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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Dance Hall Daze"  It's cowardice—you realize far too late, after you've replied to both messages—that led you to pick Patrick and his friends over Kaelyn. In the moment, you told yourself it was because you wanted to nail down this new acquaintance with him and his group, and that you could catch up to Kaelyn later. But now you realize it was because you are doing what you always do: fleeing the relative unknown for the comfort of the relative known. But you have this realization only after you are on your way up to the Bavarian Forest. * * * * * You must have got up to the restaurant earlier than anyone planned to be, because you don't recognize anyone there. And when you tell the hostess that you're waiting for Lacie and her friends, she tells you that Lacie doesn't have her shift until five o'clock. You tell her you'll wait, and you sit with your phone out, wasting time and hoping that if there's been a change in plans, someone will text you. It's another thirty minutes before someone you know comes in: Tiffany. She smiles widely at you, and without even waiting for your hostess she leads you over to the same booth where you all sat yesterday. "So how was your Saturday night?" she asks, sounding sly. "I heard everyone was popular with the volleyball team." You shrug and dodge her eye, then change the subject: "You bring homework?" you ask, for she has a backpack with her, and she's unloading it. "Uh-huh. We all get together to do it up here Sunday afternoon. That way Lacie, when she goes on her shift, doesn't have to drive up here but can just put on her apron and go. You didn't bring anything to work on?" "I didn't know I was supposed to. But I don't have any anyway." "Lucky you!" "I just got it done on Friday. So I'd have the weekend free." "So who did you wind up with last night?" she asks. Her gaze rests brightly on you even as she continues to unpack her books. "Well, I didn't 'wind up' with anyone," you stammer, "not if you mean— But I did spend a lot of time with this girl Kaelyn. She goes to Eastman?" "Uh huh?" "She's on their volleyball team, I think." "Any chance of seeing more of her?" Everything she says sounds sly and inviting. "Well, um, maybe." You are loathe to tell her that you stood Kaelyn up in favor of meeting her and her friends. It would make you sound lame, you fear. "We exchanged numbers." "Well, don't go too long without talking to her," Tiffany says. "Not if you're interested in her," she concludes even as her gaze shifts and brightens as it lights on the people now coming to join you at the table. * * * * * Patrick never shows up, and neither does Dean, and a lot of gossip at the table—not much studying is getting done, it seems like—centers on which girls they (and other male acquaintances of their's) wound up with last night. "I know he was going after Sydney," Mattie Sears declares. "More power to him if he did," titters Tiffany. "I heard she's turned down everyone who's asked her out." "Reagan told me she laughed at Steve Patterson right in his face!" Lacie says. "That shows she's got taste. Or she's heard about him," says Kristin. "She wouldn't have turned down Patrick," Mattie insists. "I mean, she was already at the club, all she had to do was dance with him," she protests over the giggles and snorts from the others. "That's not all he wanted to do," says Kristin as Lacie says, "Has she ever been out to Legends before?" "Everyone's been to Legends," says Lorenzo, who aside from you is the only guy at the table. You're surprised he's paying attention, because though he's got his arm around Kristin he seems to be more busy scoping out the restaurant with a sharp gaze. "She's new in town," says Tiffany, "so—" "Anyway, I thought Patrick was going after Kayla," says Lacie. "That's who he was dancing with most of the night." "Only because he couldn't get Sydney to dance with him," says Kristin. "Or because he was still trying to find a way to rub up against her." You don't know who any of these people are they're talking about, and since they seem to be so well known at school, you would be embarrassed to admit your ignorance by asking about them. Pretty soon the rain of names—Sydney and Kayla, Reagan and Whitney, Ellie and Jenna and Shea and Angie and ... and ... and ... and—blur into a fog. Yet you've nothing else to keep you occupied. There is one other person at the table (besides Lorenzo, maybe) who is similarly disengaged. She's a large girl, like Lacie and Tiffany, with bold, bright eyes and a large, handsome face. She is dressed in a pink t-shirt under a denim jacket, and is wearing a camouflage cap over her long, soft brunette hair. Her eyes are a bright green that sparkle with interest and intelligence, and her pink lip gloss shimmers on soft lips. She has a wide smile, and she seems to have an overbite, for when she smiles she only shows her top teeth. She is not the prettiest girl you have ever seen, but the longer you watch her across the table, the more fascinated you feel by her. She came with Lacie, but she didn't bring any books, so she too seems to have only the table talk as a distraction, but she never volunteers anything or asks a question. A couple of times you think you catch her looking at you, but no one introduced you to her, and no one even addresses her. But the chance to know her comes about an hour into this study session. She leans over to murmur in Lacie's ear, and Lacie, after fumbling inside her purse, looks up to give you a keen glance. She glances between you and the girl, as though calculating some kind of sum in her head, and says to you, "Will, could you give my cousin a ride someplace?" Cousin? you think. Okay. "Sure," you say aloud, looking at the girl. She smiles at you, but there seems no meaning behind it except gratitude. You and she hump and jump your way out of the booth, and fall in beside each other on your way out. "Hey, I'm Will," you say. "I'm Katharine," she replies. Her voice is very soft. "So, um, I haven't seen you at Westside, I don't think. You go to Eastman?" "No, I don't go to school here," she says. "I'm visiting." "Oh? Are you graduated?" "No, I'm homeschooled. My mom is out here, in the hospital, and I'm staying here for the semester, with her. Well, with my Aunt Laura and Uncle John. Lacie's parents." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your mom. Um—" It would seem awkward to ask any more, and Katharine doesn't volunteer anything further, so talk lapses until you are both buckled into your truck. "Where do I need to take you?" "The record store? House of Wax, I think it's called." "Oh yeah, I know where that is." "Yeah, I was getting kind of bored back there. I wanted to get out of the house so I came with Lacie. But I don't have anything to do, and I don't know any of the people they're talking about. Except Patrick and Dean, and a couple more of their guy friends." "I don't really know them either," you confess. You stay at House of Wax with her, flipping through LPs—vintage and new releases—and talking a little bit about music. That's how you come to remember, almost by chance, that you still need to buy something for the school time capsule, which is due tomorrow. So you buy something by a '70s band you've never heard of, even though you have to borrow money from Katharine to cover it. She tells you not to worry about it, as you're doing her a favor by driving her around. And she takes advantage of the favor to ask you to drive her down to the used book store. And while you're standing at the register as she buys some paperback fantasies so old and soft that they are almost furry to the touch, Ted Arnholm recognizes you. "You were in here last week, weren't you?" he demands in an accusing tone. "Uh—" you reply. "You found something in our special collections, took it off us for a couple of dollars because some joker had glued the pages shut!" You feel Katharine's gaze upon you, which does your concentration no favors, but you dredge up the memory of a book bound in red leather, that originally cost two hundred dollars but which you bought for two on account of damage to it. You nod. Arnholm snorts, and after he finishes ringing up Katharine's sale he beckons you with a gnarled finger over to his work station. "The former owner was in right after you left," he says as he searches through a bunch of tiny drawers and cubbyholes. "Fit to be tied, the way he was yelling at us, wanting it back. Said it got sold by mistake. Was offering us hundreds of dollars to get it back, but of course we didn't have it. Hrm!" He snorts as he pulls from one of the drawers a little white card, which he hands to you. "If I wasn't so goddamned honest, I'd buy it off you for twenty and sell it to him for two hundred. But you take it to him, if you want to sell it. Or, I dunno, keep it to spite the bastard!" Arnholm seems wild with fury, and he glowers at you until you shuffle away. "What was that all about?" asks Katharine, who has been following you around. You explain by filling in the gaps, and you show her the card, which belongs to a professor of archaeology at the local university. "Wow," she says when you're done. "You want to go get the book now, go see the guy and sell it?" That's all for now. |
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