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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Senior Secrets"  Your girlfriend continues to look skeptical, even after you dig through Ellie's phone to find a couple of selfies that she's taken with Coach Schell, a youthful, clear-skinned blonde who is much more fit than any of the teenage girls that she coaches. But it's not until you remind her that you could use the coach's house—or apartment, or whatever—as a base of operations that she softens. "You're more into this idea than I am, Will," she says. "But we'll do it." That pleases you, for the more you think about Coach Schell, the more excited you are at the prospect of adding her to the coven. You wonder, in the back of your head, if some of that excitement is Ellie's own, for you get the impression that Ellie is envious (in an admiring way) of the volleyball coach. Sydney is reluctant to return to Reagan's house, but she is equally anxious to get out of her own house, because (she admits) she is freaked out by her doppelganger. So you scoop up and pack all the supplies, and carry them downstairs. A girl who looks like Sydney is in the living room, carrying on a conversation with a woman who looks like an older version of herself. Her stepdad has gone. "We're going to take off now, Sydney!" you call out brightly to her. "Hello, Mrs. McGlynn!" Sydney's mother smiles at you; the fake-Sydney murmurs something to her, and she says, "Hello, Ellie! I'll talk to my husband about this fundraising party idea." "Oh, you don't have to do that! I'm not sure— I mean, it's just an idea we're talking about. And we should talk to our coach about it first. You don't have to say or think about anything until, you know, we know for sure, uh, on our end if—" You're distracted by the way Reagan is bumping you in the back. "Well, we can talk about it too," Mrs. McGlynn says indulgently. "Well, it was nice meeting you," you say, and edge toward the door. Outside, Reagan murmurs, "God, that was even worse than just talking to that girl in there by herself!" "Are you going to be okay with these impersonations?" you ask. "You sound like you're not having fun." "No, I'll get through it, as long as I'm not around— And you know, we just have to get these girls programmed to be, like, what we want them to be. Do you think that'll take long?" "I 'unno. We'll just have to see." You load your supplies into the back of Reagan's car, then get into the passenger side. "Let's go back out to the basement, finish up some more stuff. My mom— Ellie's mom," you correct herself, "likes to barge in when she's got company. We'll have more privacy out there." Reagan talks a little more on the drive out, but you don't pay much attention, and lean back, smiling, with your eyes closed, and enjoy the warmth of the sun on your bare thighs. * * * * * It's early evening, and you've finished off two more memory strips and glued them into masks before you take a break and get something to eat. You're texted your new mom to confirm it'll be okay if Reagan spends the night with you, so everything is set up there for you and Sydney. You also set it up on Reagan's end by texting and then talking on the phone to her mom. To manage that, you briefly switch out of Ellie's mask and into Reagan's, and confirm that you get Reagan's memories instantly. That only deepens the mystery of why those memories won't unlock for Sydney. The problem dissolves in anticlimax, though. You go to bed around ten, sharing Ellie's queen-size bed, and you embrace and even indulge in a little soft, quiet, but lustful kissing after the lights are out, and quickly fall asleep. Reagan comes awake at a little before six, though, rousing herself and you with some swinging fists. It takes you a few moments to calm her down, and her gaze is distant and feverish while you try to shake her out of whatever nightmare was riding and thrashing her. When she recovers herself with a groan, she excuses herself to the bathroom, leaving to you huddle, frowning with anxiety, as she takes a long shower. She's much calmer when she emerges, still damp, with a towel wrapped around her, to tell you that she's got Reagan's memories now. That's what woke her up, she says: a nightmare in which she was being crawled over and invaded by an army of ants, and when she woke it was with vivid and horrific impression that she had been eaten from the inside out and converted into a skin-suit inhabited by a giant bug-queen. The morning light, though, dispels all but the faintest shadow from her face as you both dress and prepare for the day. By the time you drive in to school (together, in Reagan's car), the girl is her warm, bold, confident self. "So I wonder if Will and Sydney will come to school together," Reagan says as the two of you climb out of her car. There's an impudent gleam in her eye as she turns a laughing face toward you. "You're going to have to point this guy out to me," you reply. I'm Ellie Kemp, you think at Reagan with a smug smile. The fresh, cool morning air prickles pleasantly against your bare thighs and arms, and the tips of your breasts tingle as you worm your way even deeper into the impersonation. "Did he at least use to be on any of the varsity teams?" "I don't think so," Reagan says. She looks like she wants to laugh aloud. "Not to look at him. But I'm sure he's got something going for him. Sydney wouldn't—" "He's got a personality, you mean? Or maybe he only takes his prowess out when it's just him and Sydney?" You smirk. "Oh, God!" Reagan slaps at you with a shriek and a laugh. "You're awful!" You don't reply, but wave across the lot at a couple of other girls, then stride into the breezeway that connects the student parking lot to the school. Inside, you separate from Reagan, for you have to drop your book bag off in your locker. Then, with your workout bag over your shoulder, you go to the gym. Pre-class basketball practice is just breaking up in the east court when you enter, and you cast a quick, appreciative glance at the players as they troop toward the boys' changing room. Dylan Lloyd and Darren Green grin back openly at you—they've hit on Ellie before, at parties—but you ignore them to stare at Scott Frazier, a blonde kid with a trim torso and sexy legs. Of all the basketball players, he's the only one that Ellie even likes a little bit, for he is quiet and no showboater, even though he's very good. Good for you, girl, you congratulate Ellie, on having a crush on someone who's sexy without being an asshole. But you turn your back to stride into the hallway under the mezzanine, where the coaching staff have their offices. Those offices are more like large closets, and they are packed close together. Most of the doors are open and the lights lit, and the braying voices of the male coaches bounce up and down the hallway. You ignore them, though, walk boldly up to the open office door of Coach Schell, You knock at it, and smile as the coach looks up from behind her desk. "Morning!" you call out to her. "Do you have a minute to talk before we start class?" "I've got fifteen minutes," she says as she glances at the clock on the wall. "What's up?" She doesn't react as you push the door almost closed. "Reagan and I went out to see a friend ours," you tell her as you set your athletic bag on her desk, and you prattle on about the fundraising idea as you dig out one of the masks you and Sydney prepped yesterday afternoon. Coach Schell watches you with a curious expression, and she doesn't react even when you step around her desk. Not until you are leaning over her does a note of alarm show in her eyes. But then it's too late. You press the mask to her face. It slides into her—like pushing a plate into a soapy sink of water—and then her expression goes blank and her eyes lose their focus. She sags in her chair, but doesn't slide out. You shut her office door, then push the lock in. After a moment's thought, you turn the light off, and use the glow from your phone to find your way back to the corner of the coach's desk. You're perched there for five minutes or so, patiently watching the seconds tick down on your phone, when you hear a soft knock. You hold your breath. The door handle jiggles, and there's another knock. Then silence. Your phone goes off with a text from Reagan: Am at coachs office where r u? You hop off the desk and open the door. Reagan, startled, catches her breath as you grab her shoulder and tug her inside."What—?" Reagan hisses as you close and lock the door again. "All done," you murmur. "Well, not all done," you correct yourself. "Waiting on the mask." The light from your phone shines from below, casting a pale, ghostly shine and eerie, flickering shadows, over Reagan's face. You grip her bicep and whisper, "Do you want to be her?" "I just got Reagan's memories!" she whispers back. "What if I can't get hers?" "We'll just put the stuff into the mask. Then you can switch with her tonight." Reagan looks thoughtful, but says nothing. Next: "Coach Class" |
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