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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "To Con a Marc"  by Nostrum It’s your project. You recall your father saying that. But now he's acting like it's his. "First thing in the morning we're going out to see this expert," he is saying as you stare back, dumbfounded. "Set your alarm like it's a school morning." Briefly his face goes blank. Then, as though a switch has been flipped, he smiles and says, "We'll get donuts afterward. At the place your friend works. Anything else, Will?" You could come talk to the psycho football player waiting outside to take the book from me, you think. But you only say "No sir" and leave his office. Scott is waiting, arms crossed and feet planted, as you step out of the garage. "So?" he says. "No can do. My dad confiscated it." "Bullshit!" Scott's eyes flash. "You wanna go in and talk to him?" you exclaim. "There's the freaking door, man!" Scott takes a step, and for a moment you think he really is going to charge in to confront your dad. But he catches himself. "So what's the deal?" he says. "Why'd he confiscate it?" "I dunno. I guess he's interested in it. I'm supposed to go with him tomorrow morning to talk to some expert about it." Scott glowers, but he keeps his temper. "And after that? Any way you can get it back?" You grimace. "I’ll call you if I can think of a way," you say. Silently, you add: Yeah, don't count on it, asshole. Scott looks at you as though he's biting into a lemon. "Fine," he says. "Call me when you can. Oh, and Prescott—" He jabs a hard finger into your shoulder. "Don't try to cheat me." A door opens behind you, and you whirl at the sound. At first you think it must be your dad, but it's only your little brother, Robert. "Yo Will!" he jeers. "You finished making out with your boyfriend yet?" If anything could get you to forget about Scott and his threats, it's your shitty little middle-school brother and his mouth. "Come here you little—!" You hurl yourself at him, knocking him inside the house and catching him under the chin the way Scott caught you. "Whatever you do," you growl at him, "don't tell dad about that guy out there!" "Or you'll what?" Robert chokes out. His eyes flame defiantly. "Or I'll tell dad about the porn stash you got on your computer!" "So? I'll tell him about yours!" "I won't get in a tenth the trouble you will!" "Alright, alright! Ow! Quit it!" He twists in your grasp, and you released. "Jesus, chillax, bro!" he gasps. "What's your freaking problem?" "I just don't want dad knowing that guy was here." "How come? Because—?" In the brief pause after that word, you can anticipate what he says next. "Because he's your boyfriend?" He dashes away before you can catch him again. -- Saturday morning. It's a whitewashed box of stone—a Mediterranean-style villa with a portico and tall windows—that your dad parks in front of, but everything else about the place screams "Addams Family." The surrounding wall is pierced by a heavy iron gate that screams when you push it open; a terraced yard with dead dirt where the lawn and flower beds should be; a massive front door with a knocker in the shape of a howling wolf's head. You half-expect Lurch to be standing there when it opens. But the deep and tolling doorbell is answered only by a short, pudgy man with a greasy combover and a mustache-and-goatee combination that practically shouts "movie villain." He is dressed in a dark suit, and turns equally dark eyes upon you. His smile is oily as he greets your father. "Mr. Prescott, so happy to see you again." "Professor Blackwell." Your father shakes the man's hand and puts an arm on your back. "This is my son, Will." "Pleased to meet you, young man," says the professor. "I am Aubrey Blackwell, professor of archaeology at Keyserling." His sniffy, aristocratic manner would go better if it had a British plumminess, but his accent is as flat as yours. "Please, come in!" He opens the door wider. "And do stick close. I wouldn't want you getting lost inside." Neither would you care to get lost once you've stepped into the dark, chilly foyer, for the house is much worse on the inside than on the outside. The professor guides you and your father down a wide, dim hallway with a glinting, parquet floors, then turns at the foot of a massive staircase to lead you into a high-ceiling library. Bookshelves rise all the way to the roof on three sides; the only light comes through tall French doors on the far side. There are three desks but only one chair, and after clucking over his thoughtlessness in not preparing for your visit, the professor leads you deeper into the gloomy house to fetch two straight-backed chairs from Frankenstein's idea of a living room. Back in the library, your father draws the leather-bound book—which looks quite at home in this haunted house—from his book bag and presents it to the professor, who clasps it with both hands with a kind of reverent awe. "Ah, so here it is!" he exclaims. "The authentic deal." His gives you a gleaming glance. "And where did you find it?" "Arnholm’s." You bite the word off. "It must have cost you a fortune!" "Two bucks." His eyebrows rise as he lays the book on the desk before him and gently opens it. "Truly, you’re a shrewd negotiator," he says. "It's a very unique and valuable tome, young man. And you and father experimented with one of the recipes?" He doesn't wait for you to answer. "I am impressed. The Latin is mangled and amateurish, and yet you deciphered it. And made something together?" You glance at your father, and his expression is encouraging. "Yeah", you say. "Something. Like a mask." "Still more impressive", the professor says. But he doesn't sound surprised. Your dad steps in. "I told Will it might be a book of alchemy. Could you tell us a little bit about it?" The professor looks surprised. "About alchemy?" "No, the book." There's an edge in your dad's voice. The same edge it gets when he thinks you're being an insolent smart-ass. The professor pales. "C-certainly," he stammers, and looks deeply discomfited. "The Libra Personae, to call it by its usual title, is a most famous book—famous in certain discreet circles, that is, famous amongst certain discriminating, ah, connoisseurs of—" He licks his lips. "Occult knowledge." A slight shudder rolls through his shoulders. "The Libra purports to be an alchemical description of the human body, of the human person, in fact. It describes the body's 'alchemical physiognomy,' you might say." He pauses to give your father an anxious, watery glance, but your father returns it with a stony smirk. So the professor continues. "Just as a medical encyclopedia dissects and illustrates the, ah, physical tissues of the human frame," he says, and squirms a little, "the Libra dissects and illustrates the, erm, metaphysical tissues." He pats his forehead with his fingertips. "In particular—" "We thought it was just an arts and crafts project," your dad says. His smirk deepens. "Er, it comes with practical applications," the professor mutters as his eyes dart between you and your dad. "It's own set of scalpels, you might say." "It sounds like a dangerous book," your father says, with a sidelong glance in your direction, "which is why I don't want it in my house." He gestures at the library shelves. "You look like you could give it a good home." He wants to give it away? You can hardly believe what you're hearing. "Dad!" you exclaim. “What about this being my project? What about no giving or selling?” Your dad replies irritated. “I won’t agree to a project that can endanger you, our family, or the house!” “Oh, but I still have to go work at Salopek, right?” You respond bitterly, figuring you got the short end of the deal. “You made a deal! You help me on the project, I go work at Salopek! No project, no deal!” Your father looks at you deeply into the eye, takes a deep breath, and calms down. “...Very well. I agreed to that, and I won’t back off.” His tone seemed worried, but cautious. “...I just don’t want to risk you being harmed by things you’re not prepared to handle.” He looks at the professor and smiles. “Tell you what. How about...I make a good offer for the book, and I don’t force you to work at Salopek? You could...use the money for another project! And...you could tell your friend Caleb that the position’s still open!” He smiles at you, patting you in the back. “Will...don’t see this as something bad for you. See it as a new opportunity." Put in that way, it makes sense. You’ll get money, you’ll fulfill your deal with Caleb... But, you won’t be able to figure out what that book says. And you’ll still have to deal with Scott. How you’ll explain to him that you sold the book to a collector? Next: "The End of a Very Short Project" |
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