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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Being Betty Vredenburg, Part 2"  Doing something with Lucy would be too risky, you decide. Besides, this evening you will have a chance while at the professor's to dig into the Book of Miriam again and continue your studies about the curse he put upon you, and that might provide another, safer way of learning what you want to learn. But then you find yourself scotched there as well. You're at the grocery store, picking up things for dinner, when you get another text from Kelly Cooper, passing along another message from Blackwell. Not only is he cancelling your study session with him tonight, he is also cancelling them until further notice. He gives no reason, save that he is going to be "busy with other matters" that will prevent him from meeting with you. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser! So you're a bit at loose ends, with nothing to do but carry on with Betty Vredenburg's life. And so, after thinking about it some more, you decide to resume the plans you had for Chelsea, but to switch targets to Cindy. * * * * * You have changed into a dusty-red silk dress and sheer black hose, and are striding along on your highest pair of heels, as you walk up to the office of Westside High. The purse dangling off your shoulder completes the implied "uniform." I'm a student's mother, on her way in to have a brief word with the administrators. You lift your chin high. You intentionally timed your entrance for the break between sixth and seventh periods, when the hallway out front would be bustling with students. After stepping in through the main doors, you pause to survey the shuffling crowd. They have no idea who I am, you gloat to yourself as you smile at them. They think I'm just someone's mother. I could go up and talk to them, and they wouldn't— You are caught off-guard a little as James Lamont comes loping from the direction of the library. He doesn't so much as glance at you, but you watch him. James, for example. I could go up and talk to him, and he would have to 'yes ma'am' me this and 'yes ma'am' me that, and he'd never know it was really me. You follow him with your eyes until he disappears around a corner. "Excuse me, ma'am," someone says in your ear, and you turn with a start. It's a security guard, in dark pants, a gray dress shirt, and a pale tie. He's a young man with clear, tight skin; piercing eyes; hard, white teeth; and dark, close-shaven hair. "Can I help you?" The tone is polite but the question very direct; still, it takes you a moment to shake yourself from the momentary reverie you lapse into as you drink in his face. He is quite good-looking, and appears to be very fit. You'd bet that he wouldn't tolerate any bullying crap like you've suffered all through high school, and you'd bet also that he could take down even Gordon Black with a couple of well-aimed blows. (He looks like the kind of guy who could kill someone with a quick poke of his index finger to their windpipe.) So there's a gasp in your voice when you answer him with, "Um, the office?" "It's right here, ma'am." He indicates the glass walls of the administration office just five feet to your right. There is no rebuke in his clear gray eyes, and only a hint of amusement. "Oh, yes, of course," you stammer. "I was just lost in the moment, I haven't been back here since— Well, it just seems so much smaller than I remember it." "Yes, ma'am," he says, and by the way he claps his mouth shut you can tell that he's telling you to get a move on with your business. You gather up your wits and totter into the office. Betty Vredenburg has had some business at the office before, so not only do you recognize Barbara Meek, the chief administrative assistant who looks like a deranged prairie dog, but she recognizes you. "Mrs. Vredenburg!" she exclaims, and hustles up from her desk to elbow aside the student aide who is arguing with a freshman girl. "Hello, Barbara!" You smile back at her. "I need a favor from you." "You need to see Cindy?" Barbara's eyes are so big and round with a lunatic desire to please that you can see the whites all around the irises. Her head wobbles on her neck as she grins. "Yes. But first I need to see—" You settle the purse on the countertop and dig inside it to find a loose sheet of paper, which you pretend to read. "Will Prescott?" "Mm-hmm? What about?" "Just a short talk. I was told," you add, "that he has a study hall this period—this is seventh hour, isn't it?" Barbara nods. "Oh, good! I was afraid—! Well, since I didn't know if I could just get him out of class, I wanted to—" "We can try to find him," Barbara chirps. "When they're in study hall, students are supposed to be in the library, but—" "I would so much appreciate it. It's about a tutoring job for Cindy." Barbara's eyes almost pop from her head. "Cindy needs tutoring?" "Well, she doesn't need it, but any kind of brushing up— You know." "Oh, I see! Okay, I'll see if, um—? What's his name again?" "Will Prescott." You don't know whether to be pleased or insulted that your name carries no weight in the front offices. Barbara returns to her desk and picks up her phone. As you wait, another handsome man in his late thirties comes in from the back offices. You smile at him— —and are almost rocked off your feet when you recognize him as Mr. Staufford, one of the assistant principals. You were looking at him with Betty Vredenburg's eyes, and so only saw— You swallow a gulp. To Will Prescott, Mr. Staufford is the only administrator that one should be legit terrified by. He's a hard-ass, with a stony stare, a biting tone, and neither mercy nor humor. He also seems old. Okay, not "old" old, not like Mr. Dow, the other assistant principal, who with his cobwebby hair and gray pallor seems ready to fall back into the open grave that he would seem to have just crawled out of. But Mr. Staufford is at least as old as your dad, which makes him at least middle-aged, which to you is about as bad as being "old." But to Betty Vredenburg, Mr. Staufford is a mature but still-youthful man who can't be more than thirty-seven or thirty-eight (making him a dozen years at least younger than you are now), with a full head of dark hair, a trim stomach behind his buttoned-up jacket, and a steely gaze in a manly face. Definitely older than Dylan down at the bank, but much more plausible as a lover. He must have caught you staring, because after holding your glance, he comes over. "May I help you?" he asks, and like the guard out front his tone is polite despite the iron behind it. "Barbara's helping me," you tell him with a slight stammer. "I need to, uh, see my daughter. And another student. Cindy Vredenburg," you add, feeling stupid. Then you add, "I'm her mother, Betty." Mr. Staufford nods, then continues on over to a filing cabinet. You swallow your disappointment that he didn't seem to regard you with any more importance than if you were a delivery person. "I got the librarian looking for Will now," Barbara calls out from her desk. "And you want Cindy too?" "After I talk to Will. Um, is there a room where we could talk privately?" Barbara points down the hallway to the back offices, telling you to help yourself to the conference room on the left. You thank her, then pause to glance back out through the main doors. "The security guard out there," you ask Barbara. "Is he new?" Though you've never paid much attention to security at the school—and they seem to not pay much attention to anything at all—you don't remember seeing the guard who met you at the door. "Rick?" Barbara dimples. "Oh, you noticed him, huh? Yeah, he started last week. Temporary replacement for Jerry Larson." Her face falls. "He's in the hospital, poor guy." You nod vacantly, and go down the hall to wait for your appointments. Will Prescott is not long in appearing. Like a loose-limbed scarecrow he steps into the doorway, hands in pockets, and stops dead when he sees you. "Jesus Christ," he says as he stares at you from under his stiff bangs. "Come in, Will," you say, and on tottering feet he approaches and falls into a chair next to yours. "I'm Betty Vredenburg." "Sure you are, boss," he says. Then his eyes widen. "Vredenburg?" he says in a strangled voice. "That's right. Cindy's mom. And Lucy's. You remember Lucy. And you understand why I'm interested in her. But that's not why I'm here." "Jesus," he says again. After a pause, he asks, "What are you planning?" "Same thing we were going to do to Chelsea. You're going to be Cindy's tutor." "Oh God." He lays his forehead on the table. "So I need you to make a Facebook account or something and put up an ad so I can show it to Cindy." "You're gonna get me killed, boss. And then where will you be?" "No one's gonna kill you. They can't stand getting close enough." A shadow passes on the wall outside the door, and you straighten up. "Well, it's so nice meeting you, Will," you exclaim as Mr. Staufford goes past the doorway. "I know you're just going to be wonderful for Cindy!" Your doppelganger looks like he's going to throw up. * * * * * At least he only looked like he was going to be ill. Cindy, when you talk to her a little later, actually does toss her cookies all over the conference table. Next: "The Persecution of Cindy Vredenburg" |
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