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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "James Lamont Joins a Team"  Caleb might not like the improvisation, but you think you've got a good excuse: James is ambivalent about Gordon, but interested in Cameron; and he's wearing Cameron's mask right now, which makes him very susceptible to the overall plan. "Okay, you take Cameron." James jerks his head in surprise. "Change clothes with me." He looks around in confusion. "Just like that? What about--?" He frowns and cocks his head. "Okay," he starts slowly. "So we bring the fake Will Prescott over here ... You go back to being yourself ..." He chews his lip. "We make a mask of ... of me and put it on--" You're impressed by how up to speed he is, even given the advantages bestowed by the mask. But you shake your head. "That won't work. We don't have the special stuff to put inside your mask." He looks puzzled, so you describe the golemizing-seal and how it works. "So we do the switch later, when you do have that stuff," he suggests. "It would be easier if-- Well, if I stepped in for you," you say. Suddenly, it seems like a bad idea to suggest this, but it's too late. "The real Cameron stays where he is, under that mask of me. But we make a mask of you, and I go out to be you. Temporarily," you hastily add. "Until we can get Gordon or somebody else." He licks his lip, and picks a bit of grit off his tongue. "You'd be inside my head." "I know. But just for a little while, and as part of the job. There'd be another advantage to doing it this way," you add. "If I'm playing you, then I can talk to Carson and Paul about this plan. That would save you the trouble of having to explain things." "So you guys do want all of us to join." "Of course. Don't you want Carson and Paul--" "Oh, yeah, of course," he agrees. He sinks lower into thought. "Yeah, I guess that would be okay. Don't say anything to Jenny, though," he adds in a sharp tone. "I wanna be the one to--" You nod. "That's fine. Probably I'll play you only long enough to talk to Carson." He nods. "Okay, let's get that face off you, so we can make a copy of you." He gives a little half smile, and doesn't even flinch. * * * * * "Oh, come here, buddy." You take two long steps and scoop up Julian, your one-year-old brother, before he can get away. "Who's got a stinky diaper? You do!" you tease the burbling toddler. "And who gets to change it?" you add in a grimmer tone. "I do." You hold him at arm's length and carry him into his room and set him on the changing table. Forty-five minutes into James Lamont's life, and already you've got shit all over your hands. No, it's not bad. The details are different--much different--from your old life, but it's similar in a lot of ways. A mother and father, though in this case it's your mother who is the brilliant one (a professor of mathematics); a younger brother, though much younger than the 13-year-old Robert back at your place; an older sister, who goes to school at Keyserling. The chores are different, and so is the family chemistry. But you feel a lot calmer--and much less persecuted--as James than you did as yourself. No wonder he seemed somewhat skeptical of making a change. But this moment does test your patience. "Oh, you've been eating pureed Martians again," you groan as you strip the diaper off him. "Why does Dad keep buying that junk? It's junk but you love it, don't you?" You tickle Julian, and he squeals. You pull out a fistful of wipes from under the table; your face contorts as you smear away the mess, then tuck the sheets and the diaper together and drop them into the pail. Talcum. You reach under again, but only pat an empty shelf; holding your brother by his ankles, you bend to peer underneath. "Mom, where's the diapers? Changing table is empty!" "Look in Julian's closet!" she shouts from two rooms over. "What is this, a scavenger hunt?" you mutter, and jab the infant in the stomach. "You stay." You dash over to the closet and look quickly around. There's a fresh package on an upper shelf, wedged under some folded sheets ... which tumble all over your head as you pull out the diapers. "You think we could start organizing his closet along Euclidean lines?" you shout to your mom. "What did you say, honey? They're on the upper shelf, on the left." "Nothing! Typical, she gives specific coordinates only after I don't need them." You rip open the box and hurriedly tug ... aw, jeez, disposable diapers fly everywhere. You kick them aside and grab Julian, who has turned over and is trying to sit up. "Did you--" "Yah!!!" "I'm sorry," your mom says from directly behind you. "Did you try making a math joke?" "I tried but it came out more as a housekeeping joke." "I'll finish with him while you pick this stuff up." She presses gently past while kicking a diaper under the playpen. You kneel and scoop everything up; she moves out of the way so you can neatly stack the diapers under the changing table. You straighten with a sigh just in time for her to pick Julian up. He throws his arms around her and hugs tightly. "So I do the dirty work, and you swoop in to collect all the rewards." "That's what my adviser told me when I showed him--" "Yeah, you've told it before, how you did your dissertation on a problem that stymied Professor Van Orman for fifteen years." You shove your hands in your back pockets and peer down at Julian. "I think his shinola output is starting to follow the Fibonacci sequence." She gives you a slit-eyed glance, and you suck in your breath. "I have homework, don't I? Good old English lit, where you don't need to do graduate work to know how to execute a pun." You retreat to your bedroom. * * * * * You don't immediately get to work; you have to take a potty break first. After you're done you contemplate your reflection in the mirror. Tall, lanky, with dark brown hair in a thick thatch. Strong, regular features, dominated by dark eyes that easily twitch into an amused, skeptical expression. Clothes: basic Levis and tennis shoes; an old blue t-shirt with the Ben & Jerry's logo emblazoned on it; a fleece jacket with the sleeves pushed up past the elbows. James has his dad's frame, but his mother's features are filtered through it. It's a good blend. You open your books, but you need to call Caleb, so you also take out your cell phone. It rings right as you grasp it: Carson. "Live from the Lamont," you answer. He chuckles. "How are the comedy routines going over tonight?" "It's a tough crowd. She knows the material better than the comic. What's up?" "I wanted to get together, talk to you. Oh, how did things go with Cameron?" "He offered me a job as quarterback." Carson laughs. "I'm thinking of taking him up on it." "Try that joke on your mom," he chortles. "Or doesn't she go for absurdist humor?" "Do you? You think it's absurd?" A little more work, and you could turn this into an authentic segue. "Hmmmmmm. I don't suppose the phrase 'libra personae' came up as part of this offer, did it?" You actually grab at the edge of the desk, and it takes you a moment to find your voice. "Okay, that's kind of an absurd twist. Funny, but peculiar, not ha ha." "Let's get together," he says, and then announces he's on his way over. You call Caleb, but the Johansson who answers is no help. Sean Mitchell's number? You knew it while you were being Cameron, but it's slipped your memory now. You check your phone log and retrieve Cameron's number, but he doesn't answer. Probably he's with Anne, and threw the phone out the window in a fit of passion. You'll have to go into this meeting blind. * * * * * Carson arrives on his bike, and you're waiting outside; together, you sit in the lowering dusk on the edge of the grass by the curb. It's an interesting conversation, though mostly because of what it tells you about Carson. "How long did it take you to ferret this stuff out?" you ask. "Thirty seconds," he says with some bemusement. "I was bored so I did a little light Googling. Then I went up to the college and talked to a couple of professors. It's not a famous book or anything--pretty obscure--but their descriptions matched what Prescott showed us." He leans in. "It's pretty fucking valuable," he says in a low voice. "What, you suggesting we steal it from him and sell it?" you ask in shock. "Prescott's an idiot. Ten to one he doesn't know what he's got. We can buy it from him cheap." Your eyes crinkle up in a smile. "And what if it's true," you say with feigned humor. "About making masks of people, and simulacra whatevers." Carson stares at you with a queer look on his face for a very long time. "You said Huber offered you the quarterback position," he says in a tone that combines skepticism with intense curiosity. "What did you say?" Well, here it is, the perfect chance to make the reveal and spring Caleb's idea on him. But maybe you should take him to see your friend first. Caleb is already in the dark about the switch you made with James, and you don't like him being so far behind the curve of evolving circumstances. * To continue: "A Tree House Conference" |
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