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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Code Name: Cody"  Chelsea has left you staggered. Doing me a favor? you wonder. What kind of favor? And what's the favor: to give you Cody as an alias, or to accept it it for herself? "I don't want to make you do anything," you sputter at Chelsea. "It's up to you!" "Don't put this on me, Will!" "But I thought—!" Chelsea wheels and marches over to sit in the chair by her study desk. With her hands on her knees, she smiles broadly at you. "Finish making the thing," she says. "And finish it however you want!" You facepalm. She isn't even going to explain herself! You get onto the bed, to kneel beside Cody. Though his face is slack and has lost all expression—he doesn't even look asleep, he looks dead; all the life has flowed out of him, leaving only fleshy slops behind—he remains handsome and healthy in appearance. So what is wrong with him that Chelsea is backing away from the original plan? At first you figure it must be that she doesn't want to exchange her trim and sexy cheerleader body, with its hefty boobs and bubble butt and shimmering cascades of golden hair, for a gross boy's body. But then you remember when you caught her in the loft a few days ago, trying to wear Gary Chen's mask. Chen is even more repulsive (surely!) than Cody, so it can't be that. Besides, according to the plan, Chelsea wouldn't even have to wear Cody's body, just control it. And it's like she doesn't even want to do that. You look over your shoulder at her. "And you don't want Cody for yourself because—?" Her smile is wide but humorless. "I told you, Will," she says, "it's completely up to you." You go back to studying Cody. The metal strip fades onto his forehead as you are still grappling with Chelsea's challenge, and you twitch it off and place the blank mask onto him. It sinks into his face as quickly and smoothly as a flat stone slipping beneath the surface of a pond, leaving not even a ripple. "He should be your, uh, zombie," you tell her, and scramble off the bed to hold the metal strip out to her. "That way—" "You don't have to explain, Will," Chelsea says as she takes it. There's no hesitation in her manner. "I told you, it's completely up to you!" She looks down at the strip. "Cody Michael Schaeffer," she muses. "This is going to be interesting. Do I just put it on?" "If you're going to, um, 'wear him home'," you reply. "But first," you hastily add, and grab her wrist before she can raise the strip to her forehead, "we should make a copy of you first. To put onto him." You nod at Cody. "We have to get him out of the way. And someone needs to stay behind to be you." Chelsea titters. "You're so smart, Will!" * * * * * The process is more than a little fraught. Chelsea lays on the bed beside Cody and you lower the second mask—the one with the memory strip attached—onto her face, where it vanishes. Not more than a minute later, Mrs. Cooper calls from downstairs, and you rush out to intercept her before she can come up and barge in on the crazy scene in her daughter's bedroom. (Turns out the family is ordering dinner from a restaurant online and she wants to know what Chelsea wants. After getting Mrs. Cooper to tell you some of Chelsea's preferred choices, you run back upstairs to "ask" Chelsea for her choice, then come downstairs again to give it to Mrs. Cooper.) And when you return to the bedroom, the mask is on Cody's face even as the other mask is still inside Chelsea. It's a delicate operation: You lift the mask off Cody and seal it up while watching him for signs of waking. He is still asleep when the mask appears on Chelsea, which you carefully lift off. That mask too you seal, and then into its inner surface you add some of the zombifying goop. Your heart is in your throat as you execute the last step: with a pair of scissors you quietly pull from her desk drawer, you snip off a little of Chelsea's hair, lay it inside the mask, and set fire to it. The interior of the mask briefly smokes, then turns a dull gray color. To your immense relief, Cody is still knocked out when you lean over him and set Chelsea's mask onto him. You weren't watching for the transformation, but you're still surprised by it, and by its speed. It's as if the mask evaporated from your grasp and, at the same instant, Chelsea—or a copy of her—was lying where Cody had been. And this Chelsea is fully awake. Her eyes snap open and lock onto you. For a moment she looks faintly puzzled, and she blinks a couple of times. When you hop back to give her room, she sits up. You hold your breath, wondering what's going to happen next. The new Chelsea stares at you, then glances around, and does a violent double-take when she sees the other Chelsea lying next to her. She gasps, and her hand goes to her chest, as though to stop her heart from popping out. A wild look comes into her eyes as she looks around, and she gasps again when she sees the way she is dressed: a floppy black polo shirt that almost falls off her shoulders; baggy shorts; and shoes that fall off when she kicks her feet. "Oh my God, Yumi! I mean, Will!" she squeals. "What did—? Oh!" "What's wrong?" you ask. This reaction alarms, and suddenly you're not sure that it's not Cody you're talking to. "Chelsea?" "You've got to get out of here. Get out of here!" she shouts, and she bounces and flops and swims her way violently off the bed. She pushes you back and runs for the bathroom, slamming the door in your astonished face. There's a groan behind you, and you turn around. Chelsea—the real Chelsea—is grimacing as she slowly sits up, and she puts a hand to her forehead. "The hell?" she mutters. "What—?" Her eyes wrench open and she peers nearsightedly at you. "Yumi?" she says. "What did—?" She looks around. "Where's—?" She catches sight of her own hand and frowns at it. She turns it this way and that, curling the fingers and examining the nails. Then her gaze falls past her hand to her bosom and the body beyond. She draws a deep, almost endless breath. "What ... the ... fuh-huh-huh-huh-huh?" Dazedly, she lowers her hand to touch, then cradle a bosom. "Chelsea?" She doesn't respond. Her breath sounds raggedly as she squeezes a bosom, then slowly sits up. Tangled, golden hair falls into her face, which she pushes back. While still cupping her breast with one hand, she gingerly touches her face with the other. "Chelsea?" She raises her head, staring at you with eyes and a mouth that are almost perfectly circular. For an endless moment you stare at each other. Then she shakes herself violently all over and screeches. "Will?" "Chelsea! Are you okay?" "I'm—! Whoa!" She bounces off the bed and runs for the bathroom, almost breaking her nose on the door when she bangs into it. "What's with the—? Who's in the—?" she demands, and bangs the flat of her hand against the door. "It's the other one," you gabble. "Cody. He's Chelsea now. I mean, I put the mask on him and he turned into—ulp!—you, and he—" "He turned into me?" "Well, that was the idea! Right? I put that stuff in your mask and—" Chelsea, her face white and rigid with alarm, bangs on the door. "You! Open up! Open this—!" The door flies open and Chelsea falls inside. For the briefest moment you see a tangle of two Chelseas on the other side, then the door slams shut again. You fall onto the foot of the bed, staring. Your knees are like water. * * * * * For five minutes ... ten minutes ... ten days ... ten years ... you sit on Chelsea's bed and wait. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your hands feel numb. Something has gone colossally wrong, you feel, but you don't know what and you don't know how to fix it. You can only hope that you're able to catch it and stanch it before it spins completely out of control. From behind the door comes the sound of furtive movement and whispered voices. Finally, after a lengthy silence, the door opens, and Chelsea comes out. She quickly pulls the door shut behind her. She's dressed as she was before, in a blouse and jeans and snow-white sneakers. Her hair is artfully tousled. But her face is white and she won't meet your gaze. "Um, Will," she says. "Chelsea told me to tell you to go, and to wait for ... her ... at the shopping center on Twentieth." "Which shopping center? Wait. Chelsea said?" With a pinched look, Chelsea glances over her shoulder at the bathroom door. "Yeah. Chelsea." Oh. So this is the fake you're talking to. The one that used to be ... Cody Schaeffer. She is very impatient, but she finally makes it clear she means the shopping center with the Dominos Pizza in it. And since she is so unpleasant, you beat it from the house and make the mile-drive to the Carriage Hills Shopping Center, where you park in front of the Dominos and wait. It's nearly thirty minutes before a black Nissan Maxima pulls into the lot and parks in a spot a few slots down. You get out, but you wait by your car until the driver has gotten out too. Cody Schaeffer is perfectly coiffed. He jerks his chin at you as he saunters over. "Hey, Yumi," he says. "Thanks for waiting." "Chelsea?" you ask in a small voice. He snickers. "Yeah. It was all kind of confusing back there. Sorry about that." He leans against your car. "So," he says. "Friday night. Where do you want to 'accidentally' meet? Dance club, or at a party?" Next: "Flirt Till You Hurt" |
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