The Book of Masks (Abridged)

Into the Book

"HOW FAR DID YOU GET IN THE BOOK?" you ask Chelsea, playing for time.

"To here," she says, turning the pages in the book. The spell she points to is an incomprehensible mess of Latin words and a lot of symbols arranged in wheel-like patterns. "Do you know what it does?"

"Well, I'd have to study it a lot more closely," you lamely say. "How about you tell me what you actually did when you, uh, executed it."

"Gordon was the one doing it," she says, making a face. "I wasn't paying attention until he got the matches out. It was just, you know, a lot of chemicals and stuff. I mean, what is this, magic or Chem?" You suspect both are entirely beyond her ken, but say nothing. "He mixed it all up in this bowl, and then he poured it on himself, and he set himself on fire." You feel your cheeks pale--however much you dislike Gordon Black, you've got to admit it takes major balls to set yourself aflame. "I really tried talking him out of it, but he's got all that stupid testosterone."

"Where are the chemicals?"

She waves vaguely at one of the crates, where some plastic containers are set messily out. "Oh yeah," she says, "and he used some of my hair in it." Her eyes widen. "D'you think that's what it was? Because he used his own hair in the other one."

"What other one?"

The spell before this one!" She clucks her tongue. "I think it used all the same chemicals, except we didn't need as much dirt. I remember he said something about that, because he was so happy about not having to go out to the cemetery again."

"Cemetery?!"

"Yeah-uh! Don't you know that one?" You shake your head. She deflates a little. "Okay, I guess you wouldn't. It was a gross one, and that's when I started not wanting to do this anymore. But Gordon had to go out to the cemetery and get a lot of dirt. I mean, a lot! It took a week to make, too, and he had set it on fire too. That was the one, I told you, he used his own hair in?"

"Yeah. So what did it do?"

"It made this big thing, like a big old lumpy statue." She looks past your shoulder, at Gordon. "Kind of like that, but not Gordon-shaped, you know?"

Interesting. "What does this thing do? Where is it?"

"He had to hide it. He couldn't keep it up here because Steve and Jason might find it. But if you put a mask on it, it comes to life."

"A mask?" Her eyes narrow at your question. "You mean, like ..." you hastily add, but end on an expectant tone.

"Yeah, a mask," she says sarcastically. "Like the kind you were making?"

"I just wanna be clear," you hurriedly say. "do you have one of these masks around?"

"Why?" she asks suspiciously.

"Well, uh ... You said this spell was like the last one, and it made something kind of like this thing." You nod at Gordon. "And you said that if you put a mask on the other thing it comes to life. So maybe if you put a mask on Gordon here ..."

She stares. "That's brilliant. Oh my God!" And then she gives you a quick hug before hurrying over to one of the big crates. "I'm sure there's one around here someplace. Gordon made it, I know, but I think he got bored with it." She rummages around the crate's contents, and then through another crate. "Jesus, Gordon!" she finally exclaims, and shakes her head. "He must've taken it home." She chews her thumbnail. "I suppose we could use--" She stops and gives you a sidelong glance. "Well, I'll have to pick it up and bring it here." She continues to chew her thumbnail furiously. "I'll have to meet you up here tomorrow. Like, early. Six o'clock."

Your eyes nearly pop from your head. "Why so early?"

"To get the goddamn thing taken care of!" she cries out and stamps a foot. She sniffs heavily--again the tears threaten to start. "Gordon sometimes disappears from home on weekends, but he can't be gone long. Besides, Steve will be wanting up here, and I don't want him finding Gordon like-- like--"

Actually, the delay in work suits you. It's just the early hour that bites. "Okay," you quickly agree. "I'll take the, uh, the book home with me and try to figure stuff out tonight. Give me a call early, so I don't oversleep."

She promises, and calls your name as you start to leave. "I swear, and I am totally serious," she says solemnly, "if you fix this, Gordon and me will totally make it up to you. Me especially."

You assure her it's all in the spirit of being friendly, and duck out before she can see your swelling erection.

* * * * *

Maybe you get an hour's sleep that night, for although there aren't many pages to study, the going is very hard. They are in Latin, so you have to use a web browser for translation. Even then the work is slow, for the browser is glitchy and will crash on you when you put more than a few words at a time into the window. The word processing program will crash when you try entering text into it, and none of your pens or pencils will work when you try jotting down more than a few cryptic notes to yourself. You soon become convinced that some witchery attached to the book is keeping you from copying anything down.

After a few hours, though, you have been able to decipher the gist of some of the spells. The main items relate to masks, bands, and to the statues Chelsea mentioned. The masks, it appears, are able to make copies of people--if you copy a person into a mask by setting it on their face, you can then turn yourself into a duplicate of that person by putting the mask on yourself. You recognize the spell having to do with the bands--it's the device Caleb said would make a copy of your own mind. By putting such a band into a mask after copying another person, you would also have access to all their thoughts, memories, talents, and personality traits. The statues are a bit more mysterious, but it appears that by putting a mask on one, you can create a duplicate of a person that will be your slave.

There's a lot of food for thought here, but by five o'clock you're too exhausted to do any actual thinking. Your eyes fall shut at one point, and then your phone is ringing. Fifteen minutes later you're dashing out the door past your astonished father.

* * * * *

You find both the gym door and the door to the loft open. Chelsea, looking rested in a way that makes you envious, raises expectant eyebrows as you stumble in. "You have anything," she asks.

"I could use some coffee," you mumble, for the adrenaline from your rush over has already begun to dissipate. But she only frowns. "Look," you say with a sigh. "I didn't get that far into the book the, uh, the last time I had it, so there may be, uh, aspects of the spells that I'll have to look through more carefully." You don't say that you suspect most of the magic resides in the incomprehensible sigils that appear on each page. "But it looks like each spell builds on the others. Maybe a fix shows up later in the book. But to be honest--" You rake your fingers through your unkempt hair. "See, the last spell called for cemetery dirt. I think this one, the one Gordon used, is supposed to use an actual corpse. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to use it on yourself.

"You mean he's stuck like that?" Her voice is a shriek.

Again you sigh, for if she doesn't get what she wants from you, you're not likely to get what you want from her. "I said, maybe there's a cure later on. But I can't get the next page of the book to turn."

"So what are we going to do?" Her lips peel back so far you can see her gums.

"Well, I do think you're right that this spell is related to the last one. If you put a mask on-- On that thing Gordon turned himself into-- Do you have a mask of Gordon?"

"Yes, we've still got that one," she spits, but her face turns thoughtful. "I suppose we could use it." And now her expression turns inscrutable. "There are a couple of ways we could use it."

"Well, how about you dig it out and put it on Gordon? Maybe that's the way to undo the spell."

"It's not here," she says brusquely. "I'll go get it later and try it out, then call you."

You'd like to catch up on sleep; but you'd also like to be around to see what exactly she tries to do.