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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Game of Questions"  "There's always ups and downs in these things, right?" You speak cautiously. "I mean, he's the teacher and I'm just the student. There's a lot of things he's not going to tell me." Frank and Joe bore holes in you with their eyes. You shrug. "I mean, this is all new to me." "Do you trust him?" Frank asks. You think long and hard, not about the answer (which is NO!!!!!!!), but about whether to share it with them. You decide not to. "You've already asked your last question, so I don't have to answer." They say nothing, and then Joe shrugs. "Okay. You get three questions now. We have to answer them." It's like the floor has dropped out from under you. They're not even looking at you any more. They look bored, even. You're not going to get anything from them. "Alright, why are you interested in the Libra?" "We wanna get our hands on it. Dur." Frank's tone is openly contemptuous. Yep, you're going to have to settle with crumbs. "You said you know about all kinds of creepy stuff. Like what?" "Werewolves. Mummies," Frank says. "You know that North Dakota has more vampires per capita than any other state in the Union? The lack of sunlight." "He doesn't want your bullshit, Frank," Joe retorts. "He wants a demonstration." He fixes his eyes on you. "Tesull sumej" he says. "What do you say to that?" You blink, and try to sneer out a retort. But your tongue doesn't want to move. You swallow and try again. But no words will come. In fact, you can't even think of any to say. Joe sniggers. "A little trick I use when a girl has a luscious mouth but won't stop talking long enough for me get a taste of it." He waves his hand and mutters another phrase. "What's your third question?" "You guys know magic?" you croak. "We know a few things," Frank says. "Like, you noticed I'm supernaturally good with a fucking bow." He sighs. "Well, this has been a pointless conversation--" "Hang on," you interrupt. "You said you'd tell me why you were interested in me." Oddly, that does seem to surprise them. Or maybe they're waiting for the other to say something, for their glances are now furtive. "Kinda obvious, isn't it?" Frank says. "Blackwell has the Libra. Can you get it from him?" "Why would I do that?" "Well, he's not sharing it with you, is he?" Joe snorts. "You get it from him, you could share it with us, maybe?" "We could make it worth your while," Frank says. "Or even form a partnership. Three people stand a much better chance with it than one. Easier to trap people if you want to steal their body." "You want a goddamned offer?" Joe asks. He lowers his voice. "There's this guy at Eastman. Tall, popular, good looking, great at ball. Has a girlfriend, button cute. She's half his height, so imagine how tight her pussy is around his cock." He groans. "And the killer app? His dad's a millionaire." "Like, hundreds of millions," Frank adds. "We're on the Eastman team," Joe says. "We could get him for you. Or his girl, if, you know--" He leers. "That's the side you're interested in." You swallow. This is pretty bald talk. "I thought you guys were talking about rescuing people earlier. Like, rescuing Cindy, letting Justin loose." "Wanted to see if you have a conscience," Joe says coldly. "You're no good to us if you're a pussy." "We oughta let Roth out, though," Frank says. "He's a fucking loser. I could give a shit, but I don't like loose ends. Me and Joe both like things tight." He fixes his penetrating gaze on you. "So what do you say?" "It's tempting," you temporize. "But I'd have to think about it." Frank grunts; Joe says nothing. "Well," Frank says. "I suppose I can play Justin Roth one more day. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Same place at Westside?" You nod. "One more thing. Where's Justin's car?" "Huh? Oh. You know the Briarwood Apartments? I left it in the lot. It should still be there." Again, he nods distractedly. Awkwardly, you rise and leave. * * * * * It's a short cab ride home, which doesn't give you much time to do anything but rehearse the many reasons for distrusting the Durras brothers. That would settle you against working with them, except you have almost equally weighty reasons for abandoning Blackwell. "There you are," Lucy says in a sulky voice as you get out of the cab in front of the house. "I've been looking for you all afternoon. Give me a hand?" She gestures at the back trunk of her SUV, which is open. Still preoccupied, you go see what she needs. She points to a box in the back. "It's too heavy for me," she says. "Little help?" She follows as you crawl into the SUV. As you turn to ask what this stuff is, she puts a hand to your forehead-- It's like a hot spike driving deeply into your skull, and you don't even feel your legs and arms collapse ... * * * * * "I'm most disappointed in you, Will," Blackwell says. His pendulous lower lip droops in a terrible frown. He clasps his arms behind his back. The click-clack of the library clocks jabs at your ears. You're out of Cindy's mask, and out of her clothes, so the world is in black-and-white golem-o-vision against. Shortly after regaining consciousness you found yourself on the ground in front of his villa, with Blackwell and Lucy looking down at you. Your teacher had brusquely ordered you upstairs to change, and you'd only the strength to obey, not argue or fight back. And now here you are, stripped and bare to his wrath. Your only consolation is that Shabbleman is similarly disencumbered of disguise; Lucy's clothes and mask, like Cindy's, are on the desk in front of you. But he at least is dressed. "Yes, most disappointed," Blackwell continues. "Though I should also confess myself impressed by your ingenuity and nerve. It must have taken a lot of gumption, to come here last night and pretend you were Mr. Shabbleman. Or maybe it was the false courage that comes from being a teenager." "Oh, bite me," you mutter. "Recovering nicely, I see," he acidly observes. "Well, I also shouldn't have been so blind as to overlook certain possibilities. I knew it was theoretically possible for you to shatter the protective spell I put on Miss Cindy's mask, but I didn't credit it as an actual possibility." Shabbleman starts at Blackwell's words, but the magician's next words recapture his attention, as well as yours. "I should also take some comfort in the demonstration of your, ah, virility. It has definitely made my decision for me. You, Mr. Prescott, are to be my true protege." You would blink if golems had eyelids. "The fuck is this about?" Shabbleman demands of Blackwell. "I haven't forgotten our bargain." Blackwell hands your cousin a package. "Here is your payment. You will find it most useful in dealing with your grandmother. You may go now." "First, I want a goddamned--" "I said you may go!" Shabbleman curses a blue streak, then grabs the package and stomps from the room. A moment later comes the sound of the front door opening. But it doesn't close. Instead, there is a heavy thump. Blackwell turns smoothly to pull an ornament on the bookshelf, and one of the bookshelves swings open noiselessly on a set of hinges. "Do fetch your recumbent cousin, Will," he says over his shoulder. "Drag him in here and throw him down there." He points to the gaping doorway. It takes you a moment to recover from your surprise. Then you stagger out the library and into the foyer. Shabbleman lies in a heap on the floor. Ah, the same trick Blackwell pulled on Justin ... * * * * * "Now that that little charade is concluded, I can give you a proper explanation and an apology," Blackwell says after you have hauled Shabbleman down into the secret basement at the bottom of a flight of circular stairs. Now his tone is much kinder, though it is still condescending. "Yes, I'm afraid I've been playing a double game against both of you," he says. "The fact is I wasn't sure which of you I wanted as a pupil. Also, I found it impossible to shake Mr. Shabbleman off. I had to pit you against each other in a secret struggle. I'm actually relieved that it was you who came out on top, although--" He strokes the inside of Cindy's mask. "Although the scale of your victory was rather breathtaking." "You didn't have to send him back as Lucy to kidnap me," you growl. "I'd have showed up on my own." Blackwell smiles crookedly. "After he returned last night--naked as a jaybird in his humiliation--he was hot for vengeance against you. I let him have his way, calculating it would blind him to the subsequent double cross. Again, I apologize." "So, that's what this was about? Not trying to get my essentia?" "Oh, we still need that," he says, "if we are to restore you to your proper form. We'll just have to find a different way. The, ah, usual methods of obtaining it are clearly inadequate." He grimaces as he continues to rub the shattered inner surface of the mask. "Well," he says, shaking himself. "Let us tie up the loose ends before continuing. Shall we send the Vredenburg sisters back while you resume the persona of ... what was his name?" Next: "Dealing with the Durrases" |
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