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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Costume Party"  "Could be interesting," you say, "but it's getting kind of late. Kelsey can stay out, but I can't." "Poor Will," Karl says. "We need to get you a life that you can have more fun with." He strokes your thigh. "You have to come up anyway, to change." "I brought my clothes with me. Remember?" "Mmm. Maybe you're right." He pats your thigh. "I'm not in the right state for you to be with me." In more ways than one, you agree. The still-intoxicated Karl clambers out when you arrive at the school, and with a regretful wave stumbles off toward the gym. You hope Chelsea has enough sense not to try driving in this state. You yourself drive back home, stopping only briefly at the elementary school to change. You pat the clothes you borrowed before putting them back in your bag. You weren't Kelsey for long, and you didn't do much as her, but you feel colder and lonelier back in your own skin. * * * * * You spend the next morning in a state of suspended anxiety, wondering if Chelsea will call. After last night ... Well, you're of a mixed mind about getting together with her. On the one hand, it's Chelsea Cooper, and though she can be brusque and thoughtless and stupid, her company is intoxicating. Even though you are not publicly associated with her, it is still exciting to be close to her--and the pair of you are united by an occult secret. On the other hand, you're not sure what you should or could say if she again broached the idea she had last night. You are very conscious that you're not the driving force in this partnership. Maybe it's not even a partnership. So you're surprised but not unreceptive when Caleb shows up on your doorstep a little after noon. "I'm not taking you away from a secret life, am I?" he asks, and he holds himself rather stiffly--maybe because, oddly, he has his backpack with him. "I don't have any plans right now," you reply. But still you take your cell phone with you when he suggests a walk around the neighborhood. It must be important, because it's not a nice day out. It's the middle of October and the temperature is hovering in the low fifties. It's also been raining off an on all day. But whatever's on Caleb's mind, he has to ease into it. "So, we haven't talked, really, in, like, a couple of weeks," he says as you stroll along. "What have you been up to?" "This and that," you reply. "By the way, you're the one who stopped hanging out with me. I was just repaying the favor." "Well, I've had work," he says. "And that ... other project you set me up with." "Yeah, what happened with that?" "It turned into bullshit," he says after a pause. Then he adds, "I can't get the things to work anymore." "What, they're broken?" Your ears prick up. "No, I guess they still work. But I didn't make a lot of them, and I can't make any more. The, uh, the book isn't helping anymore." "Hard to believe it got away from you." You kick yourself mentally at the unfortunate choice of words, for Caleb glances over sharply at you. "I mean, you're smart, so if anyone could figure it out, you could," you explain lamely. He hesitates a moment before continuing. "You know I asked you earlier about doing a partnership with me on it. Would you be interested? I mean, between the two of us, maybe ..." He sounds like he's in a lot of pain, but you're not inclined to help him out--not with him having been (and still being) so dishonest with you. Why can't he just come out and confess what he did? I copied your face and got in trouble when I used it around Gordon and Chelsea. Okay, it would be awkward and humiliating, and he's probably worried that you'll be really pissed at him--and he should be worried--but confession is supposedly good for the soul. Then you get a truly mischievous idea, a way that will give him a chance to come clean with you, and that will torture him if he doesn't. You stop in your tracks and turn to face him four-square. "How about I just buy the book back from you?" you offer. He blinks. "I'd rather it be a partnership," he stammers. "I'll give you forty bucks for it. The forty you paid me to help you get your job at my dad's work. Actually--" the light goes off over your head. "The forty you never paid me, even though you said you could." He reddens. "I paid three for the book, and I'm still good for the other thirty-seven." "I'll forgive it if you give me it back." "Will--" he starts, but you press your advantage. "Two hundred. That was the original price. I'll pay you two hundred for it." His eyes widen, then narrow. "Why are you suddenly so keen to get it back?" "I haven't got two hundred"--and he hasn't got the book--"but I'll get two hundred if you tell me you'll sell it to me. You said it isn't working for you anymore." "And it won't work for you!" "How do you know? Besides, I don't care. I'll still pay you two hundred, if you bring it over and I look it over and I like what I see." He looks away. "Look, the thing is," he says, "it's a really dangerous thing. I don't want it out of my sight." He leans in close to you. "It's really bad news, and I don't want to feel responsible if--" He struggles. "If something bad happens to you if you've got it." Oh, give me a fucking break, you want to scream at him. Something bad really did almost happen to me, and it would have probably happened if I wasn't able to fast-talk my way around Chelsea. And it's your fault, cocksucker, for using my face to try to steal Gordon's. Instead, you just smile. "That's real thoughtful of you, dude. I appreciate it. If you care so much about me, though, I guess the smartest thing for me to do is turn you down on that partnership." You clap him insincerely on the shoulder, then turn to trudge back toward your house. "Will!" he calls, but you just shake your head. And then something heavy hits you in the back, knocking you face-forward to the ground. You struggle up in a daze, before a suffocating blackness overwhelms you. You're groggy when you come to, and find yourself flat on your back on the sidewalk. A very pale Caleb squats next to you, watching you carefully. "Jesus, Will," he gasps. "Are you okay?" "The fuck," you groan. Then you lunge at him. "The fuck did you do?" "Okay, you pissed me off, so I threw my backpack at you," he gasps as he fights you off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you down." "Cocksucker! Just leave me alone!" You leap to your feet, and with a glare back at him stumble on toward your house. * * * * * You're in a black mood when you arrive, but your college-age cousin, Umeko, has shown up while you were gone, and that drives all thoughts about Caleb and Chelsea and the book from your mind, as you and your little brother compete for her amused attentions. An hour after she leaves, though, you're drawn back to old matters when Chelsea calls. "Oh God," she says. "I feel so embarrassed. After last night, I mean. I hope I wasn't a jackass or anything. Are you mad at me because of, you know, what I ... said at the end?" "No," you stammer. "Actually, I was kind of flattered, I guess." "Well, those things are kind of ... strong ... when you're inside them. Anyway," she continues, saving you the trouble of thinking up a reply. "Do you have Kelsey's mask there? Can I come by and pick it up?" Chelsea Cooper, at your house? You don't even bother to ask what she wants with it. "Sure. When? Now?" "If that's okay. Um, where do you live?" You give the address. "See you in a few." You make sure to stay up in your room, so that your dad has to call you down when she arrives. It's a thrill to see her standing in your living room, smiling brightly and chatting amiably with your parents. I guess she can be charming when she has to be, you think. "Hi," she calls up as you rattle down the stairs. "You have that, uh, art project?" "Right here." You hand the mask over, and take great satisfaction at the way your brother stares open-mouthed at her and at you. "Are we getting together tomorrow?" "Maybe. I'll give you a call?" You agree, and shiver all over when she squeezes your arm before leaving. Robert is a satisfactory shade of green when you glance back over at him. * * * * * "Will!" your dad calls out the next afternoon, about an hour after church. "Another visitor!" You bound down the stairs. "You're getting popular," he observes as you rush through the living room, and you flash him a grin. You stop cold at the foyer, though. It's not Chelsea. It's not even Kelsey or Karl. Hell, it's not even Gordon or Caleb. It's just Keith Tilley. You nod numbly at him. "Hey there," he says quietly. "I heard you and Caleb got in a fight yesterday. Wanna talk about it?" "No." "Well, I do. Come on." You sigh. This is not something you need. But Keith seems uncharacteristically serious. Next: "A Chance to Change Partners" |
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