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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Backwards From Where You Came"  You continue slowly through the Libra from the very first spell, lingering over each long enough to confirm that the sigil secretly encodes a second sigil that undoes or counteracts the first. A sigil that will shatter a mask into dust; a sigil that will create a solvent that will remove the seal from a mask; a sigil that will transfer control of a golem from one master to another; a sigil that will shatter the golem seal inside a mask. The sigils that create the elements for a multi-form mask do not contain any reverse sigils that you can identify, so it's with a sinking heart that you turn to the spell that creates a nail that binds a mask or band onto a wearer. But you needn't have feared. There it is: a spell that will destroy a nail, even one being worn by a user. With infinite care you draw it up. As you do so, you notice--so slowly and carefully are you going--that many of the elements included inside the counteracting sigil are actually just a lot of junk: null things that function like the simultaneous addition and subtraction of a term to an equation. You stop your work long enough to pore back over the original sigil in the Libra, and confirm your suspicion: those null elements are only there to pad out the counteracting sigil, so that it can be hidden inside the original as a kind of message. Removing those bits shouldn't make it any less effective, and so when you're done making the full sigil you write down the reduced version. It fits nicely on a scrap of paper no bigger than a half-dollar, and with a stab of intuition you bind the small circle onto a strip of tape. * * * * * You are ravenous with hunger by the time you are finished, but ignore it to search out Blackwell's old "medicine cabinet" for weaponry. You coat the inside knob of the front door with knockout grease, and trail a little more along the stairway banister; you spray the opening of the library with a "sleeping web"; you arm yourself with knockout powder. Then you carefully make your way upstairs to wait. The bedroom clock reads a little after four-thirty when a movement outside the window shows the Durras truck pulling up outside the villa's wall. You duck back away from the curtain, where you've been patiently keeping watch, to stand with hammering heart by the bedroom door. A few minutes later you hear low, indistinct voices. They murmur, rising and falling in what sounds like an argument. Then there's a sharp cry, and you dash out the door. You'll have to tackle Joe, get the mask off the golem, before you can deal with Frank-- But you crash to a stop at the top of the stairs. Both brothers are still on their feet, though Joe is slumped against the library entrance. But Frank is still fully erect, staring at Joe with hands on his hips. Shit. And you must have made a noise, for Frank turns to look up the stairs. Even at this distance you can see his eyes widen. You sprint back the way you came, into the bedroom, but of course it's a fruitless attempt at escape; you hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs behind you, and you back against the wall as he busts the door open. His eyes blaze, both in surprise and anger. "Hi, Frank," you squeak. "I came out on a lark. Hadn't heard from you, wondered if you had any orders for me." He grasps at you with a snarl, and all the air blows out of your lungs as the invisible iron fingers close around your torso. That done, he advances on you slowly, his lip curling. "How the fuck--?" You try to gasp out some kind of reply--another bluff, a curse, a wisecrack?--but you've no air inside you. He raises his other hand and puts it to your face, but his fingers slip off. He stares at you mutely for a moment, spittle on his lips, before falling a step back and relaxing his grip on you. You fall to your knees, all the wind having been knocked from you. "There's just no keeping you down," he says in a quiet voice. "Trap you, bury you. You keep coming back." His lips purse and then split into a rictus. "Luckily, I've got just the thing for you now." "You still need me to--" you start, but he's seized you again, and you claw at the carpet as he drags you from the room. The sheet with the sigil on it flutters from the pocket of the dressing gown, and only with a quick grab are you able to snag the smaller sigil and the piece of tape it's stuck to. He pulls you, bumping hard, down the stairs, and into the library past the ruined web and Joe, who lolls stupidly in the corner. With a savage kick he turns you onto your back and plants a foot on your chest. "Where's the Libra?" "Upstairs," you croak. "Won't do you much good." "Why not?" "It's booby-trapped," you reply, hoping he's a bad enough poker player you can bluff him. "I had the day with it." "What did you do?" He steps onto you, and you grit your teeth as you feel your ribs creak. "Ungh," you gasp as he releases you. "You know how I took that trip through it, got stuck inside a golem? I took another little trip. Came back out, knowing it backward and forward. Don't you see anything different about me?" Weakly, you point to your face. He peers narrowly at you. "Still as ugly as ever." "Come closer." You raise the hand that cradles the sigil, and beckon with your finger. "You never took a good look at me, ever, did you?" He bends over with a frown. Just a little closer-- He straightens up again. "Bullshit," he snorts. "Where's the book?" "Upstairs. Bedroom." You sag. "Do your worst to me. Means you'll never get the really good stuff." He actually starts to tremble. Then he drops onto you, pressing your shoulders with his hands. "I'll squash you into jelly," he says in a shaking voice. "And that's if you tell me what you know. Hold out on me, and I'll twist you inside out, like a sponge." "Give me a chance to change your mind?" you murmur, and slap your palm against his forehead. His eyes seem to pop, and a bright, star-like glow appears in the middle of his forehead. His arms buckle and he falls heavily onto you. You twist out from under him. There's a sizzling noise, and a long blue flame shoots from his forehead. It widens into a band of flame, and a shriek escapes his throat. Then the flame gutters, and his head sags to the side. Now you are trembling. You crouch over him and put your hand to his temple. There are no scorch marks or anything else untoward: just a thin film of sweat. He seems to be out cold-- His eyes pop open, and quick as a striking snake he seizes you by the wrist. His expression is feverish. He seems not to see you, but then his eyes come back into focus. "Prescott," he says dully. You hold your breath. He closes his eyes and lets out a groan. "Dio!" he exclaims, and follows it with a long string of words in Italian. His eyes snap open again, and tears stream out. "It wasn't me," he says in a strained voice, and then his voice cracks. "But it was! Oh, God, it was!" It sounds like the real deal. * * * * * "I said you'd have to fight your way past Frank at some point," Joe says wryly. You're back at the house he shares with his brother, and he's perched cross-legged on couch, wearing nothing but a very tight pair of running shorts. He squeezes a little of the dampness from his hair; once released from the golem shell—which the spell sweated out of him like poison—a shower was the first thing he wanted. "I just never figured it would be like this." "But it wasn't Frank," you object. "Not really." "That's a matter for his confessor, I suppose. Fucking Papist that he is." He laughs good-naturedly. "Anyway, you'll never convince him he wasn't responsible." "Is he going to be alright?" you ask Frank has been pale and quiet since using the sigil you'd drawn up to free his brother, and after decamping for their house he has locked himself in his brother's room. "Once he gets finished beating the shit out of himself, he will be. But that's the Saturnian influence. No one can do the penitential thing like an adept of Lurga." "Maybe I've got some penance I need to do, too," you stammer uncertainly. Church, as far as you're concerned, is only a place to snicker over bad hymn lyrics and undress girls with your eyes, so the idea of "penance" and "repentance" sits uneasily on you. Joe gives you a piercingly glance. "It sounds like you had a lot of time to yourself to think things over." You were three days inside the hole--or wherever you wound up after that. "And you still haven't explained how you got out and back to being yourself. Except, you know--" He holds up a flat palm and then turns it back to front. "You noticed that, huh?" You shift uncomfortably. No, you haven't talked about how you got out--and you're not sure you want to. Next: "New Spells, and a New Complication" |
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