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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Mess"  It's dark outside, so you jump into Sydney's SUV to double check under the dome light. Sure enough, the syringe is empty. There isn't even a stain or a smear of film left. "Okay, this is creepy," she says. "What do you think?" You agree that it's pretty creepy. "Yeah," she says, and thinks a moment. "I have to go check," she says as she hops out. "Check what?" you call. But her answer is inaudible. She's back a few minutes later with more samples, including the little plastic cup. She keeps that one for herself, though, along with another syringe of blood, and lays out some skin flakes and hairs on the dashboard. "Set the timer on your phone," she orders, and the two of you sit back to watch the items she got off Eight minutes pass before Sydney inhales sharply. "His semen just went," she says, and she rubs the inside of the tube with her finger. "Like frost off a window." Two more minutes pass, and the blood evaporates. A minute later, the skin flakes and hair vanish in a little puff of dust within seconds of each other. You let out a low whistle. "That's interesting." "Yes, it is." You look up to find Sydney giving you an appraising look. "I wonder what would happen if you were wearing the mask, and I drew blood from you." You'd rather try it with Caleb's mask than Blake's, but Sydney insists. "We have to control for everything," she says as she leads you down the basement stairs. "So you put on Blake's mask, and I'll put your friend's mask onto the golem and get blood from him. That way we'll see if it's just Blake's mask that this happens to, and if it makes a difference who or what's under the mask." Like a science project, you think. * * * * * You wake from what feels like a very short and rudely interrupted nap by a lot of thumping and shouting. "Will!" Sydney screeches. "Will!" Instinct brings you to your feet. Two figures are wrestling nearby. One is Sydney, who is being overpowered by a lanky creature with the twisted lips and curved nose of a troll. It is also nauseatingly naked. "Hey!" you shout. "The fuck?" The troll looks up. "Get off her before I—" The troll drops Sydney and shrinks away. Its lips peel back in a snarl as you spring at it and grab it by the throat. Dimly, you're aware that you're dressed only in boxers. You pull back a fist. "You fucking—" you snarl, and the troll twists in your grasp. "Get the fuck down before I—!" It collapses in a heap and starts weeping. You blink and release it. "My hero," Sydney says. She has come up beside you. "Now can you tell him to put out his arm?" The world reels, goes out of focus, then reassembles itself into the exact same shape while at the same time totally changing. "Put out your arm," you murmur at the pedisequos—a copy of your best friend, Caleb Johansson. "Let her take your blood. Let her get some of your hair. Anything else you want?" you ask Sydney. "Want me to tell him to jack off?" "I think we can skip that one," she says as she bends over Caleb's arm. You sink back against a table. It's cold and hard, but it's better than collapsing onto the floor. You hold your head in your hands. That wasn't you who jumped in to save Sydney. It was Blake O'Brien. He's inside you, like the lining of this skin that you're wearing. You feel him wrapped about you, stuffed inside you, jammed into every crevice and crack of your brain. He fills you like water fills a sponge. And when you look at the world, you see what he sees, and his thoughts course through and among yours. When you look at Caleb, you see your best friend, but you also see the creature that was fighting Sydney: a thing like a lanky troll. When you look at Sydney— You rub the spot on your forearm where twice she has drawn blood. A tiny drop wells up from the wound. "Thanks for jumping in," she says as she steps back from Caleb. "I thought I could handle him, that I could just ask him to let me take some samples—" "Yeah, you should've waited for me to wake up," you mutter. "Even he's not going to like being ordered around. Are you, cocksucker?" you demand of the troll-golem. "No," he grinds out with a sneer. Sydney turns to you. "Well, it's your turn again now—" "Look, can you stop being a fucking doctor or scientist for just a minute?" you bark. She jumps back, her eyes wide. You catch your temper and rub your forehead. "Sorry, I'm just sick of you poking and—" You suck in a breath as you see the fear flood into her eyes. You swallow. "Look, it's me, Sydney," you assure her. "Will. But it's just a little confusing up here at the moment." "Yeah?" Her look of fear only deepens. "Uh huh." You tense up all your muscles and fall into a hunch, as though gripping a giant ball with your body. You hold your breath, and you face starts to pound with blood. For a slow count of ten you hold it, then blow out and relax. You take a very deep breath, and exhale slowly. "That's better," you tell her, though your head still buzzes. "When you say it's confused, are you saying you've got his memories?" Sydney asks. "Oh yeah, and a lot more." You look her up and down, but your cock is so raw from two intense back-to-back workouts that it just whimpers. "That wasn't me who saved you just now. It was Blake." She starts. "What?" "Yeah, I was totally him when I woke up. I didn't even recognize Caleb, that's how out of it I was. I just saw this guy getting up your grill, so I—" You shrug, and lift your chin. "So I did what Blake would'a done. 'Cos I didn't know I wasn't him." Her eyes widen. "He would've jumped in to save me?" "Sure. He's going to be a cop. Or Special Forces. Be a cop if he can't work out to be the other one." You give her a sidelong glance. "You know, if you'd been nicer to him, he wouldn't have called you a psycho bitch while you were getting those samples." Sydney shows you a smile—a tight, satirical thing. "So if I asked you nice now, you'd—?" Quick as a cobra, you grab and pull her to you. She grunts as you squeeze her close. For an instant, you let your lips hover over hers. Then you tear into her, like a panther plunging its muzzle into a freshly gored carcass. * * * * * "You said this guy was your type," you laugh after Sydney—panting and trembling—has fallen back against another table. You used nothing but your lips and tongue and teeth, and strong fingers upon her lower spine, to bring her to what looks almost like a climax. "You got the mask onto ol' Blakey so fast last night I don't know what happened after. Did you dump him after mugging him, or did you give him a chance to show you how much he liked your tutoring?" "I just slapped him with it, then made my excuses." Sydney rubs a flushed and perspiring cheek. "How much of that was you, Will, and how much of it was, um—?" You shrug. The air is frigid and clammy, but Blake is used to swaggering around without any clothes on. Your eye falls on the golem, who has been cowering silently in a corner all this time. Your lip curves as you say, "Hold still," and reach down to pull the mask off it. "I wouldn't have the guts to kiss you like that," you tell Sydney when you turn around again with Caleb's mask in your hand. "I mean, I've been wanting to. You know that, I kiss back when you kiss first. Blake wouldn'a had the guts either. He's too nice. I think. He didn't do anything like that with you the other night, did he? 'Cos—" Your hand flexes at the thought of Blake O'Brien grabbing your girlfriend the way you just grabbed her. If ever he did that to her, you'd break a chair over his head, haul him outside, and whip him across his bare back with chains. Well, that's what Blake would do. "No," Sydney stammers. "No. He was a total gentleman." "Good." You're both relieved (as yourself) and pleased (as Fake-Blake). "So I guess right now I did it 'cos I wanted to do it, and 'cos Blakey thought he could get away with it, seeing as how—" You swagger up to her. "You did say that he's your type." You grab her hands, and play with her fingers. She sighs. "You don't want me going out with him, do you, Will? While I'm going out with you?" You groan and clench your eyes and fall back onto the table. "Just take the fucking samples already, so I can get out of this fucking thing." * * * * * But when you wake again, you're still in Blake O'Brien's world. "We want muscle, right?" Sydney tells you, "for when Nicholas gets here? And I'd rather it was you than the golem," she explains. She has already called her stepfather, telling her that her SUV won't start and that she's stranded at the Acheson Community Center. She's brought clothes for you, some old rags that she picked up at a thrift shop. A flimsy t-shirt, flimsier athletic shorts, and flip-flops. They actually suit Blake's frame, what you can make out of it in the dark mirror in the corner of the room. As you dress, Sydney tells you that everything she scraped or snipped off both you and golem-Caleb has evaporated. "What does this mean for your virginity?" you ask with Blake's native insolence. She hesitates, then gives you a narrow smile. "We can talk about that later," she says. Next: "The Stepford Stepfather" |
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