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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Girl Troubles"  "Actually, Carson and James do have a prank they want to play on Gordon," you blurt out, and your tits prickle a little. "Well, him and his friends." Cindy has just put her car into gear when you tell her this. She jerks to a stop and gives you a hard look. "What?" she says. "Carson and James are planning a prank—" "What kind of prank?" "I can't tell you," you say. "Not unless you promise to keep it secret. From Seth too." "What are they planning on doing?" she demands. "You have to promise me." Her eyes narrow. "Are they targeting Seth, too?" "I guess so. They're, um, planning to booby trap the—" You catch yourself before the words fuck room can spill out of your mouth. That's what everyone at the school calls it: the gym loft that the top jocks have turned into their own private lounge. And the assumption is that the top jocks also entertain themselves with their girlfriends or their dates up there as well. Hence, "the fuck room." You know that Gordon Black and Steve Patterson, the top players on the basketball squad, have access to the place, and you assume that Seth does too. Gordon's girlfriend, Chelsea Cooper, also has access—and so, surely, would Cindy. So the prank would catch her as well. Only now, when it's too late, do you realize you shouldn't have said anything at all. "Well," you stammer, "you know that, uh, place up in the gym? That loft? That, uh, some of the guys, like Gordon, they—" "The fuck room," Cindy says. Still she holds your eye, with the car engine running but her foot on the brake. "Right. Well, they want to booby trap it." Cindy holds your eye. "How?" "Look, never mind," you tell her. "I'm just giving you fair warning, I'll give you more warning for when it happens, so that you—" "Why do you need to warn me?" You blink at her. "Well, so you don't go up there? When—" "I never go up there," she says, and looks away. "I'm not allowed," she adds. "You're not?" you exclaim. "What do you mean? I thought you and Seth—" "Gordon and Steve and Jason and Chelsea," she says. "They're the only ones who get to go up there. I mean, sometimes as a favor"—she says the word like it's left a poisonous taste on her tongue—"then they'll let one of their friends up there for a night. Someone they like or want to be nice to. But not me. Not Seth." Pink spots show in her forehead. "Not even Seth?" You're staggered. "Why not?" She gives you a look, then lets her foot off the brake and punches the accelerator. The car lurches toward the exit of the parking lot. "I thought you had Catherine's brain in there with you," she mutters. "Well, sure, but—" Then it comes to you, dimly, as though through a fog. Not a half memory, not something half forgotten, but something that Catherine herself isn't quite sure of. Some impression of bad blood between Cindy and Chelsea. Catherine herself only moved to Westside this year—she was at Eastman before then—so she is not fully up to speed on who hates whom and by exactly how much. But yes, if that impression is correct, then Chelsea would not be letting Cindy—which would also mean not letting Seth—up into the fuck room. And that clarifies everything. "Then you'd be okay with booby-trapping the fuck room, wouldn't you?" you exclaim. "Because it wouldn't hurt you or Seth, but it would hurt—" You giggle at the expression of veiled hatred that Cindy turns toward you. * * * * * You outline Carson and James's scheme, and though she isn't exactly bowled over by it, Cindy does like it enough to agree to help you out. The only problem is, though, that the prank requires access to the fuck room, and she no more has access than you or Carson or James do. Still, Cindy says that she'll give the matter some thought. In the meantime, you drive out to the Crystal Cave so you can study the Summa Libra some more. You had warned Cindy that the next spell in the book looked like a dangerous one. Lots of volatile chemicals which have to be set on fire, and four hundred pounds of dirt that has to be carried out of a graveyard. Or maybe left in the graveyard? You discuss the pros and cons of trying to perform the spell inside the cemetery grounds. (At night, of course, though the spell says nothing about midnight or full moons or anything like that.) You come to no conclusions, though, and the temptation to execute the spell gradually wanes (in your breast, at least) because the book—as is typical—doesn't even tell you what it is that you'll be making. All you know is that whatever it is will have to burn, and that after that you will have to polish it, like you did with a mask. That last bit leads Cindy to ask you what you did with the rest of the supplies that she passed on to you, and you tell her that they are still in your truck, back at Westside. She drinks down the rest of her coffee with a thoughtful expression, then says, "We could make another mask." Your heart beats hard, once. "What for?" "To have," she says. She fixes you with a cool but penetrating look. "Make another fake girl?" "Yeah, okay," you stammer, and are suddenly much more conscious of your breasts, your hips, your hair, and your face. "You can also, uh, put this mask on"—you feel yourself blushing—"anytime you want." "Right," she says, and she doesn't sound impressed by the offer. "But just having a second face around," she adds, "could be useful." "Who would we use? To make the new girl?" "I don't know." She puts her coffee to her mouth, but doesn't sip right away. "I'll think about it," she says, then drains her mug. "Come on," she says, "let's go back to my place, and we'll make another mask." But you have a different idea, after she's dropped you off to pick up your truck. * * * * * "Me and my friends used to hang out here all the time last year," you tell Cindy as you gesture at the place. "But we haven't been back in forever. I'm really surprised my lock was still on the door." It's a basement you're showing her, at the community center a few blocks from your house, in Acheson. It used to be an elementary school, but decades ago (even before you were born) it was closed and converted to a new use. You never paid much attention to it, until one afternoon in your junior year, when you were wandering around the neighborhood, bored out of your head. The center is located in the old cafeteria, on the other side of the building, and on this side you found an outside door. It was at the bottom of a short flight of steps, next to a row of windows that peeped out just above ground level. There was a padlock on it. You were in the mood to cause damage, so you went home, got a crowbar, and jimmied your way inside. There was another flight of steps on the inside, leading down into a dark, dank, and dirty basement that smelled of dust, grease, and old metal. It was stacked deep with desks, tables, chairs, bookcases, gymnastic equipment, cabinetry, and even sinks, toilets and urinals. You explored, pulling down bits of wreckage and making paths for yourself. You called Caleb and Keith over, and they agreed it would make an awesome hideout, provided you didn't get caught by the community center staff. You put your own padlock on the door, so that the break-in wouldn't look obvious, and for a couple of weeks you and your friends hung out there. But it has been nearly a year since you've been back, and you weren't hopeful of finding your padlock still hanging up. You changed back into your own face and clothes—and you're in them now—before stopping by your house to pick up the padlock key, then headed over to the school to look. Sure enough, your lock was still on the door. You DMed Cindy to come over and take a look. Think I know good place to do work not at home, you told her. She looks askance at the place, sniffs and pulls her nose, then cautiously treads all the way down the stairs. She looks around, and slips through and between tottering piles of old furniture, being careful not to touch or brush up agains them. "There's a big work table back there!" you call to her before she can disappear behind some bookcases. When she emerges, she nods. "Yeah, I guess this is a place we can do some stuff," she says. "I don't want to hang out here, though." She hugs herself, for it is chilly. "But, you know, the kind of work that makes a mess, that makes a stink." She wrinkles her nose. "I wasn't looking forward to doing that back at my place." So you transfer the bulk of the supplies down into the basement and close yourself up inside. Working together, you cast a new mask, and together you choke and gag on the fumes. You also make a new metal band so it will have a brain to go with it. You rock-paper-scissor to see who does the polishing work on the mask—it will take a week, Cindy says—and you get the job. * * * * * But the unpolished mask is sitting on your bed, and you're doing homework, when you get a DM alert on your phone. You're astonished to see it's from Steve Patterson: What u doing ths wkend, girl? he wants to know. Next: "Flirting with the Enemy" |
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