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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Very Busy Monday"  You hesitate before turning out onto Twentieth Street. I'm not running away, you tell yourself. I don't even know if there's something back there to run away from. Besides, what makes me think I'll do anyone any good if go back? But the longer you hesitate, the more wretched you feel—the more you feel like you are running away from something. You slam your truck into reverse, wheel around a hundred-and-eighty degrees, and drive back into the complex. What the fuck am I doing? you wonder as you park your truck next to Seth's. If the guys in there can't handle Seth, how much help can I add? And if they can handle Seth, then what's the point in my being there? But you know the answer to these questions, too, though it makes your gut flop like a stranded fish. You're going back because you want to impress Cindy. You're going back so she'll see that you were worried about her, and so maybe she'll see you—Oh my God—as a potential boyfriend. Your knees are shaking as you hop down the long corridor toward Carlos's studio. They shake harder as a babble of voices comes spilling out of the distant, open doorway. Cindy's shrill soprano rises high over the others, until it is cut down by Seth's hard bark. Two bay doors are open. You glance into the first long enough to see that it only contains only a workout bench and a foot locker. The next is the studio. You're shaking all over as you step over the threshold. Seth has his back to you, but Cindy and Mike are facing him from behind the desk. Philip and Josiah are watching from a corner. "—fucking now, Cindy," Seth is shouting. He jabs a forefinger at the floor. "You're done dicking me around. You tell me to fuck off or not, but if you do, I'm done coming back." Cindy glances at you but doesn't seem to see you. Maybe it's on account of the tears flooding her eyes. She puts her hand under her nose and sniffs hard. "Oh, Jesus, Seth," she cries. "Don't be like this! Just 'cos I want to make a— a video—!" "Yeah, just 'cos she wants to make a video," you blurt out. Seth whirls, and—God only knows how—you don't flinch as he glares at you. "Chill out, man." "Fuck off!" Seth shoves you across the corridor, then turns back into the studio. "This isn't about a fucking video, Cindy," he snarls. "It's about you dicking me around—" "Don't talk to her like that!" you yell. Seth turns around again, and run up to put your chest at his. (And you have to go up on tiptoes, God damn it.) "Will," Philip says in a quiet, warning voice, but it's too late. Seth grabs two fistfuls of your shirt and hauls you up until you're not even on tiptoes anymore. "If you don't want me coming to find you special on Monday—" he snarls into your face. His face and his eyes glow, and little specks of spit fleck your cheeks. But that's as far as he gets. He does a double-take at something behind you, and his expression falls. "Sure, just come find me Monday," you yell, then turn to see what he's looking at, since he's not paying any attention to you. It takes you a moment to recognize the persons standing behind you at your elbow, for he is decked out in a wardrobe just like your new one, and you're not yet used to thinking of the button-down denim shirts and the khakis (not to mention the suspenders and the Indiana Jones-style hat) as yours. And even when you see the face—rabbity eyes and crooked grin under a thatch of straw-like hair—it looks like it belongs to a stranger. But then it all comes into focus. You're looking at someone who looks exactly like ... you. And at the same time you do a double-take at him, he does a double-take at you. You feel your own jaw slacken, and watch as his does too. "How many fucking retards are there here?" Seth snorts in your ear. As for your doppelganger, he's not a reflection—though maybe his expression of startled horror mirrors your own. He swallows and murmurs, "Oh shit." His mouth twists up into a sickly grin, and his eyes start to water. But neither you nor he can break off staring at each other. There's a babble of voices inside the studio—"Oh, Christ"; "What are you doing?"—and desk drawers open and slam. Seth thrusts you away and your double hops back a couple of steps. "Philip?" he says. "Uh, what the fuck you wanna—?" Then Cindy shrieks "Oh my God!" and you glance over in time to see Seth first sink to his knees and then fall sprawling onto his face. Philip is standing over him with a grim expression while Mike, Josiah, and Cindy look on with surprise and horror. "Catch him too," Philip says, snapping his fingers at your double, who looks between you and Philip with eyes wide and his mouth forming a perfectly circular "o." "Wait, what?" your double cries. "No!" He points at you. "Him, guys! He's the real—! Oh, fuck!" No one moves, and time seems to stop. Your doppelganger raises his hands. "Okay, look, let's just— Will," he says, addressing you, but also glancing into the studio at the others. "If we explain to you what's going on, will you promise not to freak out?" * * * * * You take it all pretty calmly, you suppose, even the bit where they bind Seth up with bungee cords and haul him into the workout bay. Maybe it's because you're still not used to thinking of the guy in the hat and suspenders and hiking boots as yourself, so you're not too shocked to find there's someone else around who has that look. Also, his name is Carlos. Carlos Montoya. And he looks like you because— "It's a mask," Philip explains. "Well, a special sort of mask." He frowns and blinks behind his black-framed glasses. "Everything we think we know about the universe will have to be revisited," he mutters. "Watch out, Will," Carlos says. "Give him a chance to start talking about Einstein and Hawking, and he'll take it." To Philip he says, "Just call it 'magic', man. So much easier that way." But it's probably Philip's neutral, scientific way of talking—he makes it sound like he's talking about a particularly ingenious bit of electrical wiring—that keeps you from freaking out too hard. "It" is the mask that he pulled off of Carlos's face. It didn't look like a mask when Carlos was wearing it—it looked exactly like your face—and it doesn't look like your face now that Philip is holding it. It looks like it's carved from a bluish, bone-like material, and it has the rough size and shape and dimensions of a classical tragedian's mask, with a brow, nose, cheekbones, chin, and lips. No eye holes, though. "It copies a person," Philip explains. "Then, when you seal it up, you put it on your face, and it will turn you into a physical duplicate of the person you copied into it. The body, too, not just the face. There's also an extra item that you can attach to it, that will copy the person's memories and personality traits and abilities." He blinks. "That makes it possible to pull off a perfect impersonation." "So you guys copied me," you say, making the inference. "And one of you was going to pretend to be me? A perfect impersonation?" Yes, it's remarkable how calm you're feeling. (Though you can't rule out making a dash for it, screaming, once you've got them to tell their full tale.) "Just to make a video," Philip says. "You, uh, weren't at your best in the bits we filmed. We thought we could improve things a bit for you." "Oh." Normally you'd feel insulted, but you've got other things to worry about. "And Keith—" You turn to Cindy, who has been sitting very quietly behind the desk all this time. A sickly grin—like she's clenching her teeth to keep from throwing up—spreads across her face. "Dude," you say to her. "You're all done up like Cindy because ... ?" "Um ... to fuck with Seth?" she squeaks. "And to help you out?" "Help me out how?" you ask. With a sweep of your arm you take in the studio and Carlos, who though he hasn't your face anymore is still dressed up in duplicates of the clothes that you're wearing. "Why did you want to give me a makeover and stuff?" Anger and humiliation fight for control of your voice. "A sociology experiment," Fairfax says. "You said something to Keith some time back, about not being popular. We decided to see if it would be possible to make someone popular. You." "And that's why you all were pretending to be ..." Even now you can hardly voice the names. But Philip nods. "Yes. That was us. Keith was pretending to be Cindy, and Mike and Carlos were pretending to be Eva and Jessica. Josiah and I have been pretending to be Maria Vasquez and Chelsea Cooper. Respectively." "And where are the real girls?" That's the bit that you weren't clear on when they first tried to explain how they were impersonating some of your classmates. "They're okay. They're, um, hidden under masks of ourselves. Someone has to impersonate us while we're impersonating them, you know." "Of course," you agree, though you still don't understand how that possibly works. You clap your hands together and take a deep breath to stop from trembling. "So what now?" "Well if we could have a bit of your hair," Fairfax says. "What for?" His lips whiten. "To help with the project. I'm reluctant to say more, of course. We can count your discretion?" You nod. As if you have a choice. "Then what's next, I suppose, depends on whether you want to take off and take home, or stick around to watch." "What?" Cindy exclaims. "No, come on. He's part of the club now!" Fairfax blinks at her, then turns a querying gaze upon you. Next: Coming soon! Check back! * To continue: "Newbie Orientation" |
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