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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Jock and the Nerd"  Why do you keep calling me 'Steve'? the new Steve Patterson wants to know. You feel the smile freeze onto the front of your face. After an awkward moment, you push the rest of his clothes toward him. "Here," you tell him. "Just put these on. You'll feel a lot better. Then we'll talk." He seems to realize for the first time that he's naked, and his hands drop to his crotch. You wink at him, then close the car door on him. You go back to studying the screen of your cell phone, but your mind is elsewhere. When I woke up in Chelsea's mask, you recall to yourself, I thought I was her, and it took me a while to remember everything else. But Philip Fairfax is acting like he doesn't know he's now Steve Patterson. Well, you try to assure yourself, maybe it works different with different people. He isn't long in emerging, crawling out of your car and stepping tentatively onto the parking lot asphalt, as though it's covered in glass shards. He frowns with bewilderment and something like anger, and as he sways on his feet he lifts his hand to study it. It's big, with long, crooked fingers. "How do you feel?" you ask. A cold jacket of anxiety is wrapped around your own heart. "What's wrong with me?" he asks. "What happened? I—" "Here." You turn on the camera in your phone, and hold it out to him. "Have a look at yourself." An expression of fear crawls over his face as he takes it from you, and stares into the screen. His brow remains furrowed, but fear pops into his eyes, and his lips curl back to show strong, hard teeth. "This isn't me," he whispers, and gently touches his cheek. "It is now," you tell him. "You know whose face it is, don't you? I mean, you recognize it, right?" The grin he returns you is ghastly, but he says nothing. "It's Steve Patterson's," you say for him. "It's his face. And his body. But now they're yours. Everything that was his is yours." You glance back meaningfully at his car, which is parked next to yours, but he just keeps staring at you. You expected him to be shocked, but you didn't expect him to freeze up so hard. "Philip," you tell him in a gentle voice. "Yes, I know who you used to be. You were Philip Fairfax. You still are, I guess. Remember, I set it up so you'd meet up with me after school? Remember that?" you prod him when he just stares at you. Finally, he nods. "Right. You were Philip Fairfax. But I changed that." You titter. "I guess I'm a little bit of a witch." His lips twitch, and his eyes harden. "But never mind. You don't have to know how it worked. You'll want to know why, though. Why I changed you. And why—" You touch his chest with light fingertips. "Why it was you I picked." He swallows hard, glances around the cramped parking lot behind the strip center, and nods. * * * * * He listens with an intensity that's a little frightening, as though he's trying to drill more information out of you than you're willing to give. And what you're willing to give is little enough. "It's a body swap, Philip," you tell him. "I body-swapped you and Steve Patterson. He's back up at the school now, with your clothes and your car and your phone, and your glasses and everything. After he's finished freaking out, I guess he'll go back to you house and start doing the kind of things that you'd do. Because what else is he going to do? It doesn't matter about him. He's the victim, and I don't have anything to say to him. You're the one I'm interested in." "Why?" the new Steve croaks. Because you're part of the plan." "What plan?" Now he actually sounds scared. "To fix the school. You know what a shit house Westside is. I mean, I assume you've noticed." He makes no reply. "It's full of shitty people. People like Steve. You've noticed that, right? What an asshole he is?" A furtive look crawls onto his face, but he makes no reply. "Well, I'm changing that. I'm recasting the roles. Steve is, like, 'star jock' at the school. But he's an asshole. So I recast the role." You poke him in the chest. "Now you're Steve. You're the 'star jock.' But you're not going to be an asshole. Right?" He looks puzzled. "I'm not?" "Are you? Are you an asshole, Philip? I don't think you are," you tell him when he doesn't answer. "Everything I hear, you're a really nice guy. Really smart and sweet and nice. I wish Steve was smart and sweet and nice. He wasn't, though. But now he will be. Because you're going to be him." Steve rubs his forehead, as though trying to wipe away a headache. "I don't understand," he murmurs. "What's to understand?" you retort, and you're starting to feel a little impatient. Philip Fairfax is supposed to be some kind of genius, so why isn't he getting it? "I switched you and Steve. You're him now. You've got everything he's got. Everyone is going to think that you're him. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being a big guy at Westside, running the basketball squad, having all the girls chasing you. Oh my God, all the pussy you're going to be getting! And the only price you have to pay for it," you add as he pales, "is that you have to be a nice guy. All you have to do is not be an asshole, the way Steve was." Maybe it's all starting to penetrate, because his gaze goes distant, and turns thoughtful. Still, his brow furrows. "You said something about a plan?" "It's the plan I just told you, to get rid of the assholes and put nice people in instead. You're the first. There's going to be others. And I'll need your help." You settle your hands on his hips, and a shiver runs through him. "I want us to be partners," you breathe at him. * * * * * Eventually he gets the confidence to ask you for details about the plan—like, who else is going to be replaced—but mostly he wants to know how the "body swap" got pulled off. "I'll tell you about that later," you promise him. "After you've gotten used to things." He also wants to know why and how you came up with this plan, and again with a simpering smile you tell him you'll explain that later on too. Eventually, he blurts out an objection. "I understand that I look like the guy," he says, raising his hands and studying his fingers. "But I don't understand how I'll be able to impersonate him." "Why not?" "Because I don't know anything about him," he says. "I don't know where he lives, who his friends are, which classes he's got. Except for the ones we have together. I don't know anything about his family!" You give him a reassuring smile, even though his protests worry you. "Give it a little time," you tell him, though you're wondering why he hasn't gotten Steve's memories yet. "Drive around town and try to relax. Check out his social media," you add when his phone, which has been chiming all this time in the back seat of your car, goes off again. "Things will start shaking loose." He looks dubious, and is very slow to crawl into his car. Even then, he sits behind the wheel for a very long time, staring down at his phone with a look of intense concentration. And he gives you a very peevish look as he backs out of the parking space. After he's gone you let out a long, deep sigh, and text Caleb to tell him he can rejoin you now. "Finally," he grouses a minute later as he comes around the corner. "The looks I was getting, I could tell they thought I was a shoplifter!" He scratches under a pit, and grimaces. "So what now?" "We wait until we hear back from Philip." "Cool. I know how we can kill the time." He leans in to kiss your neck. "Ungh!" You push him away. "Later. We really shouldn't be seen together." "No one'll see us if we go back to the clubhouse." He leans in again, and you let him get a taste of you while you figure out what you want to do next. It bothers you that Philip is being so slow to pick up Steve's memories and whatnot, and it also bothers you that he was acting distant and close-mouthed with you. It gives you a sneaking suspicion that he might go off and try to find the real Steve, and the last thing you need is two guys, one with Steve Patterson's brain and the other with Steve Patterson's body, ganging up against you. So, now that Philip is out of your sight, you find yourself thinking that maybe you should go pick him up again and keep him close. In fact, you're just about ready to text him and call him back when Caleb murmurs in your ear. "You know," he says, "we've got that extra mask of Chelsea back at the clubhouse. I could put it on, and we could—" He doesn't finish the suggestion. He doesn't have to. The thought he's shared is like a shot of hot steam right up through your core, wetting you all the way through. Next: "Adding a Third" |
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