%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Daddy Issues"  You'll get it later, you decide, when your nerves have settled, and return to the machine shop, where Andy Keyes and Sean are waiting for you. But it's only a short respite, for as soon as you step inside, Andy nonchalantly asks if you got the voucher from your dad. "The what?" you ask. Keyes looks at you over the top of his glasses. "The voucher. All internal deliveries have to be signed for, and the voucher returned to the distribution center." You cringe. "Cripes, I— I forgot." Keyes smiles. "Well, trot back around to the center, tell Jack you delivered it. He'll cover for you." You're so glad Keyes isn't nearly the hard-ass your dad is. But then Jack has another job for you. "Forgot to have you give this one to your dad too," he says, thrusting another, larger, heavier box at you. "You can get the voucher for the other one when you take this one over." He holds up two fingers. "That's two vouchers you owe me now, kid," he grins. Shit. Looks like you'll have to see your dad anyway. But which one is the package that Caleb prepared? Your dad glowers up at you from his desk when you stick your head in through his doorway; the first package is sitting unopened by his elbow. "Uh, Jack says you need this one too," you say nervously, setting the second box on the chair in front of him. "Also, I need a signed voucher from you for this one and the other one." Slowly, methodically, he signs first one piece of paper and then another. "You know," he says heavily. "It's a bad idea to make too many trips out to the distribution center. We had to fire a couple of high school students a few weeks ago for drinking on the job." He holds the papers close, so that you have to lean across his very wide desk to take them from his fingers. "I'm not drinking on the job, Dad," you say. "Or after it. I was just, you know, joking around with you earlier. Like, 'Come here often? What's your sign?'" He just stares at you, and you practically run from his office. * * * * * You call Caleb after work, and nearly drop the phone when your dad answers. "Uh," you stammer, not sure if you pushed the right entry on your call list. "Sorry, I was trying to call Caleb." "You keep hanging around that kid and you'll come to a bad end," he snorts. "Did you get that stuff like I told you too?" You stop yourself from cursing just in time: You're still not sure it's Caleb. "What stuff?" you ask guardedly. "I had a package of some very important chemicals put together," he says in a strained voice. "And like a complete dumbass you managed to hand it over to exactly the wrong person." "Will you take that fucking thing off already?" you scream into the phone. "Or tell me where you are, and I'll come over and rip it off you. I'll take some skin with it when I do." "Watch your mouth," he says. "I'm at the clubhouse. Did you get the stuff?" But you just hang up. At least he's returned to his normal form when you show up, and he also has the wit to duck when you take a swing at him. "Alright, pax," he says, holding up his hands. "But I am pissed at you. Jesus, could you have fucked things up more?" He has a point, but you're in no mood to confess it. "It might not have even been the right package anyway," you retort. You tell him about the second box. "I couldn't have walked off with both. My life wouldn't be worth living, assuming I even had a life afterward." He sighs and leans against the edge of a desk, arms folded. "I suppose we go with Plan B, then. Get a credit card or debit card off him and buy the stuff." This time he doesn't get out of the way, and staggers back as your fist connects with his jaw. You hope you hurt him as much you hurt yourself, for your fingers sting hard. "I thought you said we couldn't use his plastic." "Not just his plastic," Caleb shouts back, though his voice is muzzy. He holds his jaw and winces. "If he goes in and uses plastic to buy the stuff, it'll work." You yell in frustration. "The more we use that thing, the more trouble I get into!" "Of course," he retorts. "We're duplicating people. You think you can do that and not get in trouble?" "I can't get into his wallet. He will kill me if he catches me." "What about a check? Get a blank one and we can cash it. Does he keep a checkbook in his desk?" He reaches over for the mask, which is on the table. "Here, I'll check and see." You slap his hand down. "I don't think you can cash a check without a driver's license, and anyway, you've been wearing that thing way too much." "Then what's your bright idea?" He picks up the book that's gotten you into all this trouble and flips to the last open page. "If you want to finish this spell--" "Maybe I don't," you say in a ragged voice. "Maybe you're right, this is all just going to lead to too much trouble." "I didn't say that was a reason to stop," he retorts. You stalk off to the door without replying. He calls after you: "Look, give me a call after your dad gets home. Tell me what happened with the boxes." You flip him off without turning around. * * * * * You pass a sleepless night, tossing and turning, wondering if all this has been worth the hassle. Oh, it's fun exploring magical stuff, until someone gets hurt--especially if it's going to be you. At the same time, you keep being drawn back to that last spell. Damn that book and the way it hides the good stuff until you've performed a spell. Surely that is part of the design: to tease you with the promise of some kind of revelation if only you follow through and finish a spell. It's nearly three in the morning before you drift into a kind of slumber, which is punctuated with all manner of many-faced monsters--some of which sport your own visage. Caleb is chipper the next morning despite your fight, and seems to ostentatiously avoid the subject. At least, he avoids it until last period, when he asks you to cover for him at work. "I got some stuff I need to do," he says. "But meet up with me at the clubhouse afterward." You shove a finger in his face. "You stay out of my dad's stuff." "Pfft, please. I'm all done with that." Only afterward do you realize how ambiguous his disclaimer was, when you walk into the basement to find him grinning at you. There are a couple of plastic mixing bowls on the table by his elbow, and you start when you see a large box open next to them. "Ready for the next spell?" he asks. "The fuck did you do?" "You didn't call last night," he says, "so I waited until I figured your dad would be gone, then went back to Salopek as him. I had to talk to a few people, but found out that your dad had opened the box I'd packed up and then sent it back to the distribution center because he didn't know what the hell it was. I went over and gave whatsisname a new address to ship it to. So here it is. Same-day service." You stare at it all: neatly boxed-up packages of chemicals and tightly sealed canisters of liquids. Caleb already has the book open to the page. All you have to do is put it all together. You temporize before answering. "What about that second box?" He shrugs. "He sent it back too. Quick glance told me it wasn't the stuff we wanted." He hops on the balls of his feet. "You're the magician, I figure you should be the one to make the sigil for the spell." You wince. It is all ready for you, but your mood hasn't improved from last night. If you can resist temptation now, maybe you can end all this before it gets completely out of hand. * To continue: "A Temporary Twin" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
