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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Visit to Professor Blackwell"  Sean holds the cot steady as you ascend, but it still wobbles under you. He has shoved the cot's mattress through the window, padding it against the few shards of glass still left in the frame. That makes it a very tight fit, and there are still a few unpadded inches you have to squeeze through. Something cuts you as you struggle through, and something warm drips down your side. And then you're out. It's night, and very quiet. You get cautiously to your feet and look around. The house is entirely dark, so you can barely see. Cautiously you step onto a brick patio at your left and peer in through some French windows, but you can make nothing out. According to Lucy, it should be the library. That means you should keep going, past the windows, to find the front of the house. Stones bite at your bare feet, and you mutter coarse oaths against Lucy for refusing to part with any of her new clothes. They were very clean, and maybe you shouldn't hold it against her for wanting to be back in something after weeks of being naked. You come into the front yard. Something rustles behind you as you trot over to the front walk, but you make it out the gate without apparent pursuit. You look back at the house. No lights in the windows, no light over the porch. It appears to be deserted. So is the front of the house. You drove out in your truck, and Sean said he drove out in his, and there had been a car out front when you'd arrived. Now there is nothing. Did Blackwell move them? Or-- You shudder. Lucy said he could make doubles of people. You don't like thinking about what you would probably find at home. But you have to get there first. You set off down the road. You've gone maybe a hundred yards when headlights appear. Briefly you consider ducking to the side and hiding: you are, after all, naked. But you'll be naked no matter who you first meet. You stand out in the middle of the road and flag the headlights down. Your heart races when you see it's a truck--someone's duplicate, returning?--and you scamper to the side of the road. But when it pulls over and the passenger-side window goes down, it's a blonde kid, looking about your age, who sticks his head out. "Rock on, dude!" he exclaims with a grin. You hurry over. "Hey, can I get a ride from you?" you ask. "Sure! Where's the party?" "I need to get to the police." "Oh, that kind of party, huh?" His grin widens. "Joe!" a curt voice calls from the other side of the cab. You duck your head and peer in. It's another guy behind the wheel, but you can't make him out in the gloom. "It's not a party," you snap. "I've got some friends, over in a house up there." You nod your head. "The owner, he's all whack, got us locked up in a basement. I gotta get 'em out, have the whack-a-doodle arrested." The blonde kid gapes. "Aubrey Blackwell's house?" he asks, and he suddenly looks very serious. You swallow. How do they know about Blackwell? "Get in the back," the guy behind the wheel orders. You draw back nervously at first, then comply, vaulting as best you can into the bed of the truck. The truck growls and leaps ahead. But it doesn't turn around. Instead, in only a minute, you find yourself back in front of the villa. "Guys, we have to get out of here," you exclaim as they get out of the cab. "Keep your shirt on," the blonde kid says. He does a little double take. "Or your skin. No one wants you losing that. We were coming to check out the professor's house anyway." "You were what?" You scramble back. "You know him?" "It's not like that," says the other. He's a little taller than his friend, and has dark hair. "We only know him by reputation, and it's a bad one. Yeah, finding you like this is a coincidence, but it's not exactly a surprise. Joe, check things out." "On it," says the other. He turns, and you have the odd impression that he's run off. But after you blink you see that he's still standing by the truck. "My name's Frank," says the dark-haired one. "The party-hearty dude is my brother, Joe. Who are you?" "Will." You lick your lips. "Are you college students?" "No, high school. We go to Eastman. You?" "Westside." Your heart falls. It would be just your luck to flag down a couple of thrill-seekers. "Look, we really need to call the cops--" "We really need to get your friends out of there," Frank retorts. "If the professor gets back and finds you gone before the cops get here--" "So call them! Jesus!" "Watch your language. Joe, what do you make out?" "Fuck all," Joe replies. "House is dark. There's something on the roof. And the place is stiff with--" "Yeah, it's not hard to make out," Frank says. "It practically glows in the dark. Shit. That means we either go in with our cocks flapping, or--" "Or we raise the roof," Joe chortles. "Hey, if Blackwell wants to make it a party--" "We don't show our hand yet," Frank says in a firm tone. "Where's that thing?" "All over." Joe sucks in a sharp breath. "It's a big one." "What are you guys talking about?" you ask. They ignore you. "Can you distract it?" Frank asks. "Keep it occupied until I make it inside?" "Lemme play with it a little," Joe says. "Tease it, get it mad." "Not too mad." "No, we want it pissed off. Get it concentrated in one place." He suddenly laughs. "Yeah, try figuring that one out, sucker!" He doesn't appear to be talking to Frank. They continue to stare at the house, murmuring. Then Joe punches Frank lightly in the arm. "I'm going around the corner, give it two things to worry about." "Be careful." "I'm not going in. I'll just show my head. It can't get out of the yard. I'll give you a beep when I think you've got a shot." He sprints off, practically in a blur. "Your friends," Frank says when he's gone. "Where are they?" "In a basement. There's a library," you say. "There's some kind of a door, maybe a hidden panel, over on that wall." You wave your hand, trying to indicate a far wall. "I don't know how you open it." "Probably a candlestick," Frank mutters. "It's always candlesticks with these guys." He advances on the gate and cautiously pushes it open. "They're old-fashioned that way." "What way? Who's 'they'?" "Magicians," Frank replies. "Black, damned, fucking magicians." You stare at him, less because of the imputation of black magic to Aubrey Blackwell--that seems pretty obvious in retrospect--than because of the matter-of-fact way in which this high school student has made it. But before you can question him further something on his person beeps, and he darts into the yard. You stand up in the truck bed, trying to see what's going on, but it's too dark. You clamber onto the cab and strain to see. You're not sure, but you think you can make out a dark shadow near where the door would be. You blink and stare until spots dance before your eyes, but it doesn't get any clearer. You drop to your haunches as Joe reappears, seemingly out of nowhere. "Did Frank get inside?" he asks softly. "I don't know," you admit. "He ran off--" You stop at the sound of loose stones rattling, and there's a slapping sound, as of something big and wet being thrown against a wall. Joe chuckles. "Oh, it is so pissed off." He hops up and down, then clambers onto the hood of the truck. He thumbs his nose and blows a raspberry at the house. "Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout you, cocksucker! Nyah nyah!" There's another explosion of stones, and a small shower of pebbles falls around you. "Shit," Joe gasps. "That's a powerful bad one!" "What is?" you ask in bewilderment. "What's going on? "Blackwell has a gwarchadweid," he replies. "You can't see it, but it's glaring at us right now. If it got its claws in us-- Ho boy. It might not give us up for the main course off the table of Thulcandra himself!" He's not making any sense, and you ask the only question you can. "What's a gwar-chard-what-thing?" "Gwarchadweid," he says. "Literally it means 'guardian', as in 'one who holds a thing in trust.' Like, an adopted kid has guardians? It's kind of an ironic use of the word in this case. Actually, a better translation would be 'thing that should not be and yet damnably is.'" He hums lightly to himself. "Where are your friends? Upstairs, downstairs, in Maleficent's chamber?" "In a basement, close to the library. I told your friend--" "Brother." Again, you have the impression that he's dashed off, even though he remains right next to you. He whistles softly. "That's it, boy. Get the stick! Get the stick! Good Cthulhian hellhound!" He hops off the truck. "I'm going in, try to help out." He turns sharply and jabs at you with a finger. "You. Stay. Put." He disappears, even more quickly than Frank had. You get back in the truck bed. This is so wild, so confusing. You wish you'd just gone to the cops. An idea hits you, and you get into the truck cab. Sure enough, the keys are still in the ignition. You could go get the police right now. You look at the house. But do you really want the cops out here? That's all for now. |
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