The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Life Inside Lucy

Previously: "The Sister's Surprise" 

"Holy shit," you exclaim as you stare down at the gray-skinned lump that's dressed in Cindy Vredenburg's clothes. "Did you know Patterson did this?"

"No!" Caleb replies. "You didn't either?"

"Fuck no! How would I—? When did he—! Fuck, where's the real Cindy?"

Caleb doesn't answer, but kneels to examine the golem and the clothes it's wearing. "I wonder how many of these things he's got out there," he says. "And how he—"

He breaks off with a start. His mouth drops open, and his horsey eyes bulge.

"Cindy!" he hisses at you in a horrified whisper. "He must'a got to Lucy through Cindy! And that means—!"

"Dude, it means your girlfriend's a fake too!"

Caleb punches you in the shoulder. And since he's got Seth Javits's fist and brawny arm, it hurts.

"The fuck are we gonna do about this?" he says, more to himself than to you. His forehead is glowing like a hot coal, even though his cheeks have faded to chalk.

"First thing you should do is check your girlfriend," you reply. "Maybe that's where Lucy is. Maybe you've already been fucking Lucy and don't—"

He punches you a second time, even harder than the first. "I'm not telling you to shut the fuck up again, Prescott!" he exclaims.

You look down at the mask that you pulled off the golem. PENELOPE LUCILE VREDENBURG, it says in burning letters. No wonder she goes by her middle name, you find yourself thinking.

But then you get another thought. "One of us should put this on," you mutter before you can change your mind.

"What?" Caleb squints at you, then looks down at the mask. "What are you—?"

"We can find out what Patterson's up to." You swallow. "See what all he's been up to with her."

"We can guess what he's got up to with her!"

You hesitate. Then— "I'm going to snoop anyway." You look around. "I'll be in her car. You keep watch."

You scamper over to Lucy's SUV and hop into the driver's seat. You're all a-tremble, and you dodge Caleb's gaze as he stalks over to watch you through the windshield.

The interior of the mask isn't treated with any of that goop like Caleb got Patterson to put inside your mask, so there shouldn't be any danger in wearing it. You'll get her memories, both those before and after she got replaced with a golem. And you'll also—

Well, that's part of the attraction, and also part of what gives you the shakes. You're going to have Lucy Vredenburg's boobs, and butt, and legs, and everything else that makes her so luscious to contemplate. Even if it's just for a little while— Just for this afternoon— Just while you snoop to find out what her history with Patterson is.

You run a nervous tongue over your lower lip, toss a quick squint at Caleb, and lift the mask to your face.

A wallowing darkness overwhelms you, and you sink beneath it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ah, Ms. Vredenburg," the professor says as you peep into his office. "You are here about the reading?"

You fight down your gag reflex. Professor Blackwell, who teaches your anthropology class, is one of the most disgusting human beings you've ever seen. He's middle-aged bald man with a scraggly beard-and-goatee combination and a pasty bald head over which trails a few strands of lank hair, like wet grass over a snow bank. He has an apple-shaped belly that bulges beneath the tight turtleneck sweaters he wears beneath his jacket. If there was any other way, you'd skip this meeting. But you don't know or talk to anyone else in the class, so there's no one else to ask when—

"Yeah, um, I heard you gave us a handout?"

"The day you weren't in class."

Of course he noticed when you skipped his dumb class on the history of magic. Creep. "Sorry, I couldn't make it," you simper.

He beams at you—a look that makes you want to vomit.

"Well, of course I have a copy here," he says, and pulls out a desk drawer. "You got the tail end of the lecture this morning, but as for the start— Oh, please, sit." He gestures at a chair in the corner. "I can give you the gist of the first lecture in five minutes. If you'll take out your notes," he adds when you hesitate.

You'd love to tell him that you are late to another appointment, but it would be awkward, so you sink onto the edge of the chair with your bag on your knees. There must have been a draught, for as you're rooting inside it for pencil and notebook, the professor's office door slams shut.

"Now, the great difference between Babylonian magic and Egyptian magic," the professor starts, "lies in the difference between—"

There's a word he says here, but you can't catch it, and as you're struggling to remember and decipher it you lose track of the rest of the sentence. When you do go back to try focusing on what he's saying, all the words seem to be out of order: "—convinced return misfortunes attempted curse by people that by upon suspected attempted—"

And it is very hard to concentrate on his words given the way he's waving that silver pen around, and you hardly feel your own body when at a gesture from him you rise to your feet and accompany him out of the office and down the hallway and out of the building and into his car ...

And all the way back to his house he is talking in a very low and comforting voice—a voice you could willingly listen to forever ...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Quite nice," you murmur to yourself as you scope yourself out in the full-length mirror. The short, pleated skirt is very old-fashioned, but it complements the curve of your muscled legs quite nicely. The tight sweater, too, bulges nicely with your boobs. A warm flush fills your core as you toss your platinum-blonde hair back and lift an imperious chin to your reflection. "Aubrey, I must say I quite approve."

On long, confident strides you exit the bedroom and go downstairs to the library. You pull at the small, stuffed dog (with three heads) in an alcove, and one of the shelves opens with a click. The room beyond is dim despite the tall, narrow window. There is just enough room inside for the iron spiral staircase that plunges into the gloom below.

A disheveled girl with a streaked and dirty face glares up at you. She's naked.

Her name is Lucy Vredenburg. As is yours.

There's a tray of food on the dingy cot in the corner, but it's only half-eaten. You cluck at it and the girl.

"There's nothing wrong with your dinner, darling," you gloat at her. "I fixed two portions, one for you and one for me, and I thought it was first-rate. And you need to keep your strength up. Who knows? I might let you out one of these days!" You dimple at her, then back out and close the secret door on her again.

"Fat chance of that, though," you mutter to yourself as you saunter out into the foyer, where the fat professor is waiting. "Get the new mask polished up for me," you tell him.

"Have you thought of a use for it?" he asks.

"No. But though I was never a Boy Scout, I always have appreciated their motto." Out on the porch, you shake yourself to get the clothes settled more nicely around your supple limbs, then swing carelessly toward the SUV and the college party you will be attending. You can hardly keep from drooling in anticipation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So do you want me to bring my sister out here or not?" you ask the professor. You can feel the curve of disgust upon your lip.

He scowls blackly at you. "I would ask you to amend your tone, young lady, only—" He catches himself, and goes back to glaring at the pile of books in front of him. "Help me find it."

"Find what?"

"What do you think? The Libra!"

"Red book with a gold pentagram on its spine?" you ask with a contemptuous lilt, and glance around the library. "Do you remember the last shelf you saw it on?"

"If I did," he roars, "I wouldn't be—!" He catches himself again, in a voice of choking fury orders you to search the library, case by case, shelf by shelf, book by book.

It's nowhere to be found.

Which doesn't bother you until after the professor has summoned you upstairs and pulled at your face. When next you wake, you are livid at the loss, but spend the frustration at a college party where you let three different frat brothers fuck you in succession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You have a headache when you wake, and you are twisted up inside your clothes. You can't stop a grimace as you look down at the boyish cargo shorts and t-shirt you are wrapped up in. A sheet of hair falls into your face.

The passenger-side door opens and Seth Javits slides in. You cringe. Slimy, fuck-faced creep, you think. Then: Oh, it's just Caleb. Loser. You clench your teeth together, trying to center and recover your sense of self.

"Okay," Seth says, "what are we gonna do until, you know—" He mimes shooting himself in the temple.

"Go fuck yourself," you growl back before you can stop yourself. "Sorry," you pant. "That was Lucy. Oh, but—" You cover your face with your hands. "We are in a lot of trouble,' you moan.

"With Patterson?"

"No. And it's not Gordon or Jason or Keith either. They don't know anything about this! About Lucy."

"What?"

"It's a professor up at the university." You gag as the face and figure of Professor Blackwell come swimming back to you. "I think— I think he's the guy who used to own the book, before I found it. He's the one who got to Lucy, replaced her with— And I think— Oh my God, I think he's a warlock or a black magician!"

That's all for now.

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"