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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047-The-Book-of-Masks/cid/1614152-Magic-Happens-Part-1
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by Seuzz Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 18+ · Interactive · Fantasy · #1510047
A mysterious book allows you to disguise yourself as anyone.
This choice: Go see this professor  •  Go Back...
Chapter #37

Magic Happens, Part 1

    by: Seuzz Author IconMail Icon
You drive out the address on the card. It's a stone villa on the outskirts of town, just past the last subdivision, near where farm country starts. It's surrounded by a large, blank, whitewashed stone wall. There's a car out front.

But you don't stop. After eyeing the house you drive on. You're not sure you want to meet the book's previous owner without back up. Maybe he's only a professor of archaeology who had been inveigled by a curious volume of esoteric lore. But maybe he's something worse.

You glance at the clock in the dashboard. The golem will be getting ready to meet Lisa soon. You realize that's the reason you didn't stop to see the professor: You don't want to be distracted when the date is finished. You want to get together with your double instantly and find out how the date went.

So you drive around the countryside for a bit. There's not much out there, and you have to loop back far around before you can strike a road that leads to town. It takes a different angle, missing Blackwell's house and leading instead to Farm Road. That's the quasi-highway that runs along the river, and you prowl along until you find the turn off to the river bank where high school students like to congregate for make-out sessions. But today is Monday, and the scene is deserted.

The sun is low when you park, and it soon sets. Twilight deepens. You sit in the car for a very long time, not thinking about much of anything. There's nothing you really want to think about. Not about Seth and Cindy. Not about Chelsea, for that reminds you of Seth and Cindy. Not about classes. Not about home. Not about Justin or the book. An empty kind of peace descends upon you, but it's a peace of torpor; the peace of a low spot in the landscape, surrounded by problems that you don't want to climb. Not yet.

You get out and pace along the river bank, listening to the gurgling water. You wonder how the golem is getting along with Lisa. You grunt faintly as your cock stirs. Fuck. She's not Gordon's type, but there's no woman he wouldn't take and mark and gloat over, and that puts a distinct coloration on the interest you're feeling in the progress of "your" date.

You climb back into the car and stare into the darkening night. Eventually you sigh and start up the car. As you drive slowly back to the turn off you see that another vehicle has also parked by the river. Through the gloom you see it's a white truck.

It looks like your truck.

You stop and stare at it, wondering if you dare go over and investigate. Could the golem have actually talked Lisa into coming out here? Could they actually be--?

If they were, would you actually interrupt them?

And as you're staring, your phone tweets. You look at the number. It's Will Prescott's phone. "Yeah?" you say slowly when you answer.

"Dude, is that you?" he asks.

"Where?"

"A coupla dozen yards away, by the river."

Your scalp prickles: the beginning of a flush of anger. "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you come out here with--"

The line goes dead.

Over at the truck, a door opens, and a tall figure gets out. You can barely make him out in the gloom, but you kill your motor and swiftly climb out, slamming the door hard. "Prescott!" you call. "What the fuck do you think you're--!"

Your feet go out from under you so fast you slam ass, back, and head onto the ground. Lights explode in your skull. Then something very big and firm seizes you by the ankles and drags you across the rough ground. You scramble for a handhold, but something yanks you up into the air, leaving you dangling nearly six feet up and upside down. You raise yourself, to try grabbing whatever is holding you.

There's nothing there.

Except there is. Something like an invisible claw is holding you in midair. You twist from side to side, but your ankles are pinned firmly together. You drop back down, letting your arms dangle as the figure approaches. Not until he's nearly at your nose do you recognize him, for from your perspective he's upside down.

"Durras?" you gasp dumbly.

"Hey, Cap'n," Frank says. "Imagine running into you here."

"What the fuck--?"

"Joe. Those pruning scissors, if you please," he says.

"Durras, you don't have to--" another voice says before it's abruptly cut off. It takes you a moment to recognize it as Will Prescott's.

"Lemme explain something to you, Prescott," Frank says. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, Prescott," he says, and jabs you lightly in the nose. "It's an interesting thing about these masks you and Black have been wearing. I can do all kinds of horrible shit to you while you're wearing one. I can snip off fingers. Toes. Lips. Noses." His mouth twists. "Cocks and nuts. And it'll hurt like the real thing. But there's no damage done, not to the person underneath. You'll be totally whole and healthy when I take the mask off you afterward. Of course, you'll be begging me to take it off you before I've even got through snipping you off at three knuckles. But once I get started, I'm not going to be able to stop myself before most of you is scattered in pieces at my feet, no matter how much you beg." He grabs your hand in a grip so strong you might as well have it in a clamp. You feel the keen edge of metal blades on either side your index finger. "So, are you going to talk now," he says, "or only after I've pruned you back?"

* * * * *

You'd blabbed. You'd babbled and gabbled and run off at the mouth. You'd told him everything, quickly and truthfully, especially after you'd heard Prescott shrilly begging you to "just tell him everything, and tell him the truth!" Frank had pressed you, brutally and efficiently, drawing out every detail and every nuance: How you found the book, who you gave it to, how you got involved again, how Gordon got involved, what you'd made and why, and what you were doing out by the river. Then he'd reached up and pulled the mask off you, even without your having to tell him the secret words.

* * * * *

You wake with your head bouncing off something hard, and you twist. But your hands and feet are securely bound. You're cold, too. Then you realize you're naked.

A motor is running, and you bounce again, every bone jarring against a hard, cold, metal surface. You look around, and see that you're in the bed of a truck. You twist over on your side, and find Gordon--or someone who looks like him--looking over at you. He grimaces as the truck hits another hole in the road.

"What's going on?" you gasp.

"Don't fight it," he says. "They used duct tape on us. They-- Fuck!" His head bounces and your own teeth rattle. "Are they trying to hit every bump?"

"What the hell? What are you doing here?"

"They found me," he fumes. "At Panera's. I went to keep an eye on Lisa and that golem, because, fuck it, I was thinking about you and worried how it was going. Then they came in." The truck bounces again. "They dragged the golem away, and then they grabbed me when I went out to rescue it."

"They just grabbed you," you gasp skeptically.

"Yes!" he snaps. "Didn't you see what they did to you back there?" You try to picture the scene, and it doesn't look pretty. But Gordon is still talking. "The blonde one got in the cab, and the other one got in the back with me and the golem and sat on us. Said he didn't care if I was me or Prescott that was the fake, said he'd cut both of us to pieces. So I told him how to get the masks off us. Then we drove out to the river-- What were you doing out there?"

"Just driving around, thinking. But hang on, I heard, well, myself talking out there."

"That was Joe. He's some kind of fucking vocal impersonator. I was in the cab but I had the window down. They told me to keep quiet, and believe me, after seeing what they could do, I wasn't in the mood to argue."

"How do they know about this stuff?"

"They're fucking magicians, don't you get it? They're after the book. Apparently they went and dug up that stupid time capsule and found the book wasn't in it."

Shit. "How long was I out? You have any ideas about what to do?"

"I'm trying not to shit myself." The bed rocks again. "I used to think I was scary," he mutters.

"If they know about golems, you think they're the ones who--"

"I don't know what they know, but they know everything we do. Because I got a quick look at them before--"

The truck jerks to a hard stop and the motor cuts off. Doors open and slam, and a small, lithe figure leaps into the back to crouch over you.

It's Will Prescott. "Hey guys," he says. "How you feelin'? Wait, don't talk. Don't want you making any noise at all, in fact. We're at Tsosie's, and don't need you springing the surprise." He slaps a fat piece of duct tape over your mouth, and does the same to Gordon.

"You're a fucking prick, Black," a deep voice growls from behind you, and you crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Someone who looks like Gordon stares down. "You're a prick," he sighs. "But fuck me if I don't feel sorry for you." The real Gordon can only make a muffled snarl before his double and Prescott disappear.

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