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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Maria Meets Magic"  Lend it to her? You wish you could trust Maria with the book out of your sight. Well, you probably could. But then you'd be missing out a chance to hang out and explain it all to her. "Why do you want to borrow it?" you ask. "I mean, I can show the stuff with it. You know, the experiments I've done with it." Maria returns you a thoughtful stare. "Okay." She looks around. "Back inside the coffee shop?" * * * * * You're amazed that you thought of the old elementary school in Acheson on such short notice. It just sprang into your head. The old Acheson Elementary School sits a couple of blocks from your house. It's an ancient thing, built a hundred years ago or more, of brick and tile. The windows are now dark, and the walls and roof are stained with time. But the structure is still sound, for a few years ago part of it was converted into a community center. A year ago, in a fit of boredom, you were exploring the grounds when in a corner where two wings met, at the bottom of a short flight of steps, you found a padlocked door. You were in a mood of angry mischief, so you went home, got a crowbar, and wrenched the lock off. Inside was another short flight of steps leading down into an expansive but gloomy basement. It was packed tight with school junk—heaps of desks piled atop conference tables, with old book cases and cabinets jammed in between. There was even some old gym equipment, and a couple of cast-iron sinks. By the light of a line of dirty windows high up the wall, peeping out through the tall weeds on the other side, you explored the space and pulled the stacked furniture into new shapes, making a kind of "fort" of them. Then, after you were good and grimy, you left and came back with a padlock of your own for the door. You showed the place to Keith and Caleb, and for a couple of weeks that was your trio's "clubhouse," where you kept a bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes and old sleeping bags. You even spent Halloween night there, telling each other ghost stories and getting drunk. But you eventually forgot about it, and as you lead Maria back to Acheson you realize that you don't even know if your padlock is still on the door. Chances are it isn't. Surely the staff has been down there since, and replaced your lock with a new one of their own. You might as well check, though, so you stop at your house long enough to find your padlock key (still in your dresser), then lead Maria out to the school. She watches silently as you trod down the stairs to check the door. There, to your astonishment, the key fits the padlock, which springs off. Has no one been here since the last time you left it? You push the door open and look in. A musty smell of grease, oil, and dirt fills your nostrils. "It's really filthy in there," you report. "Maybe we should sit out here on the grass." She shrugs and drops onto a patch of nearby grass. You dash back to your truck to fetch the book. "Okay," you start as you settle in cross-legged beside her. "What we did back in town, that was just the first part of the spell. After you make the mask, you have to polish it." "Why?" "'Cos it won't work if you don't." "'Work'?" she echoes. "What does it do?" "The mask? Well, the short version is, if you polish it, and then you put on someone, it copies them into it. Um, kind of like running a person through a Xerox machine. Or like storing data on a flash drive. Or a picture in your phone. Yeah, that's what it is!" You light on the analogy with a flush of relief. "Putting a mask on someone is like taking a picture of them, and it stores their image inside it. Face and body, everything." Her lips fall into the smallest pout of a frown as she ponders this. Her brow furrows. She says, "Okay, then what?" "Well, after that you have to seal it up." You flip the next page in the book. "That's what this spell does, it makes the sealant." "Uh huh." And then—" Your heart sinks as you realize what you're going to have to say next. It will sound incredible and unbelievable. "And then if you put the mask on, if you put it to your face—" You grit your teeth. "Well, it's like the mask is a full-body disguise," you finish in a gasp. "It turns you into a copy of the person inside the mask. You know, like in TV shows or movies where people turn themselves into, uh, duplicates of other people?" Sweat pops out all over your body. Maria's eyebrows go up. Faint amusement shows in her eyes. "And then—" Your blush deepens as you turn the next page in the book. "Then this next spell makes this metal band that if you put it on someone, it copies their memories, and then if you put it on it gives you their memories. Like putting a copy of their brain inside yours." Her brow furrows. "Wait, let's go back," she says. "You said the first spell copies their body. And that if you put it on—" She trails off. "It turns you into a copy of them." "Inside and outside?" You hesitate. "On the outside, at least. Hair, face, body, uh ... body parts." Your face burns anew as you remember some of the "body parts" that changed when you put on that mask of her. "I don't know about the inside." "Uh huh. And this one"—she flips forward two pages—"copies their brain." You nod. She sucks in a lip. "So I guess the first spell doesn't copy them inside. Otherwise it would have already copied their brain. Right?" "Um, yeah, I guess." "And if it copied their brain, you'd already have their memories and stuff. Because the memories are inside their brain." "Uh ... Sure?" "Okay." She lifts her face to stare vacantly over the top of your head. After a moment's thought, she says (softly, almost to herself), "And if you've got their brain and not yours anymore, wouldn't you stop thinking like yourself and start thinking like them? You'd even forget who you were and start thinking that you are them." "Except it doesn't work that way." Her eyes find yours. "How do you know?" "Because—" You gulp. "Because I tested it out." Now it's like your insides are liquefying. You know where this is going, and are dreading when it arrives. "Show me." "I don't have the thing here. It's back at my house." "Can you go get it?" "Ye-heh-hes." "Okay. Go get it. I want to see. By the way, whose memories did you copy?" You cringe, and mutter the word. "Pardon?" she says. "I copied you." The confession comes out like a cough. "That's how come I knew you'd be interested in this stuff. Because I copied your brain and I got a look at the way you think." You almost faint from the stress. You wish you would faint. You wish that the school would fall over on top of you, or a that a Yeti would jump out of the nearest tree and tear your head off. Real death, fast and gruesome, would be better than the mortified embarrassment you are now feeling. Maria stares at you. Then she says, "Prove it. Go get the thing. I'll wait here." You hang your head and start to get up. "Look, I'm not some sicko," you protest. "This is just some stuff I was playing around with, and it just happened to be— Well, it could have been anyone! It just happened to be you!" She looks amused, but says nothing. "I'll be right back," you mutter, and each foot as you lift it feels like it weighs five hundred pounds. * * * * * "Wow," Maria says as she walks around you, looking you up and down. She touches your hair with her fingertips. "It even feels real." You're sweating and trembling all over as you submit yourself to inspection. You are standing in the middle of the basement, gripping the edge of a table to keep from falling over. You tuck a long strand of thick, black hair behind your ear. Your shirt scratches your tits, which without the support of a brassiere are sagging heavily. But you don't dare adjust them, or touch yourself anywhere. "You had, what, ten minutes to look me over after I put the mask on," you tell her. "Didn't it look real then?" "It's more impressive when you're awake and standing up. Do I really slump like that?" You straighten up. "I don't know. Maybe if I also put on that thing with your memories." "Can you do a backflip?" You hesitate. "I wouldn't even want to try. But if I put that on—" You point to the metal band sitting on a nearby table. "Why didn't you? When you put on the mask?" You make a face. "I just wanted to show you the mask. So you'd see I wasn't bullshitting you." "You had to put it on me to copy me, right? When did you do that?" "The mask? Last ... Monday?" She paces around you again. "How many times have you put it on since then?" "Just once!" you exclaim as the sweat pours off your brow. She snickers. "Why? Are you gay?" Next: "How to Get to Know Someone" |
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