been in Saratoga Falls ever since: when he graduated, he already had in hand a job offer to teach at Keyserling. And for the last two years she has been a tutor at Westside. Even that career choice was Stephen's. If he had wanted her to stay home, she would have stayed home. But he had indicated that she would get more stimulation if she had a job, so she took a job, at Westside. So why don't they have children? Why don't they even have sex anymore? Why are they like strangers cohabiting under the same roof? Maybe it's because there's no more pressure from Stephen to be anything else. * * * * * Caleb gives you the mask when you rendezvous, and he follows you out to the Welches' house, near the college campus. The house, a classic two-story affair of white clapboard with dark green shingles and shutters, is actually far too big for just the two of them. The Welches, after Stephen had indicated that they would not have children, extensively remodeled the inside, so that the ground floor is dominated by a very large kitchen, a medium-sized dining room, a laundry room, and an enormous living/entertainment room, while the upstairs is given over to a master bedroom, a guest room, two full baths (one for him and one for her, after Stephen said they would get along better with separate sinks and vanities), and two offices—a very large one for him, and a smaller one for her. Stephen's SUV is parked curbside when you arrive, and you pull Shannon's little red Honda in behind. Caleb, driving your truck, swings around in the middle of the street to park in front of the house opposite. You and he exchange a glance as you get out of your car, lugging the laptop bag, purse, and plastic sack containing the mask and supplies with you. The air in the foyer is softly fragrant with the scent of meatloaf, but you ignore it and march directly into the living room, where you set your burdens down on the small oak desk reserved for his and her bags. The TV—a 65-inch 4K—is tuned to ESPN, and Stephen, changed into track pants and a sweatshirt, is plopped firmly onto the sofa in front of it. A mostly empty dinner plate sits by his hips. "Hey," he says with only a quick glance at you. "Done with your errands?" "Yes. Thanks for waiting for me before eating." He does a little double-take at that. But his expression is, as always, cool, unruffled, and more than a little arrogant. "I didn't know how long you'd be," he explains, and instantly your nerve crumples. "Sorry, it's been a day. Barbara Meek kept me late." "And how's the Meerkat?" That's the nickname he bestowed on her after meeting her at a school-admin function. He thinks he's so clever. But meerkats are skinny things, and Barbara Meek is a dumpling. You give him a look, but he's gone back to watching the TV, where guys behind a desk are dissecting the latest games with lots of whiz-bang graphics. "It was interesting. She ambushed me with something." And now I'm going to ambush you! you silently add to yourself as you pull the mask from its plastic bag. "It's why I wanted to talk to you over dinner." Stephen looks mildly annoyed as you pick the dinner plate up from off the sofa and set it on the desk. Then his eyes widen as you straddle his lap, locking his hips between your knees. He flinches as you tweak the glasses from off his face. But Stephen Welch is so complacent, so sure of himself, that he doesn't even move his hands before you are pushing the mask into his broad, smug face. * * * * * "Whoa, where does this guy work out?" Will asks after you've summoned him into the house. He has been helping you strip Welch of his clothes, and the man now lies, with staring eyes, stretched out on the sofa. "At the university gym. He teaches Econ there. And you can stop staring at his dick." Will shoots you a dirty glance. "So I'm gonna be a university prof," he says. "Nice! How come you didn't tell me any of this before? I was getting worried you were gonna stick me— I dunno, but someplace pretty rancid." "No, I bet you'll like it." You make a face to yourself. "Just don't get any ideas." "About what?" "About using that thing you were staring at. At least, not on me." Then, almost before you know what you're saying, you add, "But you'll probably get to use it anyway. I'm pretty sure he's having an affair." Next: "Switching Husbands" |
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