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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "New Spells, and a New Complication"  "Using you guys as models would be easiest," you concede. Frank just shrugs. "I wish we hadn't sent my golem home. I'd like to give him the mask to polish for me." "If you're not willing to do the work yourself, you shouldn't do it at all," Frank chides. You bite back a reply. "Getting others to do your dirty work, even a mindless thing like a golem-- It's not right." "Sounds like something you should be saying in front of Joe," you observe with just a little acid. "Is this a confession of some kind?" Red spots show in Frank's cheeks. "I know what you mean, Prescott. And I'll tell you and Joe all about my crimes when he gets back." * * * * * Joe brings burgers when he returns; but you and he are the only ones that eat, as Frank says he hasn't an appetite. Afterward, he leads you all back into the living room. "I'll have to make a full report to Dad," he says quietly. "But I might as well practice with you two. "Prescott's been through the Libra up to the last open spell, so he has some idea of what I got up to over the last week," he says after a pregnant pause. Taking it step by step--" With obvious distaste he flips back to the middle of the book. "After I buried Prescott in Blackwell's garden, I used this spell to erase Lucy's image from her mask." "About that," you interrupt. "Did you use a blank mask?" "It doesn't call for a blank," Frank says. "Not explicitly. But if you read the sigil carefully-- Okay, just tell me what happened when you did it." "It was pretty exciting, like a lightning storm broke out in the library." "Shit." You trace a finger across the finer elements in the sigil. "See, the circle is open, and you have to close it up with a blank mask, or you get discharge. Did you see what it grounded onto?" "No. I was hiding under the desk." You rub the back of your neck. "Well, that lightning bolt would have been the contents of the mask, trying to escape. Nothing will happen unless they latch onto a magical item. And that library is full of magic shit." "What would the damage be?" "Hard to say," you admit. "Maybe nothing worse than free-floating images." "Ghosts, in other words," Joe says. "Imprinted imago." "Is that--?" you start. Joe nods. "That's what most ghosts are. A strong emotion can cause a person's imago to imprint upon any nearby object that has some residual occult properties." He chuckles. "So, Blackwell's house is now probably haunted. Well, nothing we can't handle with a Great Dane and a box of Scooby Snacks." "I'm trying to be serious, Joe," Frank says. "It gets a lot worse." Joe recomposes his features, and Frank continues. "After that, I used the new mask to unlock the next spell." He turns the page. "This one copies masks into blanks. I had a copy of my own face sitting around--a mask Blackwell had made of me--and I just copied it into the new blank. That gave me access to the next spell." He swallows very hard before turning the page. "When Prescott hid Blackwell under a mask of Jonathan Straussler, he hid the original under his own mask. I called that golem back out to Blackwell's, and I used this spell on Straussler." He taps the page. You sigh deeply. Of course, you knew he had to have used it on someone, but it's still unpleasant to hear the name of the victim. All the warmth disappears from Joe's face as Frank describes the spell--which obliterates a person's mind--and he leaps to his feet to pace about the room while Frank watches with a worried expression. You watch Joe closely, too, and there's no missing the anger in his eye. For a few minutes no one says anything; then Joe sufficiently masters himself that he can sit down again. But his manner is brutally cold. "After that," Frank resumes, his voice falling flat in the dead silence of the room, "I used the next spell on ... on what was left of him." He turns a page and describes its effects. "We can fix all this, right, Prescott?" Joe blurts when Frank has finished. "I don't see how. These last two spells don't involve crafting. Only destroying." Joe says a string of words, only a few in English, but all of them harsh. "I have to ask again," you say to Frank. "Was it only Straussler inside the sigil? No golems?" Frank shakes his head. "Lightning storms?" He nods. "Well, there's a second ghost for you, then." "We'll have to burn the place down," Joe fumes. "Properly." "We can talk about that later," Frank says in a low tone. "Oh, we'll talk about it later," Joe retorts. "And I'm gonna do some yelling." "What about the spell after that," you interrupt, eager to head off the fight. "I can't make heads or tails of this voodoo doll thing." "I couldn't either," Frank says, tearing his eyes away from Joe. "I used the new golem, the one I'd made of Straussler. It shrank into a doll about nine inches tall. It's still back at Blackwell's. "And then I had Joe bring Jessica Pearce out to Blackwell's. I needed another human victim. Fortunately--or not--Blackwell had one extra golem on hand. I used this spell to make a copy of Jessica." Joe listens intently as Frank describes how the spell turns a golem directly into a copy of another person. "I was curious to know what would happen," he says, "so I sent her duplicate back in her place. Then I turned the original into another golem." "The one down in the basement?" you ask. "Yes," Frank says. "Again, it all seemed kind of pointless. The double that I'd made of Jessica wasn't under any kind of control. It's just a perfect double of her. It has no idea it's a fake. And that takes us up to the present," he concludes with a sigh. He shuts the book. It's been a heavy and unpleasant evening, and no one says anything. Frank eventually mutters his excuses and retires to the back yard, leaving you and Joe alone. "Look, I know how you feel," you say as he frowns ferociously on the couch. "It's all horrible, and ... And like I said, I know I'm responsible for a lot of it, ultimately. I should have got rid of the book, or not helped Blackwell ..." But Joe isn't arguing. In fact, he seems to not be paying much attention. "But you can't really get mad at Frank. He wasn't himself." "I know, and I'm not mad at him," he says bluntly. "I'm pissed because I was helping him do that shit." You blink. "No you weren't. It was a fake. You weren't even under that mask of yourself most of the time." "The thing is, I'm going to remember it," he replies. "I said I didn't want to give myself those memories. But I have to. Frank is trying to protect me. I know he wasn't doing all that stuff alone. He would have gotten my double to help. With Jessica, if with no one else." He leaps up and begins to pace again. "I can't let him walk around with that burden. I have to put that mask on. I have to have those memories, and it's going to be hell." "If it's going to be hell, you shouldn't--" you start to say. But he stalks from the room before you can finish. * * * * * Whatever transpires between the brothers happens outside your ken. You guess that Joe has followed through on recovering those memories, for the next day he is uncharacteristically grim. Otherwise, the rest of the week is occupied putting things aright. You recover the golemized forms of Lucy and Cindy Vredenburg, restore them, and bundle their unconscious bodies into Lucy's SUV, leaving them to find their way back home. They will have huge gaps in their memories, but there's nothing else you can do for them. It is the work of several more days cleaning out Blackwell's library, which involves the careful sorting of thousands of books and the burning of dozens. It gives you all a queer turn when two of them start screaming as the flames encroach: those must be the books upon which the imago of Frank's victims discharged. Frank and Joe insist on dealing with the vampire-cyclops monkey out of your sight. It must have been a fraught experience, for Frank has a nasty set of scratches upon his cheek when you see him afterward, but they assure you the thing is no more. And then late on a Wednesday night the house itself goes up in a great bonfire. "I suppose that's that," you sigh as you watch the glow from a mile away. Already you can hear sirens, but the flames will move too fast and thoroughly for the firemen. "Not quite," Frank says. "Blackwell is still out there, somewhere." He's right. The magician, after being rescued by you, never appeared at Eastman; and Joe, after discreet inquiries, has brought news that Straussler's parents--who have millions to spend on their wayward son--have launched a quiet search for him. "What are you going to do?" you ask. "See what Dad says," Frank says. "I'm driving home tomorrow, to face his judgment." He gives you sidelong glance. "You coming?" "I think he should stay with me," Joe interrupts. "If Blackwell's still keeping tabs on the city long distance, he'll read about this fire. That might bring him back, and he might try contacting Prescott." You find them both looking at you expectantly. That's all for now. |
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