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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The CounterPrank"  "I think we better bag it," you tell your co-conspirator. "I'm hearing rumors that some guys are gonna try crashing the party, and I can't guarantee Huber and Mitchell won't be part of the crowd." "That's part of the fun, right?" Prescott says. "Having doppelgangers of people show up?" "No, I don't want to do it," you tell him firmly. "If we're gonna screw with them, let's do it somewhere else." "Fine," he grumbles. "Johansson's being a pussy anyway -- " You hang up on him before he can talk you around. You've got his brain and he's got yours, so you're pretty sure you know what he's thinking and feeling, and the temptation is mighty strong. But since your phone is dead, it's easy to ignore him after you give Chelsea her phone back. She's not interested in knowing what the call was about, but grabs you and makes you sit in the circle with the girls while she hangs onto your arm. This is what you -- or Gordon -- hate in her parties. You feel like one of those floats in a Thanksgiving Day parade, all puffed up and dragged out for Chelsea to show off. But you can't even sit quietly and take it. Her friends try to talk to you even though you don't have anything to say to them, and when you fall quiet Chelsea will push you into talking. Right now, for instance, Olivia Byrne is asking about where you like to hang out when you're not in class or practicing. You answer generically with "Steve and the guys," and then she wants to know where "Steve and the guys" like to hang out. Irritably you tell her that she should ask Steve that, and then she gets smart and asks if you're not one of the "guys" that Steve likes to hang out with, and though you don't like to say it you finally tell her that mostly you and your friends hang out in the loft above the gym. "You know, I'd love to see that some time," she starts to say, but Chelsea rounds on her suddenly to ask if it's true that Kelsey is about to quit the tennis team on account of it taking too much time out of her study schedule. But the way Chelsea is digging her fingernails into your arm tells you that she's got something else in mind. Five minutes later, when you try to excuse yourself and your girlfriend giggles that she'll come with you, you find out what it is. "What does Steve think of Olivia?" she asks as she follows you into the kitchen, clinging to you all the way. "I don't know. I don't think he's ever mentioned her." "Do you think he'd like her? Is she his type?" You have a flashback to the lunch you had with Chelsea the first day you were inside Gordon's mask, when you went to eat lunch with some other guys and wound up sitting next to Olivia. Your footing with Chelsea suddenly feels treacherous. "I don't remember ever really talking about her with the guys," you say. "I find that hard to believe. She's very pretty. All that swimming. I'm just thinking that I bet Steve would like her." "Well, talk to him about it, if you're so interested." She pulls away. "I'm not going to do that! You should talk to him. Tell him you think Olivia likes him." "I'm your boyfriend, I'm not one of your girlfriends." "Then tell him that I said something about it. Honestly, Gordon." She rolls her eyes. "Isn't that all you guys talk about up in the loft? Which girls you'd do it with?" Boy, if that isn't a question that can't be answered and shouldn't be answered, but also can't not be answered. Ice forms in your gut: This is totally a return to normal for Chelsea. "Well, next time we're talking about something kind of like that, I'll mention it to him." "Well, do that," she says somewhat waspishly. "But let me know what he says as soon as you hear, okay?" You manage to peel her off shortly after that, and go to find Patterson again. You don't say anything to him about Olivia, though. You have a feeling that Chelsea would think it's too soon. * * * * * The party drags on for another painful hour, and you're starting to think that the LAX crew aren't going to show up, when you hear a hollering from upstairs. You're back with Chelsea, holding her hand while she holds court, but she breaks off to give you a frown. With a sigh you get up to see what's going on. You're almost to the top of the stairs when a door slams open and Lukos Arjis leaps into the hallway with a whoop and a war cry. He sees you, points at you with both hands, and looses another wall-rattling yell. Jeb Ash, Marcus Ansell, and Danny Russo pile out behind him. Then they charge. They're big guys, lacrosse-playing guys. But you're bigger than any of them. On the other hand, there are five of them. Doesn't matter. You plant your feet, lean forward with a glower, and snarl. They pound past you in a rush, and you and Ansell catch each other on the shoulder. You keep to your feet, but he reels to the side, crashing into his friends. Momentum takes them down the stairs, but Ansell falls to the floor. You wheel to grab him as he comes up. Too late you hear more feet behind you. Something heavy hits you in the back of the legs, and the next minute you're staring at the floor as bodies slam atop you, blasting the air from your lungs. Five, six guys shriek and bellow with laughter. You twist and push up, but the weight is too much even for Gordon Black's frame, and not until some of the guys roll off you can you knock the burden off. You grab at one of the other guys tottering to his feet and slam him against the wall. It's Matthew McElroy, one of Huber's playmates. He laughs, then rams at you with his head like a rhinoceros, and charges down the stairs after his friends before you can catch him. From downstairs there's now yelling and screaming. Something heavy falls with a loud crash. The air is rent by more war whoops. You charge downstairs, doubled over almost on all fours. Partygoers are scattering -- yelling, pushing, shoving, cursing, crying -- as the intruders roar through. You follow one -- whose back looks familiar -- into the kitchen, but he dodges your grasp with a laugh and scoots around the central island to blow back into the dining room, where he knocks over Gloria Rea. It was Cameron Huber. In the din you hear someone shouting your name, but there are too many people, too much chaos, to follow it. Something big and heavy bangs against the other side of the dining room wall, and plaster shakes from the ceiling. You push through a small crowd running out of the living room, just in time to see Patterson grab a figure and hurl him again against the wall. It's Ethan Nieves, another one of Huber's cronies. There are other intruders who get thrown to the ground, but in the scrum it's impossible to hold them down, especially after a general melee breaks out involving those members of the football team who were invited. After only five or ten minutes -- which is enough for you to get a bloodied nose -- Huber's crew has vanished out the doors or through the windows and into the night. When making a patrol afterward, searching for laggards, you find the ladder that they used to sneak up into Jordan's bedroom. Despite all the damage downstairs, they at least left the upstairs in okay shape. * * * * * "Fuckers! Those fuckers!" Will Prescott looks like he wants to tear himself in half. Instead, he hurls himself chest-first into a tree, knocking himself onto his silly ass. "Stop that," you say, and grab him before he can do it again. "Don't fuck yourself up. You've got that date with Cassie in an hour, remember?" But even as you grasp him, he jumps up and down and cusses lustily. You look at Caleb. He shrugs, and when Prescott runs out of breath, he says, "So why aren't you upset?" "I got enough people losing their shit. I almost had to hose Chelsea down." Will stops cold at that, and Caleb looks thoughtful. Clearly they are both imagining what a wetted-down Chelsea Cooper would look like. It's Saturday, the day after the party, early evening. You're meeting your friends after getting off of work. You didn't even go back to Caleb's when the party was over, but spent the evening helping Chelsea and her family put the house back together, and you crashed on the sofa downstairs when you were done. That morning you texted Caleb briefly, telling him there was excitement, and you'd tell all about it later. By the time you met your friends, they had heard the outlines, but it was your description that filled them in on how bad it was. Gordon, naturally, is much more upset than Caleb, and he loudly demands to know what you're going to do about it. You know perfectly well what he wants you to do: the same the thing Chelsea wants you to do, which is to visit a righteous beat down on their asses. But after talking with the other partygoers, you know there were a dozen people in Cameron's posse, so that's easier said than done. "So we take them down singly," Gordon says. "You and me and Steve -- " "You and me and Steve," you echo him satirically. "One of those things does not belong with the others." "You know what I mean. You get a posse of four or five, grab each asshole by himself, and kick the fuck out of him!" That is one way of doing it. Then Caleb, almost in an off-hand way, suggests another. "Why not use the masks to get revenge?" Next: "Strange Acts, Anticipated and Done" |
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