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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Saturday Night Orders"  Sunday mornings mean church, which is awful for every possible reason. You have to get up early to get ready, and you don't even get to wear anything good because your mom insists you wear something frumpy and ladylike. The services are boring, and there isn't even the consolation of hot guys to ogle, because the young ones at church are all dumpy or nerdy and they don't dress sexy either. You power through, but have a low-grade headache by the time lunch (roast beef and potatoes: very heavy) is over and done with. Still, it's nearly one-thirty before you are free to change into something more comfortable. It being the second day of November, you have to compromise with the season, and dress casually in jeans chopped off just above the knee; a loose-fitting long-sleeve tee; and a sleeveless hoodie cut so the hem rides just below your boobs. Some warm, woolen ankle socks and ratty canvas shoes complete the carefully chosen effect. A-Three squeals as she compliments you on your choices when you meet up by the mall. (You're in public, so her "act like Kendra" orders are clearly in effect.) You return the favor by complimenting her on her tight-fitting jeans, flannel shirt, cute boots, and ski cap. The latter intrigues you, for there's about three different colors and patterns swirling about it. A-Three gently pries the folds back to show you the secret: It's three bolts of wool salvaged from three different ski caps, which she has wound about her head in interlocking swatches and pinned into place to create the illusion of a single cap. You beg her to make one for you, and she happily agrees, though warning you that it takes "like, fifty fucking minutes" to get thing on. You assure A-Three that, on her, the effect is totally worth it. You're sure it will do the same for you. Though you park at the mall, it's through the much more classy Shoppes at Fell's Lake that the two of you graze the afternoon away, carefully fingering the clothes at Chesterbrook, studying the shoes at Anbrog, and drooling over the makeup at Eve. Neither of you has anything like the money demanded at these shops, but Christmas is coming, and you both want ideas to pitch to your parents. After a very lush two-hour browse, you retreat to Cafe Oro for an expensive coffee with some fancy cream. It's not exactly bustling, but there's enough people around that even in your secluded corner you keep the talk light: gossip about some of the teachers at school, complaints about parents, and speculations about which colleges various people will get into. After you finish, you both go into the ladies' room to "refresh" yourselves and to adjust your makeup. There you can finally talk frankly while applying eyeliner and lipstick. "You and Number Three did good work yesterday," you tell her while leaning over the sink and painting the edge of your lip with a complementary shade of plum. "That video should be all over school by Tuesday." "The boss told you about that?" "She ordered me to set it up through Number Three. I'll be seeing her this afternoon, by the way, with more orders about how to handle it. If I need to, I'll pass them along to you." You offer the lipstick to her; she takes it and studies it critically before returning it to you. "We'll talk on Monday night, if not sooner. Until then, be careful how you talk in front of Gloria." "She's not one of us?" "No, not yet. You know what the means during eighth period tomorrow. "You'll call me names and tell me I'm no good for anything?" "Yes, and you'll give me dirty looks. By the way, have you heard anything from Cindy since the day she tried getting me kicked off the squad?" "No. Kendra was helping her, did you know that?" "Yes. I think it would best if you told her you'd still like to help her. That way she will confide in you if she has any more bright ideas." "Should I keep the boss informed?" "Of course. But give the news to me, and I'll pass it along. Kendra Saunders doesn't have much to say to Michelle Estrich, does she?" "She could." A-Three finishes putting her makeup away and closes her purse with a snap. "There's no one she won't talk to if she sees an angle in it." She stands back from the mirror and lightly adjusts the fall of her hair and the lines of her blouse. "It would be faster to keep me informed of everything. That way I can help you out." You put away your own makeup, and turn toward her. "Remember, we exist only to serve Michelle, and help her with the plan." "We serve Michelle," Kendra agrees. * * * * * You were supposed to meet Michelle at five at the gym, to help with Ryder, but traffic was heavy, and the others must have got there early, for things are already happening when you arrive. Ryder Hillberger, a junior whose lanky frame bulges awkwardly with muscles, is standing in the middle of the gym with Number Three by his side, listening calmly to Michelle. She glances over as you come hurrying in, but doesn't interrupt herself. "... I have given you everything that was Ryder's, so you can take his place. You will act like Ryder Hillberger. But you serve me." "I serve you," Ryder Hillberger echoes. He looks at you with a mildly quizzical expression as you join the small circle. "You're late," Michelle says. She is pale and a little breathless, but otherwise seems to be holding it together. "I had to do it without you." "It looks like you did okay." "The script helped. So did, uh, Number Three." Steve Patterson smirks at you over his folded arms. You study the new doppelganger. He is familiar—you had him in a couple of classes your junior year—and you remember the distaste Chelsea felt for him: He was a cocky little jerk, acting like he was older and more experienced than he actually was, and a couple of times last spring she was tempted to ask Gordon to take him aside and explain that he should really not try flirting with his girlfriend. He's gotten bigger in the last few months, with shoulders and a chest that better fill out a purple football jersey, but his hips and legs are still lean and narrow. He has grown his silky, light brown hair out, so that it falls past his ears and touches the top of his shoulders. His neck is very thick, and (all in in all) the impression of an engorged penis in a football jersey and a girl's wig is only accented by the contemptuous but appreciative leer he gives you. "A-Four," Michelle says, "this is Number Two. She also serves me." She catches your eye, and you silently give her your approval. "T'sup?" A-Four says, and tilts his head back to smirk at you from under his lashes. "Aren't we supposed to act differently when it's just us?" you politely inquire of Michelle. "I think he's acting like Ryder." "That's right," she says. "A-Four, when you are alone with others of your kind, like Number Three and Number Two, don't act like Ryder. Act like, um, professional." A-Four gives her a slightly puzzled glance, but the smarm drains from his face. "When you are with others," she continues, "be Ryder. When you're with us, be A-Four." "What orders do you have for him?" you ask. "A-Four," Michelle says after a brief moment of blank panic, "you're to change your—Ryder's—attitude toward Jesse and Julian and Alec." "You mean Dickhead, Buttercup and Fucknuts?" A-Four asks. His tone is pleasant and professional as he says it: he might have been calling them by their last names. Michelle blanches. "That's them," she says. "Don't call them that anymore, even with your— With Ryder's friends. Don't be friendly with them, but treat them like you treat, um ... Jason." "Okay then." "Will people notice the change?" you ask Michelle. She looks at A-Four, whose eyes dart. When he finally realize it's a question he's been asked to answer, he says, "Probably." "Maybe if someone asks," you carefully suggest to Michelle, "tell them that Coach Porter told him to cut it out." "Do that," Michelle tells the doppelganger, who nods. "Anything else?" you ask. Michelle hesitates, a look of agony on her face. Then she mutters, "That's all for now. I'll talk to you later." "Should I go now?" A-Four says. "Yes. Go ... do whatever Ryder was supposed to do now." "Get buzzed on weed and beer at the Warehouse it is," he says, and starts to go. "Maybe you and Number Three should talk a little," you suggest. "About the Warehouse." The two doppelgangers exchange a glance, then both swagger off toward the door. They have nice asses, you'd have to admit. After they're gone, you tell Michelle, "You did real good." "Thanks." "Having second thoughts about the boyfriend thing?" She reacts as though you'd slapped her. It was the worst moment of your talk yesterday, when you'd suggested that Ryder could have a lot of uses beyond "laying off" her friends on the team. "He's the running back or something, isn't he?" you asked. "I've heard people calling him the team's MVP." That made her look ill, but she didn't come unglued until you suggested that the masks could also help her or her friends to land a boyfriend. God, she'd never use the masks for something like that! she said. You instantly backed off, and told her you meant that they could steer "other guys" to her friends. Not the kind of friends Ryder has, she'd said with an elaborate shudder. "No!" she says now. She rubs her arm. "I was thinking about ... well ... What you'd said about me maybe wearing one of those masks." "Oh!" "Uh huh." The misery on her face deepens. "Except I wouldn't want to be Christine or Kendra. Or Ryder," she says, and there's something odd about the fractional hesitation between the last two names she said. But you can see now what her issue is. She has used up her quota of three masks, and her only choices would have to be drawn from those that you impose on her. Next: "The Last Space in the Trophy Case" |
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