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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Plan Comes Together ..."  Chelsea didn't just ask her brother to go to the store with you. She made him drive, saying you'd need the space in his SUV to pick up all the stuff she put on her list. So for once you're riding shotgun, and can give your full attention to Jordan's warning: "Some of the guys at Westside are looking to crash the party." But Jordan can't spare his full attention to the conversation. He's driving and pushing buttons on the satellite radio and he's even got his cell his lap, and he keeps glancing down at it as though waiting for a text or a call. So he only says "Huh?" in a very distracted way when you ask, "What guys?" "Oh, LAX guys. I guess. I heard it from Charlie, and -- You remember Russo?" "Danny Russo?" "No, his brother. Charlie. But Danny -- He hasn't graduated yet, has he? Danny, I mean." "No." You'd like to throttle Jordan, but that would only further distract him and he'd probably crash the car, and then you'd never get him to reach the point. "Yeah, I heard it from Charlie," he says. "He heard it from Danny, so I'm guessing it's LAX guys, since Danny's on the team. Or he was, last I heard." He yawns, hard. "Or maybe it's someone else. I've lost track of who's on the squads these days." You nod, and keep your temper in check. "Are you sure it's someone crashing the party? 'Cos Chelsea did invite some of the football guys out." "Is Danny Russo one of them? Well," he continues after you answer in the negative. "The way I heard it from Charlie, a bunch of the guys heard what you and Chelsea had planned for tonight -- " Get on with it, dumbass, you hiss to yourself. " -- and I don't know if they were pissed off or just full of piss, but I heard they all decided they were going to crash in on it." You wait for more, because so far he hasn't said anything more than he already said at the start of the conversation: "Some of the guys at Westside are looking to crash the party." When it becomes clear he has nothing more to add, you just grunt. And Jordan, having unburdened himself, apparently decides that he has nothing more to say on the subject either. You chew on what he's told you. Your first instinct is to not worry about it. If Danny Russo is one of the guys coming, then it's bound to be mostly laxies busting in. Russo and Noah Lepley, probably. Jeb Ash. Maybe Lukos Arjis -- he's a troublemaker. That wouldn't bother you much, but it would bother Chelsea greatly, and that's the only way it would turn into trouble for you. But it would be even worse trouble if certain members of the football squad came with them. Like, if Huber and Mitchell were two of the guys looking to crash the party when two guys who look just like them were also planning to crash it. * * * * * So when you get to the store, you send Jordan in one direction with a shopping cart while you go off in another, and after you've separated you call your old cell. "Hey, it's me," you say. "We got a problem." "I got a problem here," Will Prescott says. "I can't talk. I'm at work." "Good, 'cos while you're there, try to find out if Mitchell's planning to get into Chelsea's party tonight." "Stop being paranoid. Anyway, I can't talk to him. He's being all pissy, I think on account of the way I clonked him on the head yesterday when I got the mask on him. Uh-oh, gotta go, bye." The line goes dead. You clench your teeth and call Caleb. You wanted to talk to Gordon instead of him, because you know how Caleb will react. And he doesn't disappoint. "Okay, then I'm not going out to Chelsea's," he says after you've told him what you heard. "It was a totally unappealing idea anyway, and if we're going to run into the real guys out there -- Or even if there's just a chance we could -- " "Look, I'm giving you a head's up so you can check it out and we can be sure," you say. "You need to talk to Gordon as soon as he's off work -- " "That'll be too late for us. He goes home as soon as he's off work, 'cos he goes home with his dad most days now. Your dad, I mean. They're like best friends now, did you know that?" You rub your eye as he starts to prattle. "Jesus, Will Prescott and his dad, bee-eff-effs. I don't know how the fuck you're gonna get back on your dad's bad side if you ever, uh, you know. Oh wait, look who I'm talking to. You can get on your dad's bad side just by leaving the refrigerator door open a couple of hundred times." You drop your cell into the grocery cart, snatch up a bag of chips, and pound it to dust with your fist. Then you pick up the cell again. "Shut up, I don't need to hear any of this. He can talk to you on the phone when he gets back home, can't he? Text him, tell him you need to talk to him, it's an emergency, and tell him what I told you." "Can't you tell him?" "I tried. He's at work, and by the time he gets off I'll be back at Chelsea's and then I won't be able to talk." "Where are you now?" "Shut. The fuck. Up. That's where I am. Just do it, Johansson." You hang up. * * * * * Chelsea was right. The amount of food that you bought wouldn't have fit inside the Bug, and it takes multiple trips -- even weighing down your hands and arms with five or six grocery bags each -- to get it all into her house from Jordan's car. Then you have to help move and rearrange the furniture, and Chelsea has to come check and make you do it again, and then check and do it again. And then you're moving and securing valuables and closing and locking doors, and running a couple of more errands when Chelsea realizes that she left some things off the list and that she is running short on some others. Some guests start to show up early, before eight. Mostly they are Chelsea's crew -- Kendra Saunders, Gloria Rea, Maria Vasquez -- there to help out. But Steve shows up early as well, as he usually does, because he knows that otherwise Gordon will go crazy. You warn him that you're expecting trouble. "I can put some of the guys outside," he tells you. "Bennett, Green, Martin, those guys. They're used to running interference." "They'll wanna be inside with the girls." You slam back the soda you're drinking -- a poor substitute for the beer you're craving -- and drill holes in the wall with your eyes. "I'll do it myself. I'll get Jason to help me." "Chelsea will want you inside." "Then she can come find me. Over and over again." An hour sweeps by, and the crowd starts to thicken. It begins with the basketball squad, who arrive in a couple of carloads. More cheerleaders -- all except that strange outcast, Michelle Estrich -- arrive at about the same time. Other kids -- the ones who are barely cool enough for Chelsea, and who barely tolerate her but can't quite resist the attention or the chance to party -- don't start arriving until nine or nine-thirty. They include a scattering of players from the other varsity teams, both male and female. The ones you notice include Michael Allen and Dawn Fernandez (baseball/softball); Marc Garner and Hannah Westrick (soccer); Nathan Cruz and Christine Coolidge (swimming); Fred Hildown and Catherine Muskov (track). The football invitees arrive in a single SUV with much hooting and hollering: Erik Carstairs, Dalton Douglas, Connor Vale, Roy Nelson, Cole Stanchik, and Dominic Kleason. You're outside when they arrive, and they all clap your hand in theirs; and you're not sure, but you think you can detect a glint in mischief in their greetings, as though they know something you don't and can't wait for you to find out. And all this time you haven't heard back from your friends. You don't figure out why until the front door wrenches open a little after ten and Marcos Rivera puts his head out. "Ay, there you are," he says with a wide, white smile. "Chelsea's looking for you, man," he tells you. "So let her look. She knows I'm out here, right?" "If Chelsea was lookin' for me, man, I'd -- Uh -- " Rivera breaks off, having just realized what he's saying and who's saying it to. "Yeah, she says you got a phone call." You look at Steve, who's taken a break from keeping Kristy Suffolk company, and dig out your cell. It's dead. You cuss softly, and follow Rivera inside. The music isn't loud, but it's loud enough to make it hard to hear, and the crush of bodies reminds you of why you -- or Gordon -- don't like these parties. Each face is the face of someone who wants your attention, and it is exhausting to try to keep up with them. Even as you push through with your eyes down you feel them turning to look at you with attentive eyes, and a couple of guys even pluck at you, asking you to join them in their little circles. Chelsea is in the den, at the center of a circle of her friends and the usual suck ups. Her chin is up and her eyes are hooded, and the smile on her lips is condescending. She spares you a brief, uninterested glance as you come up, and hands you her phone as if it were a used tissue. She's back in her element, and old habits are reasserting themselves. You put the phone to your ear. "Yeah?" "The fuck is wrong with your phone?" Will Prescott says. "Is it clear for us to come out or not?" Next: "The Raid" |
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