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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Girl from Left Field"  That's all you say to Yumi, for running through the back of your mind is the chirpy text you found on your iPhone this morning, from Chelsea: wow it worked great!!! thx so much talk later!! So as Yumi walks away, a ripple of gooseflesh runs up your spine. Was that really Yumi you just talked to? Or was it just a golem, now under Chelsea's control, that she sent to talk to you? Or was it really ... Chelsea herself in disguise? You shiver hard, and survey the surging crowd with a gimlet eye. Fakes. Any of them could be a fake. * * * * * You don't see Chelsea that day, so when classes let out you send her a text: plan for today? Though if that was Chelsea you talked to this morning, and not Yumi, then maybe her plan is to get you to that party she mentioned. Either way, you only get a gnomic reply,: working onit. You drive home in a thoughtful mood, and after unloading your book bag you sit at your desk and start to carve runes into one of the half-dozen new brain-copier you made yesterday. (Hey, it's something to do, even if you've got no immediate plans for it.) But you're not at work long before you pull out your cell phone and open it to Alexis's Instagram page, propping it up so you can study the screen as you work. Alexis has uploaded a dozen new photos since you last checked, including several selfies. You settle on one of the selfies, and your eye flicks between it and the metal strip. Is Alexis Lachance beautiful, or even just pretty? Is she cute? You're undecided, even after you magnify the image. You know that you want to call her beautiful. Her features are regular, her complexion clear, her smile wide and bright and very white. You like the way her blonde hair is casually pulled back into a ponytail even as thick strands dangle loosely around her face, as though she doesn't have to work at it to make her hair look good. But there is still something ... off ... about her. The trouble is in her eyes, you decide after awhile. There's a hollowness there, a brittleness behind them and inside her smile. You're reminded again of a china doll—a thing that is light and empty and fragile, even when painted most beautifully. Still, Alexis is very slim and very graceful. She has a bosom, too, though it is small. You put your hand to your own chest and close your eyes and imagine it enclosing a breast. You imagine long hair trailing down the back of your neck, and when you smile you imagine it's the smooth, even smile of Alexis Lachance and not the tangled-in-his-teeth grin of Will Prescott. I'm Alexis Lachance, you tell yourself, and I'm a junior at Westside High. I'm friends with— You open your eyes to check her account for some names, but you're interrupted by a text from Chelsea: my place now. For a moment you stare at it. Then you realize what it must mean. You knock half the things off your desk as you bolt to your feet. * * * * * Chelsea is standing on the stairs when her disheveled brother lets you in. Impatiently, she beckons you up. "It's about time," she fumes as she leads you up the hall. "I was running out of excuses to keep her here." "You live on the other side of town from me," you retort. You also had to stop by the old elementary school. "Whatever." She grasps a doorknob and catches her breath. Then, with a toss of her head, she pushes the door open. "So, I'm back," she grandly declares as she enters the room beyond. "Oh, and this is—" You shove her aside and lunge at the girl by the bed. Alexis Lachance only has time to widen her eyes in surprise before you're on her. A mask is already in your hand, and you paste her hard in the face with it. Chelsea squeals. "What did you do that for?" "This is her, isn't it?" you ask. "It looks like her." A cold hand seems to close about your heart. "Did I fuck up?" "I don't know," Chelsea says, and hurries up. She peers down at the girl, who has collapsed on the bed. "God, I hope you didn't hurt her! You didn't give me any time to—" "Listen, I'm on a schedule! It's dinnertime, and my mom gave me a really dirty look as I ran out the door." You glance around as you yank the second mask from your book bag. "Is there anyplace private where I can put this thing on?" "What is it?" "It's a blank mask. To copy myself into." You scowl into Chelsea's bewildered face. "I thought you know how this works! I need to copy myself into it. Then I need you to seal it. Is that special goop here? The stuff we made with my hair?" Chelsea turns pale—whether from fear, anger or confusion, you don't know—and nods. "Okay, after the mask finishes copying me, you'll have to seal it up with that goop." "You mean like I did last night?" She scowls. "I think I know what to do, Will." You could've fooled me, you almost say. "Okay. After you get it sealed and gooped up, put it on Alexis. It'll turn her into me and you can send her home. Tell her— Uh, him—" You are momentarily overwhelmed as you try to sort through everything that has to be done. "Tell the new me to get his ass home for supper. Also, he should text my mom to tell her that I'm, uh, he's on his way." "I think I can handle it," Chelsea says. She spins you around and points you toward a door. "You can take your clothes off in there before you put the mask on, that way I don't have to pull them off you. But drape a towel over yourself, okay? If I wanna look at your privates I'll take a peek, but probably I won't." On the other side of the bathroom is a bathroom. It's very pink—or at least that's the impression you get—but you don't dawdle to look it over. You kick off your shoes, peel off your socks, yank off your shirt, and shove off your jeans. I'm getting naked in Chelsea Cooper's private bathroom, you think to yourself, and the shiver that runs through you is a compound of excitement and cold. You grab a hand towel as you drop to the floor, and drape it over your crotch as you lay back. You drop the mask onto your face. Your limbs freeze, and for one long, terrifying moment you feel yourself paralyzed all over. Then the floor seems to open and swallow you up. * * * * * A chill in your back is the first thing you notice when you are again capable of noticing anything. A bone-deep cold runs from your shoulder blades down to your ass, and with a hard shiver you roll over into a fetal position. You grapple for a blanket, and find nothing. Your head is full of angry, furry bees as you sit up and squint against the light. You're in a bathroom. There's a fuzzy pink ... thing ... covering the toilet lid, and you blink up stupidly at a wall that's the color of Pepto-Bismol. What kind of nightmare is this? Then, with a groan, you remember. You're in Chelsea Cooper's bathroom. You rub your face, for you feel like you've woken from a very deep sleep. You suppose that's exactly what happened. How long were you out for? You still have that hand towel over your crotch, but your clothes are gone, so Chelsea must have come in and gotten them. There are no noises from the other side of the door. And when you look down you see that you still have that patchy hair in the middle of your flat, bony chest. You grimace and stand up. Yes, that's your face in the mirror. You pull the door open a crack while hiding behind it. Chelsea is on her bed with her cell phone. "Hey," you hiss at her. "Hey!" She looks up, and a half-smile rides up one side of her face. "There you are," she says. "Took you long enough, on both sides of the trip." "What trip?" "Oh, I just mean the copying thing," she says as she bounces off the bed. "I had time to go downstairs and talk to my mom before the silly thing came out of you. Then it took you, like—" She glances at her phone. "Well, long enough for you to wake up again. How do you feel?" "I feel like I'm wondering what's going on. Where's, uh—?" "The other you?" She makes a face. "Gone. I had to push him out the door. He was all, like, 'The fuck?' and giving me dirty looks, and he wouldn't cover up his private parts. You don't brag about them, do you? I mean," she continues as you freeze at the question, "it's not like you've got anything to be ashamed of, but it's just so crude." She says some more stuff after that, but you're too much in awe of her saying you've got nothing to be ashamed of dick-wise to respond. You don't start paying attention again until she hands you a mask. "So here's the mask of Alexis," she says. "I assume it'll work like the other ones." Your fingers close around the mask. It is very cool to the touch. You turn it over, and a name blazes out: ALEXIS KRYSTAL LACHANCE. The fantasy you had up in your bedroom comes flooding back. You're going to turn yourself into this girl. You will have her body, and everything else she's got. You will be her. You look up into the silence. Chelsea dimples back at you. "Better get on it," she says. "Alexis told me she's got plans for tonight." She titters. You gulp, and close the bathroom door. Next: "Becoming Alexis" |
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