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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Message from Chelsea"  "You there?" Will asks again, after you've let the silence string out for a very long time. "Yeah," you say. "Did she say what she wants to meet about?" "No, she just wants to meet. I assume it's because—" He breaks off, then says, "Well, I hope it's because she wants to ... undo things." "She could've said something when we saw her up at the gym." She could have not sent her boyfriend to beat me up, you silently—and bitterly—add. "Well, there were other guys up there," he says. "Maybe she wants to talk about it alone with us. Maybe she changed her mind after thinking about it." "Uh huh. Well, get a time from her. I'll go with you." "She didn't text you?" "No. Well, not yet." "Maybe she only wants to see me." "She's going to see both of us, Jack." There's a pause. Then he says, "Nice to hear someone use my real name again." "Well, hopefully after tonight it'll be a regular thing. I'll keep you posted if you keep me posted." * * * * * Jack texts you a little later with word that Chelsea wants to meet at the school at around eight. He texts again an hour later to ask if you've heard from her, but you haven't. It's giving you a very bad feeling: The fact that Chelsea apparently wants to meet him alone now convinces you that she plans a replay of the trap that she set for you. Instead of telling him about your suspicions, though, you text Chelsea at her "Clover Mystery" number: Hey I know what ur up to with Jack. He told me he's meeting u. Her reply comes twenty minutes later. Lol none ur buiness! He won't come if I tell him what u did to me this afternoon. What I do u this afternoon? You can barely restrain yourself from hurling the phone at the wall. Gordon and Steve, you reply. After a lapse of a minute, she replies: Gordon and STeve what happened? Wtf u think happen? What u wanted. There's another laps. Then: Omg that not suposed to happen. You snort. It's a rhetorical question, not a real one, when you ask, Then why u ask me up to school see u and they are waiting for me? She doesn't answer, and why would she? Instead, an answer of sorts come through Jack, telling you that she's just texted to cancel the meeting. And that, to your mind, confirms that it was supposed to be a trap. You take at least some satisfaction in having sprung it before Jack could get hurt. But then at a little before eight, Chelsea texts you back, saying that she does want to see you and Jack both right away. Pls, she says, im sorry n I want to fix everything. * * * * * It's dark when you reach Westside, and your headlights sweep across the empty parking lot as you pull in. You have it all to yourself. Or do you? There's a bicycle balanced against the wall of the gym, and as you approach, a shadow detaches itself from the corner of the building. "Oh thank God you came!" Chelsea Cooper exclaims, and she runs up and throws her arms around her. She buries her face in the crook of your neck. You freeze, your arms extended and your palms hovering over her back. Your insides seem to be melting into a sweet syrup, and your head spins. Chelsea Cooper is hugging me! a strange voice screams inside your head. But deep inside your unwarmed core, a cold shudder also through you. This is Chelsea Cooper hugging you. But she is also Clover Mystery, and she used black magic or some shit to switch you and Jack into each other's bodies. Her embrace is not an embrace of love, and the longer she holds you, the more it feels like the embrace of something cold and slimy and foul. She sniffs and snorks into your shoulder, then abruptly pulls away. "Come on," she says, and tugs at you. "We better get started." "Started with what?" You plant your feet. "Putting things back," she says. "I told you I'm sorry and— and— I want to fix things!" You can't help hanging back a little, even as you let her pull you, stumbling, toward the gym. "First of all," you say, "what the fuck have you been doing?" She titters, then covers it with a sniff. "Kinda obvious, isn't it?" "Oh, fu— Look, how are you—? Why—?" "Come on, Will!" she urges. You let her pull you past the gym and the natatorium, but you plant your feet again and refuse to budge when she unlocks the gates to the tennis courts. "Tell me what the fuck you've been doing," you demand. "And don't say, 'It's obvious'!" She sighs. "I found this old book," she says, "and it had magic spells and stuff in it, and I've been playing around with it. That's all. And, well, one of them, I used it on you and Jack." You gape. "That's all? You're playing around with fucking black magic—" "Oh don't be such a little church-boy! No one got hurt! And I told you, I'm going to—" "You fucked up me and Jack!" "I was just teasing," she insists, and tickles your stomach. "I'm going to fix it all now." "Why fix it?" you growl. "Why now?" "Because," she sighs, "you're right, it got out of control. I see that now." You glance into the parking lot, and into the street beyond, searching for headlamps that belong to Jack. "So when Jack gets here—" "Yes!" She is beginning to sound aggravated. "But we don't need him to get started. So come on!" You relent, and let her pull you into the tennis courts. "What are you going to do?" you ask. "How does this work?" "I got the magic circle and stuff drawn here. Don't bother looking for it, it's all in invisible chalk. Um—" She halts and puts a finger to her mouth as she studies the ground. "If it's invisible, how can you find it?" "Shut up! I know where it— Hang on." She extends her hand, palm down, and mutters some words under her breath. Then she hops alertly over to grab your arm, and pulls you a couple of feet to the side. "Here," she says. "This is the center! Now take your clothes off and lay down." "What?" "You have to do it, Ja—! Will! You have to take your clothes off for it to work!" You glare at her, then with a deep sigh start to comply. Off comes your t-shirt, then your shoes and socks, and finally your shorts. "Everything," she says, and so at last you strip off the boxers, and drop them onto the pile. She touches your side—your skin prickles under her fingertips—and then with her warm palm she pushes you down, and you lay out flat on your back, face turned toward an overcast sky that glows with the reflection of the city lights. It's very chill, and you shiver. Chelsea squats beside you, and the warmth of her presence radiates over you. "Tell me you had at least a little bit of fun," she says. "None of this was fun." "But there were compensations, right? You got to be Jack for a little while." She lays her palm on your stomach, and runs it lightly over your abs. "That's got to count for something." You stiffen all over. "It's freaky." "But he's so good looking." She continues to stroke your stomach, even as her other hand finds yours, and lifts it to her face. "It's really kind of a waste, you know," she says in a soft whine. "He won't give himself to a girl, and he can't even find himself a boyfriend." She kisses your knuckles, and her fingertips trace down through the bush to the root of your cock. Despite yourself, you begin to stiffen down there as well. For a long moment, neither of you says anything, as she caresses you with fingertip and lip. Then with a grunt you say, "Is this part of the ceremony, putting things back?" "Ohhhh! Don't be such a shit!" She throws your hand away, but bends over your face. Her hot breath briefly washes over your nose and mouth, and then she is kissing you. But she doesn't dwell on it, and a moment later has moved down and is kissing your chest while smoothing your abs with one hand and resting a hot palm on your (perspiring!) forehead. You are shivering hard now, torn between arousal and repulsion. But you don't have long to struggle. She raises her head abruptly, and you hear the grumble of a car engine, and the growl of tires on asphalt. You have just time to think Great! That must be Jack! before something seems to tear inside your head, and the world goes blank. * * * * * You are shivering violently all over when you wake, and your temples are hot with a sharp headache. You groan and try to turn over while pulling the covers up over you. But there are no covers, and your skin scrapes painfully on a hard, rough surface. You pry your eyes open with a grimace and push yourself up. Your head screams, and you clutch it: it's like something is trying to push its way out from behind your right eyeball, and is hacking at the inside of your skull. "Jesus! Fuck!" you gasp to yourself, and sit all the way up. Abruptly, the pain vanishes, leaving only a numb (but vivid) memory of its presence. You roll your eyes around and blink and work your jaw, which had been in danger of freezing into that rictus of pain. God damn! you mutter to yourself, and look around. It takes you a moment to recognize the chain link fences, and to place yourself in the school tennis courts. Oh, right, you think. Chelsea called you up to the school, wanted to talk about Gordon, and when I got here— You freeze. That seems wrong. But not until you stagger onto your feet, and the world drops vertiginously away, do you realize just how wrong things are. Next: "Patty-Cake with Patterson" |
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