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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Teacher Feature"  You hesitate a long time, long enough for Caleb to report that Mr. Gelding is leaving, then that Mrs. Gambetta is on her way out too. And when you ask him to check out the Ag Annex, he texts back that the doors are locked. This puts you onto your back foot, and you renew your concentration on the administrators, who at around five begin trickling out. The security guard—who you dismiss as an absolute, last-only resort—holds the door for each as they exit. First to leave is the gray-faced, decrepit Mr. Dow, and that's a relief, because of the school admins he would be your absolute last choice. Then out comes Mr. Staufford. He sits in his car for awhile, and you are tempted to go over and plant a mask on him, but he drives off before you can work up your nerve. Then the secretaries head out in a cluster. Finally, Mr. Sagansky comes out with Ms. Meek, the chief assistant. They walk together until they reach the parking lot, where they stop to chat and laugh briefly. They make quite a pair: Mr. Sagansky, who is tall and lean and rangy, looking even in his navy-blue blazer like he should be sporting a cowboy hat and boots; and Ms. Meek, who is short, dumpy, and has the demeanor of a woodchuck hopped up on goofballs. After a minute or two, they part in opposite ways, for two of the few cars now left in the lot. Mr. Sagansky spots you, and you stiffen as he stops to stare at you through the windshield. Then he starts to come over. So you roll down your window and shout, "Waiting for my son to come out!" The principal glances at the building. "Place is gonna be locked up soon!" "He's out back in the athletic fields, I think!" "You should park in the student lot, then!" You shrug, and he does too, and sets off for his car. You hesitate, then get out, with a mask in your hand. But Sagansky has his car started before you can reach him, and he pulls out without seeing you approach. You watch him leave, then turn to squint back the other way. Ms. Meek is in her car, hunching over her phone (it looks like). You hurry over before she too can make an escape. She looks up at you with a violent double-take as you loom over her window, then with a grin that is either very cheerful or else very terrified, she rolls the window down. "Hello!" she gabbles. You paste her in the face with the mask. * * * * * A couple of more teachers—coaches, by the look of them—come out while you are loitering by Ms. Meek's car, carefully blocking off the sight of her by leaning against the door. Will, in answer to your summons, comes jogging in from God knows where in back of the school. (Maybe from the athletic fields, like you told Mr. Sagansky.) He stops dead when he sees who you've caught. "You're shitting me!" he exclaims. "She was the last one I could get. And she can get us into the personnel files, I'm pretty sure." "Well, she's all yours, Dad." You just grunt, and tell him to take your spot while you fetch the rest of the necessary gear from your car. You climb into the passenger seat of her car, and as the last of the minutes tick down, you text Martha to tell her that you met Will at the school and will be taking him for a father-son dinner someplace. You wince at the spanner this is likely to throw into her own supper preparations, and the stern little lecture you'll get when you return home. You watch Ms. Meek carefully, and catch the mask as soon as it reappears on her moon face. You seal it up, then coat it with the special paste, push that bit of your hair into it, and set it afire. It quickly burns the paste dry, and you put the mask back onto her. Her eyes instantly open, and she draws a deep breath, then gasps when she sees you in the cabin of her car with her. "Quiet. You have to do what I say," you tell her. "You understand, don't you?" She nods; a terrified grin full of flat, white teeth spreads over her face. "Where do you live?" She stammers out an address. "Don't be scared," you tell her, and she relaxes visibly. "Just drive home. I'll meet you there." After giving her a long look, for you are feeling doubtful, you get out. She doesn't wait, but instantly starts the car and pulls out. She doesn't even glance back as she races for the street. "Is she gonna call the cops?" Will asks. "Shit, I hope not," you confess. "Anyway, I gotta go, I said I'd meet her at her place." "What for?" "To talk to her. Start finding out what she knows. You better come with me." "How come?" "Because I told your mom I was taking you out to eat." He brightens. "Are you?" "I guess. Hope you like Taco Bell." His face falls. * * * * * Ms. Meek lives in the Mellon Village Apartments complex, just a few blocks east of the river (and not too far from the Taco Bell, as it happens), and she is waiting nervously in front of her door as you park next to her car. "I don't get what's going on, boss," she says in a quavery voice as you join her. The "boss" catches you a little off-stride, but you ignore it. "Just go inside, and I'll follow," you tell her. You nod over your shoulder at Will, who has pulled up beside your car, as she unlocks her door. You follow her in, shutting the door for her, and pushing her out of the foyer and into the living room just beyond. With a grouchy mkiaow, a black-and-white tabby runs in and rubs itself alongside Ms. Meek's ankles. "Let's go sit down," you tell her, and with a white face she leads you over to a sofa. "Do you live alone?" you ask her, and instantly wish you had asked her that first thing, back at the school. When she nods, you add, "Are you supposed to go out or meet anyone tonight?" "No," she stammers. "Good. Give me your phone." You continue to question her, about her family and friends, as you scroll through her texts, none of which make sense to you. She lives alone, she says; her family lives out of state, but she has a clutch of girlfriends from the school, the district offices, and from church, who she does things with. But she has no plans for the night. As for whether she can help you at the school: "Of course I can get into the personnel files," she blusters. "I'm an assistant principal!" You thought she was just an aide, but this is better. In fact, it's so much better that you make a snap decision. "Go back in your bedroom and take off your clothes," you order her. "What?" she gasps even as she staggers to her feet. "It'll be alright. Do you have a spare bedroom?" "Just one I use as a study," she stammers as she totters toward a hallway. So you decide to use the bathroom to change. You are loosening your tie, and thumbing in a text to Caleb, telling him to hold tight for now, as you follow in the wake of your imposture-to-be. * * * * * You open your eyes with a groan and squint at the ceiling. Your limbs are stiff and your joints ache. At least you don't have a headache. But for about the thousandth time, you swear off frozen margaritas. Then you remember that you haven't been out drinking with Miriam and the gang. You gasp. That freaking weirdo, and the teenager, who followed you into your apartment! You bolt upright— —and the clang that rings inside your head is as loud and hard as though you'd banged it into something. You grab your face and groan again as it all floods back to you. With a deep sigh, you heave your naked self off the bed and stagger into the bathroom. The visage of Barbara Ann Meek peeps out at you from the depths of the mirror, from behind the vine of dirty-blonde ringlets that drapes over your face. You push it aside with a chubby hand. Barbara Meek looks short and dumpy when fully dressed because she is short and dumpy when she is undressed, and she doesn't really dressing to hide it. Your belly bulges and wobbles, and your hips bulge and wobble, and your thighs just bulge. You've got big breasts, though, and they still are still taut. You cup and lift them now as you stare down at them, and their nipples harden in the chill of the bathroom. When you look back up into the mirror, some of the color has returned to your face, so that there are roses in your cheek. And when you attempt a smile— Oh God! She really can't help it, can she? Your eyes pop wide and your mouth gapes open, so that you look like a demented gopher or groundhog or woodchuck or some other roly-poly, oversized rodent; one that's just opened a door and found, to its lunatic glee, a free, all-you-can-eat buffet of breadsticks and lasagna on the other side. Golly! your expression says as your head wobbles on your neck, if I'd known you was coming I wouldn't have eaten that cake I just baked! All of it! You're limping back into the bedroom to dress when the phone—you gave her number to your dad (his treated mask now gripping the face of the real Barbara Meeks) before sending him out—chimes with a text. You pick it up, read the text, then call Will Prescott back direct. "Hey," you chirp drunkenly at him. "You wanna come in and scope out a fat, naked chick?" There's a long pause before Caleb answers. "Only if I have a chance of scoring." Well, he hasn't got a chance of that. But Barbara has some friends he could become. Next: "Administrative Action" |
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