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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Disastrous Date"  The idea comes to you so fast that it doesn't even formulate before you're acting on it. So even as Gordon barks, "Get out of here, Matthias," you grasp Dane by the wrist and draw him in. "No, come in here, glad to see you," you tell him, and give him a quick hug and slap on the back. You choke a little as you do so, for Dane smells like he's been burning a field of marijuana the size of Connecticut. You kick the door closed behind him. "I saw you out here yesterday, wanted to see you again." "Whoa, that's pretty freaky," he gasps. "'Cos yesterday I was thinkin' about— Something." You look around his ear at Gordon, whose expression of incredulity and confusion is clear even in the dim interior of the portable. "You have one of those blank masks with you?" you ask him. "Yeah," he says slowly. "One. I used the other to—" "Well, why don't we—" You jab a finger three times at his face, then jab it three times at Dane. "And then—" You jab a finger at Dane three times, then stab at your own face. Gordon's eyes go very round. "No." "Hey, you guys mind if I call Semple?" says Dane. His mouth is muffled in your shoulder. "Him and me were—" You tighten your grip on Matthias. "Come on dude, it's perfect," you say to Gordon. Dane answers: "Yeah, but— Oh, fuck me, I can't reach my phone." He wriggles weakly in your grasp. "You're out of your fucking mind," says Gordon. "No, really, I can't," protests Dane. "Listen to him, listen how perfect it is," you say. "He won't care where he winds up. And I can hide out as him, and you can go back to being—" "Jesus, Will! Listen to yourself! What about your own life?" "It's already in the shitter! This is a perfect way for me to start over again!" Dane shifts his head, and his coarse hair rubs against your cheek. "Hey, who's back there? I love you too, man, but I can't get to my clip—" "We only do this until we figure something else out," says Gordon as he unzips his pack. "Maybe there's something in the book— We need to figure out that next spell." He takes out a mask, and you release Dane, who turns around. "Hey, is that somethin' special?" Dane asks as Gordon advances on him. "I got some— I think I got some—" He sinks heavily in your arms as Gordon puts the mask onto him. * * * * * A three-way swap follows, conducted at a frenzy. First you divest Dane of his usual costume: a t-shirt; a smelly, moth-eaten sports coat of ancient lineage; flannel pajama bottoms cut off just below the knee; and lace-less canvas sneakers. Then, while Caleb—still in Gordon's form and garb—watches the front door, you pull of Caleb's mask and clothes. Darkness hardly has a chance to enfold you when you're choking and gasping and sitting up: Caleb has pinched your nose shut and covered your mouth with his hand. He hands you a brush and a plastic container of sealant, and you huddle next to Dane until the mask comes out of him. Caleb returns to stand before the door. "Who did you use that second mask on?" you ask him as you paint the inner surface of Dane's mask. "Chelsea, of course," he says. "She was mad at me when I got to her house, and she was really mad at me when I left. I thought you said she gave you a blow job." "She did." "So why was she yelling me?" "I don't remember. Something I said or I didn't say. Who were you planning on using the other mask on? I mean, you brought it today." "I dunno. Somebody, if I saw a chance. But then you saw one first. Jesus, Will, you are really fucking people up." "You started it." "Don't take that tone with me, fucker. Maybe I started it, but I didn't let it get out of control." "Sure you did, when you jumped on Gordon. And you wanted to prank people with these things." "Prank people, not fuck up their lives, and definitely not fuck up our own lives by arranging for permanent body swaps!" "Well, you don't have to worry about that. Your career is okay, except for having missed Gelding's class today. Okay, I'm done here, I think." You blow on the inside of the mask. "You better get out of that thing so we can get it on Dane before he wakes up." Caleb stretches out on the floor down the middle of the portable. You lay your fingers across his brow, and pull. The change—if it's visible at all—can't be seen in the gloom, but where Gordon Black had been lying it's now Caleb Johansson. As he'd done to you, you pinch his nose and mouth shut, and he comes out of the swoon with fists flying. One of them hits Dane, who makes a soft noise, and you hastily slap Gordon's mask onto his face. The change is again invisible. You hastily dress in Dane's clothes while Caleb pulls Gordon's clothes off and puts his own on. Then, near the front of the portable, he stands before the door while you hunch nearby and put the new mask to your face. Another dip into darkness— "Yah!" you exclaim, then yelp as your hand strikes something hard. Caleb grunts. You open your eyes. Caleb is rubbing his cheek. No time for apologies. Caleb pulls you to your feet and thrusts Dane's canvas bag—the one he brags about being made of hemp—at you. The stench of burnt weed fills your nostrils as you sling it over your head and settle it on your shoulder. Caleb slaps you on the side of the face. "Dope it up, man," he says. "Remember who you are now." For you are now Dane Matthias. And barring some unexpected shift in fortune, it looks like you'll be Dane Matthias for a good long time. Caleb looks outside first, then motions you that the coast is clear. Instead of following him, though, you dash over to the portable opposite and hide there. You've got a character to figure out. * * * * * There's nothing in your pockets except for two half-smoked joints, and you worry that you dropped things back in the other portable. But when you check Dane's bag you find a wallet and keys and a few loose bills. Either Dane has learned from bitter experience, or he just never got in the habit of littering his pockets, but he keeps everything safe inside this bag. What else? No surprise that there's a blunt and a couple of joints rolling around in the bottom, along with three lighters and a book of matches. Two spiral notebooks, containing ... lots and lots of doodles. The best-executed are some closely detailed abstract designs of mazes and spirals, inside some of which are scrawled some unsolved math equations or strings of letters. There are also some attempted portraits, mostly of naked girls, but those are much cruder and all are unfinished. There is no evidence of homework or class notes. Books? A US history book, an algebra book, and a paperback sword-and-sorcery book. No clues about which particular classes these go with. A cell phone. It has lots of calls in the call list, but only three numbers in its directory: Marianne Matthias, Dwayne Macaulay, and Sandy Rothstein. Lots of selfies, though. Dane's expression is a constant in most of them: wide grin behind a multi-day crop of whiskers, and glassy eyes beneath a tangle of reddish-brown hair. You turn the camera on yourself, as you had with Caleb's driver's license, and practice the expression you find in the photos. "Hey. Ayy. Aaayyyyy! Dude. Oh, duuuuude." What were some of the things he was saying earlier? "Oh man, I—" You blink and try again, working for a little more of the puppy-dog you often see in his eyes. "Oh man, I can't reach my phone, I gotta call Semple." You turn your head this way and that, then close your eyes and roll your neck, loosening up. "Ay, cool, I thought I heard voices in here." That's enough of that. You're just wasting time because you're nervous. And you're nervous because— You shut off the phone and slump in the desk and try to relax. Let it go, man. You've no idea which classes you're supposed to have, which lunch period you're supposed to be at, what teachers you're supposed to have, which locker is supposed to be yours, or what its combination might be. What, like, you think this is a problem? You've seen Dane inside classrooms, so he doesn't spend the entire day skipping. But who expects him to be in them? And who'd lift an eyebrow if you ask them where you're supposed to be? You just gotta be baked when you do it. You dip into the coat pocket for one of the joints, but something flashes by the window outside, distracting you. It's gone, whatever it was, but you hurry over to the window and look out. Across the way, the door to the portable where you left Dane is wide open. Shit. Well, it was going to happen sooner or later anyway. But Dane Matthias is now loose in Gordon Black's body. You slip a joint between your lips and pat your pockets for a lighter. Unh. They're in the bag. You glance out the window, torn between curiosity to see what's going on out there, and a desire to stay under wraps should the real Dane freak out at seeing a fake one running around. * To continue: "Dane's Daze" |
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