Chapter #28How to Replace a Stepfather by: Seuzz   So Sydney's suspicions were correct: Her stepfather used magic to kill her father.
She doesn't have to ask you if you'll help her get revenge—you realize now you've already made that decision.
"I think I know how we can do it," you tell her. Her eyes blaze with hope and excitement. "Meet me after school at the place?" She nods.
Then she grabs you by the elbow, slides her arm in yours, and pulls you toward the school. You almost swallow your tongue.
"Oh God, it's so great that I found you, Will," she murmurs; she's trembling all over as well. "So great that we got together. I feel like I'm on fire all over, inside and out." Her nails bite into your arms. "The stuff we've got—that you showed me, that I already had—"
"Hey Sydney!" Reagan Hackett calls and waves from the other side of a row of cars. Sydney tenses, then waves back.
Reagan trots over. She's got a bold, Romanesque nose and an impudent mouth, and she tosses her hair behind her shoulder as she falls into step with you and Sydney. "So what happened to you yesterday?" she asks her friend without so much as glancing at you. "Everyone was looking for you, you know, on account of—"
She breaks off and leans around Sydney to peer around at you. Her gaze falls on the arm that Sydney has put through yours. Then her eyes travel upward to your face.
You feel your own expression curl up into a grimace of embarrassment as a slow grin unfurls across Reagan's mouth.
"Uh huh," she says. Her grin widens. "Hey Woody."
"Will," you correct her.
At least, you hope you're correcting her; you hope she's not referring to the boner you're fighting down.
"So what are you doing for lunch?" Reagan asks Sydney. Her tone has turned very slick. "George and David were talking yesterday about going off campus. We could make it a foursome—" She leans over again to give you a sly look. "What lunch do you have?"
"Fifth." You feel yourself blushing hotly.
"That's too bad. We have fourth." She says "fourth" like it means "lunch at the country club dining room, with linen napkins and real silverware."
You let her prattle on this way, and let Sydney handle the other end of the conversation, until you reach a junction inside the school where you have to part ways. "I have gymnastics after school," Sydney reminds you. "I'll text you after that." She pecks you on the side of the mouth.
Then she slips away into the crowd. Reagan lingers to give you a vastly amused look before following her friend.
* * * * *
It pisses you off to think that Sydney's friends could turn out to be a lot of snobs. Okay, so far it only looks like Reagan is a snob, and maybe she's not a snob but is only surprised that a girl like Sydney might go for a guy like you. But you remember her other friends from Catherine's party, particularly that George guy and that David guy, who remind you so much of Geoff Mansfield, and it leaves you seething.
Even worse, you have to struggle inside that fog of resentment while dealing with a separate but consonant issue: Sydney is going to have to copy (and maybe even seduce) the kind of guy that she is clearly more suitable for.
That's because her stepfather is not going to be lured quietly into an ambush where you can perform a spell on him. Even if you do lure him out someplace (and you're not sure how you can do that), you are going to have to overpower him. You're not sure how big he is, but unless he's the shrimpy sort you're going to need some muscle to get the job done. The kind of muscle that football players or basketball players or wrestlers have.
In other words, the kind of muscle that Sydney should be dating instead of you. You're going to have to copy such a person into a mask and use them when it comes time to put the pinch on Sydney's stepfather.
And the only way you can see toward getting a copy of some muscle is to send Sydney in to get it.
"What are you grinding your teeth for?" Keith asks you at the start of Hawks's film class.
"I'm not grinding my teeth!"
"Dude, I can hear them grinding from all the way back here. You forget to write that paper on that movie we saw Saturday?"
"What paper?" You bolt upright.
"Thought you was gonna write an extra credit essay on that pee-oh-ess we saw with my hombres." He tilts his chin.
"I don't remember saying that."
"'Cos you didn't but you should'a 'cos you're gonna need the credit."
"Oh, bite me."
* * * * *
When classes end you kill time doing homework in the library, then wait in your truck until Sydney comes out from gymnastics. You honk when she appears; her expressions registers surprise when she swings around to see you. "Yeah, I wanted to make sure we had a chance to talk," you tell her after she's climbed into the cab with you. You don't drive off, but have your conference there.
You tell her about the new spell and how it calls for a body. "I don't know what it does to the person," you tell her, "but it sounds like a human sacrifice. Uh, I assume you'd be okay doing that to your stepdad?" Your hair prickles even as you say it.
Her eyes widen, and she swallows. It occurs to you only now that maybe she's been talking big without actually thinking through what it would mean to actually do something to him.
"We can look it over together," you say, "maybe you'll find something I missed—"
"I was thinking we'd just poison him and bury him someplace," she blurts out. "Then use that golem to replace him."
"Oh," you stammer after a moment's hesitation. "Okay, I guess we could do that." Now it's your turn to feel horrified. "But this way it would be like killing—" You catch yourself at having uttered the word. "Like killing two birds with one stone."
"Except we don't know that it'll kill him. Do you know what it'll do? This spell?"
"Well—"
Okay, now you think you see what she's getting at—and you also think you see why you're not on the same page with her. Sydney wants to be sure of getting rid of her stepdad, and it sounds like she's afraid this new spell won't go that far. But you are afraid of going that far, and maybe you're secretly hoping the new spell will only get him out of the way somehow without actually killing him?
"No, I don't know what it'll do," you admit. "But we could try it on him. If it doesn't, uh, knock him off we could do that afterward. Look, he's going to be knocked out anyway if we try that spell on him. He's not just going to let us pour dirt and chemicals all over him and set him on fire. So we'll—" You gulp, and your voice almost fails. "We'll knock him out and, uh, do the thing, and if he's still, uh, kicking at the end of it, then we'll—" You have lick your lips. "Then we'll do it your way."
"We'll have to make a mask of him."
"Sure." Your chest tightens. "We'd have to make a mask of someone else, too." You explain that part of the plan to her as well.
* * * * *
You drive out to the elementary school after stopping briefly at your house so you can get the book. Together you pore over the new spell. Sydney agrees that the phrasing is ambiguous, but coolly observes that if a corpse is required then she knows of how to get a "really fresh and disgusting one" to use.
You hope that she never hates you the way she hates her stepfather.
As for getting some "muscle"—which is the other part of your plan—she's skeptical. "I don't think we need that," she says. "We'll just stage a breakdown someplace in my car, or your truck. I'll call Nicholas and he'll come out to help. When his head is under the hood or something, we'll jump on him with a mask. Knock him out that way, carry him back here for the ritual."
"Oh, that's great." You sigh in relief. "That's a lot better. I couldn't figure out how we were gonna do it."
"I like the idea of having some muscle, though," she adds, and you feel your face fall. "You don't want to have to dig up hundreds of pounds of dirt again, do you?"
"We only need forty pounds." You point to the spell.
"Not for that. I mean, we need that too. But for the other golems."
"What other golems?" You wonder if you've had a stroke, because she's talking with perfect confidence about something you don't understand at all.
"We need at least one more," she says, "one that'll obey me. For Nicholas. I mean, for now we can stick his mask onto the one you already made, but I want version two-point-oh to obey me. So we'll have to make a new one.
"And," she continues, "I think we'll probably want a few more. We should run some experiments first, to make sure they'll work. But then we'll want, like, eight of them total. Or maybe even ten."
"What for?"
"For the rituals. Our own Brotherhood of Baphomet, Will. Us and eight puppets we can control, if the puppets can work in the rituals and make a Supreme Pentagram!"
She seizes your hands when you don't reply.
"Our own Brotherhood, Will!" she exclaims, "under our control! Think of it! I mean, you're sharing your stuff with me—" She raises your hand to her mouth, and nibbles hungrily on your knuckles. "I really want to share my stuff with you!" | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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