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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "In Which Frank Beats the Crap Out of a Golem"  Every apparent path is fraught with risks, but you figure you can prepare for each until you settle finally on a certain course of action; in the meantime, something may turn up that will give you a better idea of what you should do. Frank and Joe said they wanted you to meet them immediately after school to continue your studies of the Libra, so you decide to skip school and get started on a blank mask. Lucy isn't home--you wonder what, if anything, the Durrases are having her do--so you ride the bus to school. Once there, though, you hop across the street to the strip center and hide out until classes begin. Then you call a cab and start making the rounds of various supply stores, picking up the materials that you need. Thank God Cindy has her own credit card you can put the purchases on. By noon you have what you need and take a taxi out to the old elementary school in Acheson, near your old house. About a year ago you managed to break into the basement, rearranged it into a kind of clubhouse, and put your own lock on the door. You're pleased to see that your lock is still there, but of course your doppelganger has the key, so you can't get in. Instead, you wander into the old cafeteria, which has been converted into a community center, and surreptitiously make your way into the main building. The old classrooms are all open and empty, but you can't use them to work in because someone might find you. Luckily, you manage to work your way back to the old school auditorium, and find a hidden spot in the wings where you are able to make a small work stand. No one disturbs you during the hour or so it takes you to mix up the ingredients and fire them over a sigil. No one stops you, either, as you depart with a cooling mask and mind band in your school satchel. That pleases you even less than the confirmation that the sigils you draw work just as well as those inside the book. While taking a cab back to Eastman your cell phone rings. You shiver slightly as Joe answers your greeting. "You got cheerleader practice or something? What time can we pick you up?" "Actually, I skipped school," you confess. "I thought I'd get some extra studying done. That was some hard stuff you gave me to read." "Well, aren't you the diligent little scholar," he chuckles. "Though probably your folks wouldn't approve of your choice of subject. Where should we pick you up?" "I'm in a cab right now. You want me to meet you someplace?" "How about over here at Eastman, while you're being so cooperative? Save us some gas. Also, you can win points back at Westside, say you're scoping out the competition. Me and Frank got basketball practice, and you can watch." * * * * * It's a fine display of athletics you're treated to after you arrive, and you can see that Westside's own team will have its work cut out for them when they meet their cross-town rivals. The team captain, a lanky guy with sandy hair and an elfin smile, runs the team with a light and encouraging hand, but gets great work out of them. You wonder if Frank is pulling his punches, as he contents himself mostly with passing the ball to teammates. Joe, on the other hand, is up and down the court with almost as much spring and speed as the ball itself, dribbling, blocking, passing, jumping, shooting, and trash-talking all the while. He doesn't dominate the court--the others are too good to let him shine effortlessly--but he drives harder and with more success than any other single player. He also seems tighter with the others, emerging from the locker room afterward in the company of three others; they are taller than him, but they seem to trail in his wake. His eyes light up when he spots you. "Would you guys believe it if I said I was dating a cheerleader at Westside," he says. He puts an arm around your waist, squeezes your butt and gives your ear a quick bite. You squeal and push him away. "I've got a boyfriend," you protest. "And he plays for our school." "Yeah, so now it'll be personal when we finally meet," Joe retorts with a laugh. "You like to do it dangerously, don't you, Durras?" one of the other players says. He's only a little taller than Joe, with hair so blonde it's almost white. He also sports a California-dark tan. "Straussler's girlfriend is half his height and is a freshman to boot, but she's got him totally pussy-whipped," Joe tells you. "I'd say she's worth it, but he might take it the wrong way and punch me." "I was wondering who the pretty girl watching us was," says the team captain, who is also in Joe's company. "I'm Ian Carpenter. You are?" "Cindy Vredenburg. You know Seth Javits? He's mine." "Seth is good. And lucky," Ian says. "I was kinda hoping you'd say you were going with Patterson. He's moving over to our school, right?" "That's the scuttlebutt." "Black must be freaking out," the third player says. That leads to a general round of gossip and stat comparing, which lasts only until Frank materializes. He listens to it all only briefly before poking Joe. "Come on, bro, we got some work to catch up on." "Always with the studying," Joe groans. "I'm ready for another round of one-on-one." He mimes a lazy free-throw shot, but Frank pushes him along toward the door. On the way out you turn to find the three Westside players still staring at you, and grinning all around. You give them a little wave before the door shuts behind you. * * * * * This time the study session is back at the boys' own house. Joe patiently leads you back through material that you've already mastered, and the few explanations and amplifications are easy to accept and master. He seems to pick up on your lack of close attention, though, for when Frank has departed the room to fetch some snacks, he leans in close. "Either you're totally lost or you totally know this stuff," he says in a low voice. "It all makes sense, but I don't want to push it," you say. "I wanna make sure I really do get it." "That's fine," Joe says. "A lot of this is actually for Frank's benefit. The theoretical stuff really isn't his speed." He glances over his shoulder at the kitchen. "I'm not really that keen on explaining it to him anyway." What an odd remark. "Why's that?" He continues staring over his shoulder, and when he turns back there's a strange gleam in his eye. "Maybe it's because I'm the brain and he's the brawn? I don't like making myself redundant?" He sucks on his lower lip. "Maybe we could hit some of these points in ... private lessons?" Before you can reply to this extraordinary suggestion, Frank returns. "So, the sigilistic symbol for essentia has to be woven into the recapitulation sigil for imago," Joe continues in a louder voice. * * * * * When it's over, Frank offers to give you a ride home, but you demur and just have them call you a cab. You take it over to Prescott's, where you manage to snag the key to the elementary school basement from your recalcitrant replacement. At home you pass the night furiously polishing the newly made mask, and are pleased to see that in your natural state you are able to polish much faster and harder, so that by sunrise it gleams a brilliant blue all over. Joe calls the next morning--a Saturday--to set up a meeting, and you seize on his earlier suggestion that you have a "private session." To your surprise, he agrees to meet you one-on-one at a new location, and you give him directions to the elementary school. "What a neat little hideout," he marvels as he stands in the middle of the basement. He runs a fingertip over a dusty table. "Could use a woman's touch, though." You ignore the implicit gibe. "How did you get away from Frank?" "Told 'im I'd be scavenging material from Blackwell's, maybe make a grocery run." He shifts uneasily, and his brow clouds. "Feels weird lying to my brother." "You didn't really want to get me alone to talk about masks and magic, did you?" He stiffens at your words, and doesn't look at you. "What's the real reason you wanted to get me alone?" You don't expect an honest answer, but even a dishonest one might be informative. His face tightens, and he shrugs. "A study session is still a good idea. But Frank and me have been partnered a long time. Sometimes I just feel the need to carve out my own identity." He hops on the balls of his feet. "But this is a bad idea. I can feel it." "You don't like the way he handled Blackwell, do you?" you say. Maybe bluntness will work. He actually jumps, and gets a frightened look. "No! No, that's-- That's just the way things had to be done." He sucks on his lips. "Come on, I told you that you needed to follow orders. So do I. Stellae business. Let's go." You've lost the chance, if ever a chance there was, and for what you're not sure. Time for Plan B? You finger the mind band in your pocket. To get it on him you'll have to play a dangerous game: You remember what happened the last time someone dressed out as Cindy tried to seduce someone, and remember that it ended very badly for Will Shabbleman. Next: "Blackwell's Story" |
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